The day had gone and the plot with it.
With a half-sob she sat down and wrote with tired and trembling fingers:
"He was—this morning. He isn't now!"
But will not my readers agree with me that she was a genuine wife, mother, housekeeper,—in short, a "chink-filler?"
CHAPTER VII.
MUST-HAVES AND MAY-BES.
"A Summer in Leslie Goldthwaite's Life," one of the most charming, as well as one of the most helpful of Adeline D.T. Whitney's books, was sent into the world over a quarter-century ago. But age cannot wither nor custom stale, nor render old-fashioned the delightful volume with its many quaint and original ideas. Others besides girls have learned the practical truth of one sentence which, for the good it has done, deserves to be written in letters of gold:
"Something must be crowded out."
More than one perplexed and conscientious worker has, like myself, written it out in large text and tacked it up in sewing-room, kitchen, or over a desk.