Aunt kept her eyes on the stove after this until I rose to leave the room. “Good-night dear,” said she then, kissing me lovingly. She looked as if the last of ever so many cherished hopes was on its flight.
I write in a little library that opens out of the back-parlor, and is warmed by the book-parlor stove. Mr. Cullen has just entered the parlor; where he talks softly to Ponto, and rummages the newspapers. Now aunt comes in, and after the morning greetings, she says, clearing her throat—“So you think Paulina improves?”
“In some respects; don’t you?”
“Yes, I suppose she does. But breakfast is quite ready, Alfred. Monde, dear—” coming this way.
“Yes, dear aunt, I come.”
Evening.
This has been the busiest day! I couldn’t even find time to get this already longest of all letters ready for the mail. I will therefore sit here, now that it is all over, now that all have gone to rest but me, and tell you about it; and let me do it in little skirmishing scenes like this.
Scene 1. The Breakfast Table.
Judge Hedelquiver. “So Burchard & Bean are lending their interests to the Nicaragua route?”