An Englishwoman's Home

n removed and the ruins left to the owls and the bats. The retrieval was conducted during days of pitiless

be removed, if I wanted to get the benefit of any, as a steady pilfering was going on. It was a tremendous job but with coal at its pres

it clean and wholesome, and then I will bring back my poor sticks from the repairing shops, and group them in this strange new setting. It is really quite a nice house, with some points the other lacked. A great advantage when one has a depleted staff is a kitchen on the ground floor. It is a thoroughly bad kitchen, dark and gloomy, and the hot water arrangements, and fa

is the instinct to reconstruct in the human breast! That it cannot be killed has been incontestably proved by the p

ays distressingly right in the fundamentals, and our small internal wars have invariably been caused by my refusal t

ushed up to me to-day to ask the latest news of him. From her I learned that they call him "

and I am beginning to sit up and take a little no

fret of the spirit that could not be healed and comforted, always there was beauty to lift you up, and a message, no matt

he was out roaming about, to the disquiet of the staff. He had visions of a hermit's study cell in

that even a very comfortable study is a bad place for the cultivation of thought. A wooden bench a

d to a cabbage patch. Even that is a misnomer, for there is not even a

round of trees, our own chestnuts, Cornelia, whose glory of pink-and-white cones we used to watch

I am most of the time, since Himself retired from the scene), I go to the uttermost edge of my No Ma

his workshop and all the paraphernalia of his business in the backyard. After a while he secured more ambitious p

er to plant potatoes, the concrete will have to be

ud of the pick is the music to which I waken of a morning. Sometimes consulting together (I am beginning to be interested, though I try not to be), we doubt very much whether the concrete plus the ineradicable root of an obnoxious weed called horseradish, will ever be gotten out in time for a spring crop. But Cook is very dogged; and the joy of the creator is beginni

elf? I can't, because, oh, Cornelia, he seems to have passed out of my life! I get his dear letters, but they are all about people I have never seen and don't want to see, because

ponsibility. Here he had so much, and now he is only a nut in the great machine of war, a

hile I must hold the fort here, or all the wrong wall papers will go up, and there might even be structural undoing if the workmen were left to their own sweet wills. But it is an empty life, Cornelia, out of which the soul has gone. Even the picture in unif