Mother promised her a couple of eggs to set under a hen.

Father said she was gradually coming down the scale of her feelings, and before two weeks she'd give Isaac Thomas, at least, a quill for a pen.

Almost no one wrote with them any more, but often father made a few, and showed us how to use them.

He said they were gone with candles, sand boxes, and snuff.

Mother said she had no use for snuff, but candles were not gone, she'd make and use them to the day of her death, as they were the nicest light ever invented to carry from room to room, or when you only wanted to sit and think.