I always love Mother when she's superb and haughty and disdainful.
Well, after she had gone Aunt Hattie looked at Grandpa and Grandpa looked at Aunt Hattie.

Grandpa shrugged his shoulders, and gave his hands a funny little flourish; and Aunt Hattie lifted her eyebrows and said: "Well, what do you know about that ?" (Aunt Hattie forgot I was in the room, I know, or she'd never in the world have used slang like that!) "And after all the things she's said about how unhappy she was!" finished Aunt Hattie.
Grandpa didn't say anything, but just gave his funny little shrug again.
And it was kind of queer, when you come to think of it--about Mother, I mean, wasn't it?
* * * * * _One month later_.
Well, I've been here another whole month, and it's growing nicer all the time.

I just love it here.

I love the sunshine everywhere, and the curtains up to let it in.

And the flowers in the rooms, and the little fern-dish on the dining-room table, the books and magazines just lying around ready to be picked up; Baby Lester laughing and singing all over the house, and lovely ladies and gentlemen in the drawing-room having music and tea and little cakes when I come home from school in the afternoon.