Year after year she sat on the mourners' bench, seeking the light and failing each time to "come th'u'." This discouraging condition of affairs sorely afflicted her, and produced a kind of equinoctial agitation in the Hollis kitchen.
Sandy went on into the dining-room, but he found no welcome there.
Mrs.Hollis was submerged in pastry.

The county fair was her one dissipation, and her highest ambition was to take premiums.

Every year she sent forth battalions of cakes, pies, sweet pickles, beaten biscuit, crocheted doilies, and crazy-quilts to capture the blue ribbon.
"Don't put the window up!" she warned Sandy.

"I know it's stifling, but I can't have the dust coming in.

Why don't you go on in the house ?" Mrs.Hollis always spoke of the kitchen and dining-room as if they were not a part of the house.
"Can't ye tell me something that's good for the sunburn ?" asked Sandy, anxiously.