For some months preceding the time of passing from girlhood to womanhood, I stayed with Cousin Prudence, helping her with the housework, and going to school from there. Fond of her, I was, too, more docile in learning from her than I was at home. She was a married old maid. “Prunes and prisms” was her watchword. Her house was in order from top to bottom; she could tell on just what shelf, in which box, in which corner of said box, a given article lay; and whoever helped her had to observe a like care. She was not at all well and did almost nothing but to help with the baking. I pitied her, and she managed to get a lot of work out of me for this reason, and also because she had tact, and convinced me of the vital importance of attending thoroughly to the infinite details of housekeeping. From her throne on the couch she would issue gentle commands and endless queries, and she had an uncanny way of ascertaining if I slighted anything. But in justice I must say I was conscientious in carrying out her exacting requirements. Methodical to a degree, it was not enough that her minute directions were followed to the letter; she could not drop it there. When, tired out, I sat by her couch to rest, I would have to listen as she would go over and over the things that had been done, and the things I was to do on the morrow. She nearly broke my back, and To-morrow’s too. Saturday nights were trying times, for she doted on rehearsing all that had been accomplished through the day, and all that we had in the house to eat for over Sunday. Her husband was a prodigious eater, and she wanted to make sure we would not run short. Then, too, it seemed to make her more a part of these things if she could ring the changes on them; so, pitying her helplessness, I humoured these foibles that I now know bordered on morbidity: “You said you swept off the back porch to-day, dear? I always want it clean for Sunday.” “Are you sure you scoured the tea kettle--nice and bright?--yes, I’m sure you did. You won’t mind if Cousin Prue asks you about these things, will you?” “Are the potatoes pared for breakfast? and covered with water, dear? Because, you know, if some are out of the water they get black--yes, you are sure, I’m glad of that.” “Let’s see--there are four loaves of white bread and two of brown, or is it only three and a half loaves of white? And there is a jar of sugar cookies, and part of a jar of molasses cookies; and you said there was a whole loaf of ginger cake? and some--there _is_ some, dear, isn’t there?--of that one-two-three-and-four cake; you know Uncle--I should say Cousin Richard--is so fond of that; and there are--how many pies are there, dear--one lemon, and two apple pies? and about how much of that custard pie did you say there is left?”