I have heard Mother plead with her mother, in much the same way (only more kindly) that Sister and I would plead with her--concerning Grandma’s queer way of doing her work. For example she would put the scouring-board on the floor to scour her knives. But she could not persuade her to adopt the easier, rational way. We wondered, when Mother would marvel at Grandma’s obstinacy, why she could not see that she, in turn, was equally obstinate. One of Mother’s sisters was such a strenuous housekeeper that she lost sight of what it means to make a home, so intent was she on having things immaculate, and in maintaining a painful orderliness from cellar to garret. The habit grew on her in later years. I can remember when she used to get up delicious dinners at our family reunions, opening her house with real hospitality; but a few years after her late marriage to a widower with a large family, her peculiarities developed and, taken with a captious disposition and shrewish temper, made her a trying person to deal with. Yet she had a generous nature and could not do enough for one at times. But let some little thing displease her and a tantrum would result; she would twit the one at whom she was enraged of every trifle she ever gave him and would rake up every little and big grievance against him. These tirades would be as likely to occur on the street as elsewhere. We learned not to cross her, even if she made statements that we knew were wrong; for to disagree with her was to see the fur fly. Yet how amiable she was to strangers--to everyone, for that matter, when in her good moods! and she was kind at heart, even to those she would on occasion rake over the coals. Mother could not bear to have us criticize her. “I know--I’m sorry, but it’s her way, you mustn’t stir her up,” she would say. She was a woman of keen intelligence, well educated, public-spirited, and with a distinct gift for composition. She dressed much younger than her years, with a marked individuality in dress. In later years she seemed obsessed with a love of fine clothes, which she kept in a wardrobe full to overflowing, wearing her plainer ones as a rule. Another queer aunt, perhaps in the late thirties, also married a widower--such a timid, docile creature that we children wondered how he ever got up spunk enough to propose to Aunt Ann. Though having marked peculiarities, she had a keen, quick mind and a phenomenal memory. She was very obstinate.