Coroner Merival, Even the children in this neighborhood Know something of my husband and of me, Our struggle and unhappiness, even the children Hear Alma Bell's name mentioned with a look. And if you went about here to inquire About my Elenor, you'd find them saying She was a wonder girl, or this or that. But then you'd feel a closing up of speech, As if a door closed softly, just a way To indicate that something else was there, Somewhere in the person's room of thoughts. This is the truth, since I was told a man Came here to ask about her, when she asked To serve in France, the matter of Alma Bell Traced down and probed. It being true, therefore, That you and all the rest know of my life, Our life at home, it matters nothing then That I go on and tell you what I think Made sorrow for us, what our waste was, tell you How the yarn knotted as we took the skein And wound it to a ball, and made the ball So hardly knotted that the yarn held fast Would not unwind for knitting. Well, you know My father Arthur Fouche, my mother too. They reared me with the greatest care. You know They sent me to St. Mary's, where I learned Fine things, to be a lady--learned to dance, To play on the piano, sing a little; Learned French, Italian, learned to know good books, The beauty of a poem or a tale; Learned elegance of manners, how to walk, Stand, breathe, keep well, be radiant and strong, And so in all to make life beautiful, Become the helpful wife of some strong man, The mother of fine children. Well, at school We girls were guarded from the men, and so We went to town surrounded by our teachers, And only saw the boys when some girl's brother Came to the school to visit, perhaps a girl Consent had of her parents to receive A beau sometimes. But then I had no beau; And had I had my father would have kept him Away from me at school.