Aunt _Joyce_, _Milly_, _Edith_, and I, were in the long gallery. We had been talking a while touching olden times (whereof Aunt _Joyce_ is a rare hand at telling of stories), and _Mother's_ chronicle she was wont to keep, and hath shown us, and such like matter. When all at once quoth _Edith_-- "Why should not _we_ keep a chronicle?" "Ay, why not?" saith Aunt _Joyce_, busied with her sewing. _Milly_ fell a-laughing. "Dear heart, _Edith_, and what should we put in a chronicle?" saith she. "`_Monday_, the cat washed her face. _Tuesday_, it rained. _Wednesday_, _Nell_ made a tansy pudding. _Thursday_, I lost my temper. _Friday_, I found it again. _Saturday_, _Edith_ looked in the mirror, and Aunt _Joyce_ made an end of a piece of sewing.' Good lack, it shall be a rare jolly book!" "Nay, I would never set down such stuff as that," answered _Edith_. "Why, what else is there?" saith _Milly_. "We have dwelt hither ever since we were born, saving when we go to visit Aunt _Joyce_, and one day is the very cut of an other. Saving when Master _Stuyvesant_ came hither, nought never happened in this house since I was born." "Would'st love better a life wherein matters should happen, _Milly_?" saith Aunt _Joyce_, looking up at her, with a manner of face that I knew. It was a little mirthful, yet sorrowful withal. "Ay, I would so!" quoth she. "Child," Aunt _Joyce_ makes answer, "`happy is the man that hath no history.'" "But things do happen, _Milly_," saith _Edith_. "Thou hast forgot _Anstace_ her wedding." "_That_ something happening!" pouts _Milly_. "Stupid humdrum business! Do but think, to wed a man that dwelleth the next door, which thou hast known all thy life! Why, I would as lief not be wed at all, very nigh." "It seemed to suit _Anstace_," puts in _Edith_. "Aught should do that." "Ay," saith Aunt _Joyce_, something drily, "`godliness is great riches, if a man be content with that he hath.'" [Note 1.] "Easy enough, trow, when you have plenty," quoth _Milly_. "Nay, it is hardest then," saith she. "`Much would have more.'" "What wist Aunt _Joyce_ thereabout?" murmurs _Milly_, so that I could just hear. "She never lacked nought she wanted." "Getting oldish, _Milly_, but not going deaf, thank God," saith Aunt _Joyce_, of her dry fashion. "Nay, child, thou art out there. Time was when I desired one thing, far beyond all other things in this world, and did not get it." "Never, _Aunt_?" "Never, _Milly_." And a somewhat pained look came into her face, that is wont to seem so calm. "What was it, Aunt _Joyce_, sweet heart?" "Well, I took it for fine gold, and it turned out to be pinchbeck," saith she. "There's a deal of that sort of stuff in this world." Methought _Milly_ feared to ask further, and all was still till _Edith_ saith-- "Would you avise us, Aunt _Joyce_, to keep a chronicle, even though things did not happen?"