“You will be glad to get rid of me, all of you!” she said, dropping for the first and last time I can recollect into the retort direct; “and I can't say I shall be very sorry to go myself. It hasn't been my idea of life.” Poor old lady! That was only a couple of weeks before the end. I do not suppose she guessed it was so certain or perhaps she might have been more sentimental. “Don't be foolish,” said my mother, “you're not going to die!” “What's the use of talking like an idiot,” retorted my aunt, “I've got to do it some time. Why not now, when everything's all ready for it. It isn't as if I was enjoying myself.” “I am sure we do all we can for you,” said my mother. “I know you do,” replied my aunt. “I'm a burden to you. I always have been.” “Not a burden,” corrected my mother. “What does the woman call it then,” snapped back my aunt. “Does she reckon I've been a sunbeam in the house? I've been a trial to everybody. That's what I was born for; it's my metier.” My mother put her arms about the poor old soul and kissed her. “We should miss you very much,” she said. “I'm sure I hope they all will!” answered my aunt. “It's the only thing I've got to leave 'em, worth having.” My mother laughed. “Maybe it's been a good thing for you, Maggie,” grumbled my aunt; “if it wasn't for cantankerous, disagreeable people like me, gentle, patient people like you wouldn't get any practice. Perhaps, after all, I've been a blessing to you in disguise.” I cannot honestly say we ever wished her back; though we certainly did miss her--missed many a joke at her oddities, many a laugh at her cornery ways. It takes all sorts, as the saying goes, to make a world. Possibly enough if only we perfect folk were left in it we would find it uncomfortably monotonous. As for Amy, I believe she really regretted her. “One never knows what's good for one till one's lost it,” sighed Amy. “I'm glad to think you liked her,” said my mother. “You see, mum,” explained Amy, “I was one of a large family; and a bit of a row now and again cheers one up, I always think. I'll be losing the power of my tongue if something doesn't come along soon.” “Well, you are going to be married in a few weeks now,” my mother reminded her. But Amy remained despondent. “They're poor things, the men, at a few words, the best of them,” she replied. “As likely as not just when you're getting interested you turn round to find that they've put on their hat and gone out.” My mother and I were very much alone after my aunt's death. Barbara had gone abroad to put the finishing touches to her education--to learn the tricks of the Nobs' trade, as old Hasluck phrased it; and I had left school and taken employment with Mr. Stillwood, without salary, the idea being that I should study for the law.