It was quite dark when we got to Uncle Joseph’s house, and I think I had a little fear of meeting his wife, whom I can scarcely call “Aunt” without an effort, so different is she from the simple women that I love. Her very first greeting disturbed me, it was so extravagant, and as full of embraces as if she had always known me; but she was very kind when she learned that my head ached, and supported me tenderly to my chamber, where she helped me undress, and then with her own hands, although they have several domestics, brought me a bit of toast and tea. I was sorry to disappoint her but I could not taste it, and she exclaimed petulantly, yet I may have mistaken the tone: “Bless me, child, you are too young to have whims--and it is my duty to see that you keep the roses in your cheeks, or where will the lovers be? Sit up now, and eat your supper.” I am afraid I betrayed the astonishment I felt, but, dear mother, _thee_ could never speak thus, and--I did _not_ eat the toast! Next morning I was out in the garden marveling over the wondrous beauty of their surroundings, when Uncle Joseph came to look for me. His is a very sweet spirit, and I may be wrong, but there is pity in my heart for him. Not that Aunt Élise (as she calls it, although I should pronounce it Eliza) does not try to do her duty by him, but that her education has given her false standards. She was surprised to see me at breakfast, and asked why I had not called “the maid” to help me dress. I replied that I needed no one, and that thee and father believed that it was best to wait upon ourselves; then she held up her finger glistening with jewels, and said: “Tut, tut! I fear we have a rebel to deal with, and rebels are never attractive. No, no, _ma petite_ (which means little one), the maid _must_ assist you. She is from Paris, and knows the _art_ of dressing, which country girls know nothing about, and I want to send you home with a lover and a trousseau, and that could _never_ be if you comb your curls out, and wear a gray frock.” I believe she means to be kind to me, and is not at all disagreeable, even though I cannot seem pleased. Well the day passed quickly by, for I was charmed with their green lawn running down to the river-side, and a little hedge of white hawthorn, that I am sure would delight thee. Toward evening aunt invited me to drive into the city with her and bring Uncle Joseph home. They do not have dinner until seven o’clock, which seems very late to me; but about one, or a little before, we have a nice meal which I thought was dinner, until I was told to call it lunch. Aunt herself says it is breakfast.