“‘Will he?’ she questioned, sighing; ‘but there are so many of us! There’s ’Bin, and a plenty more, and I don’t see how it’s going to be smoothed out. Everything is in a jumble, Mrs. Forceythe, don’t you see? for some people _can’t_ like and keep liking so many times.’ Something came into my mind about the rough places that shall be made plain, and the crooked things straight. I tried to explain to her, and at last I kissed away her tears, and sent her home, if not exactly comforted, a little less miserable, I think, than when she came. Ah, well,--I wonder myself sometimes about these ‘crooked things’; but, though I wonder, I never doubt.” She finished her sentence somewhat hurriedly, and half started from her chair, raising both hands with a quick, involuntary motion that attracted my notice. The lights came in just then, and, unless I am much mistaken, her face showed paler than usual; but when I asked her if she felt faint, she said, “O no, I believe I am a little tired, and will go to bed.” September 1. I am glad that the summer is over. This heat has certainly worn on Aunt Winifred, with that kind of wear which slides people into confirmed invalidism. I suppose she would bear it in her saintly way, as she bears everything, but it would be a bitter cup for her. I know she was always pale, but this is a paleness which-- Night. A dreadful thing has happened! I was in the middle of my sentence, when I heard a commotion in the street, and a child’s voice shouting incoherently something about the doctor, and “_mother’s killed! O, mother’s killed! mother’s burnt to death!_” I was at the window in time to see a blond-haired girl running wildly past the house, and to see that it was Molly Bland. At the same moment I saw Aunt Winifred snatching her hat from its nail in the entry. She beckoned to me to follow, and we were half-way over to the parsonage before I had a distinct thought of what I was about. We came upon a horrible scene. Dr. Bland was trying to do everything alone; there was not a woman in the house to help him, for they have never been able to keep a servant, and none of the neighbors had had time to be there before us. The poor husband was growing faint, I think. Aunt Winifred saw by a look that he could not bear much more, sent him after Molly for the doctor, and took everything meantime into her own charge. I shall not write down a word of it. It was a sight that, once seen, will never leave me as long as I live. My nerves are thoroughly shaken by it, and it must be put out of thought as far as possible.