She stopped, looked down at the new black dress she wore and said, with a decent sigh, “Poor Aunt Emma passed away a week ago, you know. The funeral was day before yesterday. I just got home this morning.” The children tried, not very successfully, to put on a decent soberness to match her sigh, and were silent, not knowing what comment to make. They had, as a matter of fact, heard (although they had long since forgotten it) that Aunt Mattie had been called away clear up to Maine by a telegram announcing the sickness of her husband’s old aunt. Usually they missed Aunt Mattie fearfully when she was away from town. But this time the two months of her absence had been filled far too full with other events. Due respect to the abstract idea of death having been paid, after their fashion, by each of the three, they reëntered ordinary life with the exclamation from Aunt Mattie, “Now do tell me how ever in the living world you’ve managed! How do you get along? I haven’t heard a thing, not really to say heard. Mr. Farnham means to do all right, but he’s no hand to write letters. I’d write and write and ask him about a million questions about you all, and all he’d write back would be some little smitch of news and a lot about the weather! He did tell me that your Momma has got a job down at Willing’s and is doing fine. She would! She’s a wonderful woman, your Momma is. Everybody knows that. But however do you _manage_ with your poor Momma away all day and your Poppa the way he is. How _is_ he? Awful bad?” Her kind fair face bent anxiously towards them. It was again as if the children tried, not very successfully, to put on a decent soberness to match her expression. They hesitated as if they did not know exactly what was decorous to say. Then Helen murmured, “Father was awfully bad at first, they said. Mother sent us children off to Brandville to stay with Gramma and Grampa Houghton so we didn’t know anything about that first part. But Gramma got sick, and we had to come home. And Father was lots better by that time.” “But how do you manage?” queried Aunt Mattie again. “How can you, with your poor Momma away? I never thought that house could run a minute without her. She did _ev_erything!” “Oh, we manage all right,” said Helen. “Father and us children keep the house.” “Your father! I thought he was in bed!”