The unnaturalness of having others thrust upon them during that first year of married life jarred upon her, just as it has jarred upon every bride who has been compelled to endure it since the beginning of time. It made of the new home a workshop instead of a nest, and took from the glamour of marriage. It made the girl cling to the freedom of the country schoolhouse and fear the new life, where the examples presented to her by those who had tried it were discouraging to an observant onlooker. All this came up as she worked, and saddened the day even more than before. As she put the broom away in the corner beside the water pail, she noticed that the blackboard remained to be cleaned. Taking an eraser she rubbed vigorously. "It is a rat. Run, rat, run," begun as high as little arms could reach, and straggling zigzagingly down toward the bottom, was the last to be attacked. As her hand passed reluctantly over it she said aloud: "I'm erasing my blackboard too. Pretty soon I won't be a girl any more. Pretty soon----" She checked herself, and putting away the eraser, packed the few belongings in the drawer of the desk into a neat bundle to be carried home. With the package under her arm and her little tin dinner pail dangling from her wrist, Elizabeth fitted the key into the lock. As it clicked under her fingers the thought came to her that she must turn it over to the school board. The finality of it clutched her. Thrusting the key back into the door, she was about to go into the little room again for another look around, when Susan Hornby's voice at her elbow made her start. Aunt Susan saw the tears which had sprung into the young eyes at the leave-taking and drew her down on the step. "What is it?" she asked earnestly. "You ought to tell me if you are worried." The tears which had been gathering spilled themselves over cheek and chin. "Will I get like the rest of them, Aunt Susan?--never go anywhere, never read anything, have nothing ahead but the same weary round over again every day?" she queried, when she was able to command her voice. Susan Hornby's face worked determinedly to control her own emotions for a moment before she could speak. Elizabeth continued: "I've been--I've been so happy this summer, Aunt Susan, and--and I'm a little afraid of that other life. Don't think I don't want to be married--I do," she felt bound to interpose. "It's just--just that--well, you can see how it is; the married women around here wear faded things, and--and their teeth get bad--and a man hardly ever wants to take his wife anywhere. Look at Mrs. Carter, and Mrs. Crane, and ma. Poor ma! She never gets to go anywhere she wants to." The girlish questionings and fears broke down Susan Hornby's control and she fell on Elizabeth's neck and sobbed openly as she said: "I know, I know. I've thought of little else of late. My poor little ewe lamb! My poor little ewe lamb!"