"_I know an old story. It goes back to 1826, when a monument to Bellman, the Swedish poet, was unveiled in Stockholm. The King and Queen were there, and Bellman's old wife. And the King spoke of the dead poet, and praised him in a flight of purple phrases; but the old wife said, 'Oh yes, but if your Majesty only knew what a nuisance he was about the house....' But frankly, wouldn't you like to know what kind of a nuisance the poet was at home?_"--VANCE THOMPSON. Discovering so quickly that her new charge was decidedly a self-centered person, and seeing that waiting upon him promised to be her chief occupation, Mrs. Davis planned her work accordingly, and being an early riser was able to devote the untrammelled morning hours to preparations for the day. Mr. Whitman usually arose at nine o'clock, but in this, as in all things, he consulted his own wishes alone. His breakfast hour was any time during the forenoon; and no doubt he did not understand how or why this could discommode his new housekeeper. When the signal came--one that Mrs. Davis soon learned, three or four loud peremptory raps upon the floor above--she dropped whatever she might be doing and hastened upstairs. Since Mr. Whitman's first stroke of paralysis, nearly twenty years before, he had become so disabled that he required much assistance while dressing, and for this he was not at all diffident in asking. Besides, he was "very curiously deliberate." There being no water on the second floor, Mrs. Davis carried up and down all that he needed for his baths,--and he used water freely. Then when fully dressed he consulted his own feelings in regard to coming downstairs. In his mother's house in Long Island, and in his brother's in Camden, Walt had seldom taken his meals with the family. While living in Brooklyn, New Orleans and Washington, his meal times were of no importance to anyone except himself, and he could not see why this rule should not apply to his own house, or any house where he might be staying. To him regular meals were a bondage he could not endure. Going up and down stairs was a difficult task, and after coming to the Mickle Street house he seldom did so unaided, so the old signal was repeated when he was ready to descend, and again Mrs. Davis hastened to him. As he never would tell what he wanted until he was seated at the table, she always kept a supply of special things on hand; nothing elaborate,--maybe steak, chops, oysters or eggs. He never found fault with his food, and although he did not often commend it he must have been fully appreciative, for all through his letters and conversations, as given in the various books about him, are allusions to Mary's good cooking.