When she entered a room, all faces lighted up, as if she carried a lamp in her hand.
Day in, day out, she was the Guter Camerad
. The desire not to irritate
had become so much a second nature that she was the easiest person in the world to live with.
If the domestic calm were disturbed, “Don't say anything
was her word.
“Wait a little I
She might wake with the deep depression so often mentioned in the Journal.
Pausing at her door to listen, one might hear a deep sigh, a plaintive ejaculation; but all this was put out of sight before she left her room, and she came down, as one of the grandchildren put it, “bubbling like a silver tea-kettle.”
Then came the daily festival of breakfast, never to be hurried or “scamped.”
The talk, the letters, some of which we might read to her, together with the newspaper.
We see her pressing some tidbit on a child, watching intently the eating of it, then, as the last mouthful disappeared, exclaiming with tragic emphasis, “I wanted it
Then, at the startled face, would come peals of laughter; she would throw herself back in her chair, cover
her face with her hands, and tap the floor with her feet.
“Look at her!”
“Rippling with sin
How she loved to laugh!
“One day,” says a granddaughter,
the house was overflowing with guests, and she asked me to take my nap on her sofa, while she took hers on the bed. We both lay down in peace and tranquillity, but after a while, when she thought I was asleep, I heard her laughing, until she almost wept.
Presently she fell