memories, when suddenly the sharp voice of her aunt brought her back to
earth. "What does this mean?" cried Aunt Phoebe, "playing on the piano
when your father and mother have just died! I never heard of such a
thing! Come away immediately and don't open that piano again until our
period of mourning is over." She closed the piano and locked it, putting
the key into her bag.

Under Aunt Phoebe's management the house soon lost its look of inviting
friendliness. The blinds were always kept drawn, so that even on the
brightest days the rooms had a gloomy appearance. No more cheerful wood
fires crackled and glowed in the grate. They made ashes on the rugs and
were extravagant, as the house was heated by steam. The bookcases were
locked and Hinpoha was forbidden to read fiction, as this was not proper
when one was in mourning. "You will become acquainted with much pleasant
literature reading to me while I crochet," she said when Hinpoha rose in
revolt at this edict. The "pleasant literature" which Aunt Phoebe was
just then perusing was a History of the Presbyterian Church in eleven
volumes, which bored Hinpoha so it nearly gagged her.

Besides, Aunt Phoebe constantly found fault with Hinpoha's manner of
reading. It was either too loud or not loud enough; either too fast or
too slow, but it was never right. That reading aloud was the last straw
to Hinpoha. After sitting still a whole afternoon getting her school
lessons, she longed to move about after supper, but then Aunt Phoebe
expected her to sit still the entire evening and entertain her with the
activities of the Early Presbytery. After nearly a week of this deadly
dullness Hinpoha was ready to fly. And yet Aunt Phoebe was not conscious
that there was anything wrong in the way she was treating Hinpoha. She
cared for her in her frozen way. She was merely trying to bring her up
in the way she herself had been brought up by a maiden aunt, not taking