Glendale affairs interest me more every day.

This has been a remarkable afternoon and I wish Jane had been in
Glendale to witness it.

"Say, Evelina, all the folks over at our house have gone crazy, and I
wish you would come over and help Cousin James with 'em," Henrietta
demanded, as I sat on my side porch, calmly hemming a ruffle on a dress
for the Kitten. Everybody sews for the twins and, as much as I hate it,
I can't help doing it.

"Why, Henrietta, what is the matter?" I demanded, as I hurried down the
front walk and across the road at her bare little heels. By the time I
got to the front gate I could hear sounds of lamentation.

"A railroad train wants to run right through the middle of all their
dead people and Sallie started the crying. Dead's dead, and if Cousin
James wants 'em run over. I wants 'em run over too." She answered over
her shoulder as we hurried through the wide front hall.

And a scene that beggars description met my eyes, as I stood in the
living-room door. I hope this account I am going to try and write will
get petrified by some kind of new element they will suddenly discover
some day and the manuscript be dug up from the ruins of Glendale to
interest the natives of the Argon age about 2800 A. D.

Sallie sat in the large armchair in the middle of the room weeping in
the slow, regular way a woman has of starting out with tears, when she
means to let them flow for hours, maybe days, and there were just five
echoes to her grief, all done in different keys and characters.