could not think of anything to think of. For many weeks she was seen
sitting on the sofa or in the window, and nobody disturbed her. "She is
thinking about her paper," the family would say, but she only knew that
she could not think of anything.

Agamemnon told her that many writers waited till the last moment, when
inspiration came which was much finer than anything studied. Elizabeth
Eliza thought it would be terrible to wait till the last moment, if the
inspiration should not come! She might combine the two ways,--wait till
a few days before the last, and then sit down and write anyhow. This
would give a chance for inspiration, while she would not run the risk
of writing nothing.

She was much discouraged. Perhaps she had better give it up? But, no;
everybody wrote a paper: if not now, she would have to do it sometime!

And at last the idea of a subject came to her! But it was as hard to
find a moment to write as to think. The morning was noisy, till the
little boys had gone to school; for they had begun again upon their
regular course, with the plan of taking up the study of cider in
October. And after the little boys had gone to school, now it was one
thing, now it was another,--the china-closet to be cleaned, or one of
the neighbors in to look at the sewing-machine. She tried after dinner,
but would fall asleep. She felt that evening would be the true time,
after the cares of day were over.

The Peterkins had wire mosquito-nets all over the house,--at every door
and every window. They were as eager to keep out the flies as the
mosquitoes. The doors were all furnished with strong springs, that
pulled the doors to as soon as they were opened. The little boys had