clan--my father being the head of the family. Her sudden advent
strained our resources, I suppose, but she herself reminded us of
the Grey Room, and, on hearing that it was empty, insisted on
occupying it. The place is a bedroom, and my father, who personally
entertained no dislike or dread of it, raised not the least
objection to the strong-minded old lady's proposal. She retired,
and was found dead on Christmas morning. She had not gone to bed,
but was just about to do so, apparently, when she had fallen down
and died. She was eighty-eight, had undergone a lengthy coach
journey from Exeter, and had eaten a remarkably good dinner before
going to bed. Her maid was not suspected, and the doctor held her
end in no way unusual. It was certainly never associated with
anything but natural causes. Indeed, only events of much later
date served to remind me of the matter. Then one remembered the
spoiled Christmas festivities and the callous and selfish anger of
myself and various other young people that our rejoicings should
be spoiled and Christmas shorn of all its usual delights.

"But twelve years ago Mary fell ill of pneumonia--dangerously--
and a nurse had to be summoned in haste, since her own faithful
attendant, Jane Bond, who is still with us, could not attend her
both day and night. A telegram to the Nurses' Institute brought
Mrs. Gilbert Forrester--'Nurse Forrester,' as she preferred to be
called. She was a little bit of a thing, but most attractive and
capable. She had been a nurse before she married a young medical
man, and upon his unfortunate death she returned to her profession.
She desired her bedroom to be as near the patient as possible, and
objected, when she found it arranged at the other end of the
corridor. 'Why not the next room?' she inquired; and I had to tell
her that the next room suffered from a bad name and was not used.