getting a little money. This is what I am always telling my
husband, and what, by dint of constantly repeating it, I am
getting to believe myself. William, as is but natural, poor
fellow, does not take so lighthearted view of the future as I do.
He says that the prospect of sitting idle and being kept by his
wife for months to come, is something more wretched and hopeless
than words can describe. I try to raise his spirits by reminding
him of his years of honest hard work for me and the children, and
of the doctor's assurance that his eyes will get the better, in
good time, of their present helpless state. But he still sighs
and murmurs--being one of the most independent and high spirited
of men--about living a burden on his wife. I can only answer,
what in my heart of hearts I feel, that I took him for Better and
for Worse; that I have had many years of the Better, and that,
even in our present trouble, the Worse shows no signs of coming
yet!

The bead purse is getting on fast. Red and blue, in a pretty
striped pattern.

21st.--A busy day. We go to Appletreewick to-morrow. Paying bills
and packing up. All poor William's new canvases and
painting-things huddled together into a packing-case. He looked
so sad, sitting silent with his green shade on, while his old
familiar working materials were disappearing around him, as if he
and they were never to come together again, that the tears would
start into my eyes, though I am sure I am not one of the crying
sort. Luckily, the green shade kept him from seeing me: and I
took good care, though the effort nearly choked me, that he
should not hear I was crying, at any rate.