was the chief end of her life; to this end she tortured her husband,
and son, and daughters. Summer and winter she diligently pursued
them, and many a tempest was evolved in that house from a source no
greater than a muddy foot-print, or stray fly or two, for in summer
the house was enclosed in wire screens, and heedless people were for
ever leaving them open.

Economy, too, another most desirable virtue, was in this home made to
appear almost a vice. She would not let the sunshine in, lest it
would fade the carpet. She made her room dingy and unpleasant in the
evening, to save gas. She would not make a fire in the parlour in the
winter, because it wasted coal. She would not open it in summer
because dust ruined the furniture. To make matters worse, Mrs. Murray
was a woman made principally of nerves. She was a constitutional
fretter. It must be said in her justification that she came of a
nervous race. There are different kinds of nervous people; this
family did not belong to that limp class who start with affright at
every noise, or faint at sight of a spider. Their nerves were too
tightly drawn, and like a delicate stringed instrument, when a rude
touch came, snap! went a string, making all life's music into discord
as far as they were concerned. The discord usually expressed itself
in scolding. It is a real luxury for the time, to the wicked nerves
to give somebody a sound beating. Mrs. Murray's mother and
grandmother and great-grandmother had made a practice of scolding
their children, their servants, and their husbands, when necessary,
and it never seemed to occur to her that there was any other way to
manage affairs.

Another antic those naughty nerves often indulged in, was nervous
headache; when anything specially annoying took place, they met in