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 the 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
practised running in and out of each door, and slamming it after them.
This made a good deal of noise, for they had gained great success in
making one door slam directly after another, and at times would keep up
a running volley of artillery, as they called it, with the slamming of
the doors. Mr. Peterkin, however, preferred it to flies.

So Elizabeth Eliza felt she would venture to write of a summer evening
with all the windows open.

She seated herself one evening in the library, between two large
kerosene lamps, with paper, pen, and ink before her. It was a beautiful
night, with the smell of the roses coming in through the mosquito-nets,
and just the faintest odor of kerosene by her side. She began upon her
work. But what was her dismay! She found herself immediately surrounded
with mosquitoes. They attacked her at every point. They fell upon her
hand as she moved it to the inkstand; they hovered, buzzing, over her
head; they planted themselves under the lace of her sleeve. If she moved
her left hand to frighten them off from one point, another band fixed
themselves upon her right hand. Not only did they flutter and sting, but
they sang in a heathenish manner, distracting her attention as she tried