PART I.

_A WOMAN'S PLAN._


'My dear Mary,' said I, one morning, to my widowed sister, as she sank
into an arm chair in front of my library fire, and heaved a sigh replete
with exhaustion and sadness:

'What is the matter?'

'Enough for a woman, William, but of course, nothing for an old bachelor
like you, who have only to pay your own bills, eat your meals without
the trouble of ordering them; lounge through a clean house with no
chasing after servants to sweep and wash and dust; sit in your study,
heaping log after log on your devoted andirons, and always meeting me
with such a provoking cheerfulness, while I have not a moment to myself;
am all the time running to give out stores to one girl; soap and starch
to another; candles and linen to the chambermaid, and orders to the
coachman; and, even then, I have no peace; for, no sooner do I sit in
the nursery, hoping to derive a few minutes comfort from a quiet sew,
than my ears are filled with the dissatisfaction of one girl; the
complaints of another; the threatenings to leave of another, and the
quarrels of all. I declare, William, I think it was too bad in you to
insist on our leaving that comfortable boarding house, where we lived so
much cheaper, and had no trouble. It was there, with my small family,