Notwithstanding that the house itself was so large, the dining room
was a small, dark, cheerless apartment, and though she was beginning
to feel the want of food, Mrs. Kennedy could scarcely force down a
mouthful, for the homesick feeling at her heart; a feeling which
whispered to her that the home to which she had come was not like
that which she had left. Dinner being over, she asked permission to
retire to her chamber, saying she needed rest, and should feel
better after she had slept. Nellie volunteered to lead the way, and
as they left the dining room old Hannah, who was notoriously lazy,
muttered aloud: "A puny, sickly thing. Great help she'll be to me;
but I shan't stay to wait on more'n forty more."

Dr. Kennedy had his own private reason for wishing to conciliate
Hannah. When he set her free he made her believe it was her duty to
work for him for nothing, and though she soon learned better, and
often threatened to leave, he had always managed to keep her, for,
on the whole, she liked her place, and did not care to change it for
one where her task would be much harder. But if the new wife proved
to be sickly, matters would be different, and so she fretted, as we
have seen, while the doctor comforted her with the assurance that
Mrs. Kennedy was only tired--that she was naturally well and strong,
and would undoubtedly be of great assistance when the novelty of her
position had worn away.

While this conversation was taking place Mrs. Kennedy was examining
her chamber and thinking many pleasant things of John, whose
handiwork was here so plainly visible. All the smaller and more
fanciful pieces of furniture which the house afforded had been
brought to this room, whose windows looked out upon the lake and the
blue hills beyond. A clean white towel concealed the marred