these things just as she did. You may think it a very foolish
thing for her to have three piles of handkerchiefs, each of a
different age, or degree of fineness, but if that is her way, she
will be better satisfied if she knows you will not lay a fine
handkerchief over a more common one. So keep them as carefully
divided as if they were the two parts of a Seidlitz powder.

Hang her clothes up carefully whenever she goes back to bed, be it
once or oftener during the day. Separate them and hang them up;
don't pick all up together and put them over a chair. Put her
shoes away, lay the stockings on a shelf or put them inside the
shoes. Fold her pretty shawl or kimono and lay it in a drawer. Let
her see that you know a good thing, and know how to take care of
it.

Put away fine china or glass and bric-a-brac, if she is very ill,
and you need space for necessary glasses or other articles. It
will be a pleasant way of beguiling the tedium of some long day in
her convalescence to bring forth and arrange them in their
accustomed places. Be careful of books, table-covers, and all the
articles of luxury and beauty you will find in many of our city
houses. Remember that these things belong to some one else, though
you are for the present custodian, and think how provoked you
would feel if some stranger should come to your home, and, even if
she did nurse you back to health, she left many nicked plates,
broken vases and handleless cups behind her. I think you would not
want her to nurse you again.

I saw recently in an English magazine devoted to nursing, a very
clever article on "Talk." The writer, a nurse, thought subjects