ON THE TOWPATH

Our house is so nearly on the towpath, that the mules eat the
honeysuckle from the fence, and as there is only a tiny flower-bed
between the house and the fence, you can hear the voices, and the
tramping of the mules, as plainly indoors as out.

At night, when you wake up in the dark, you think they are coming in.
That's at first. By and by you get so used to them that you don't
think about it.

One reason why we came down so early in the spring is that I'm not to
be sent to school until the fall, because I'm not to use my eyes too
much, until they get stronger. Measles made them a little weak. So I
have one hour with Aunty May for reading and sums, and half an hour with
Aunty Edith for French; and then I don't have to do anything else for
the rest of the day, until nearly dark, when I water the flower-beds for
both the aunties.

But from eleven until four, except at lunch-time, I must not bust into
the house and holler at Aunty May--for she is writing; and I must not
run after and plague Aunty Edith, when she goes up the towpath--for
she's painting.

Mr. Taylor, being seventy-three, can be spoken to at any time, except
when he's doing his baking. Then he doesn't want anything or anybody
round his feet, he says. Just as if I was cats!