stay all winter, she clasped her white hands together tightly, and between two breaths a sigh came fluttering from her lips, while tears gathered in the blue of her eyes, as the white lids fell to cover what she would not have me notice.  Although a pain and wonder filled my heart for a moment, I knew if Clara wished me to divine her feelings she would explain herself, and her silence left me to my own conjectures.  I said to myself “Some thought of the past has come over her,” for I could not see how the stay of Wilmur Benton could affect her happiness.  He treated her with great deference and seemed to realize with us that she had a rare organization.  His stay was a matter of great interest with Hal, as Hal was to gain from him the instruction he needed, and they expected to get much enjoyment from working together.  Louis would be with us through the holidays, and Mr. Benton would, I knew, enjoy that, for he insisted that it was the magic of his hand that had saved Hal’s life, and he looked on him as a real blessing.  The two artist souls blended as one, and drank daily deep draughts from the fountain of an inspiring genius, and as I watched the work grow under their hands, and the plastic and senseless clay become a fair statue, lacking nothing save breath and motion to reveal an entity, I questioned if the power was really theirs, or if their hands had touched a secret spring and were guided outside of themselves.  It really never seemed like exertion, and to sense this wondrous art was to me the asking of questions deeper than any among us could answer.

Hal’s statue of dear Aunt Hildy was copied, and improved also by Mr. Benton, who considered it a masterpiece, and the respect we bore our friend was not lessened, even though there were those among us who might speculate as to the motive that prompted it.

We never called her funny, but original, and good as gold.  Our family numbered now seven people, and with the farm work in addition to the daily preparation of meals, the clearing up and upsetting again of things, there were many steps to take, and Aunt Hildy was installed as our help in need.

These were the days of help—­not servants—­when honest toil was well appreciated by sensible people, and no hurried or half-done work fell from their hands, but the steady doing resulted in answering the daily demands.

“It’s a bunch of work to do; it is, indeed, Mrs. Minot,” said Aunt Hildy.

“But we’ll master it.”

“I ain’t never going to be driven by work, nor aristocracy neither.  It’s a creepin’ in on us, though, like the snake in the garden, just to make folks think they can get more comfort out of fixin’s than they can out of the good old truths.  I can’t be fed on chaff; no, I can’t.”

And her sleeves would go up to her elbows, and she would march through work like a mower through a field.