April 5.-The first rays of spring make me more languid than ever Martha cannot be made to understand that nursing such a large, voracious baby, losing sleep, and confinement within doors, are enough to account for this.She is constantly speaking in terms of praise of those who keep up even when they do feel a little out of sorts, and says she always does.In the evening, after baby gets to sleep, I feel fit for nothing but to lie on the sofa, dozing; but she sees in this only a lazy habit, which ought not to be tolerated, and is constantly devising ways to rouse and set me at work.If I had more leisure for reading, meditation and prayer, I might still be happy.But all the morning, I must have baby till he takes his nap, and as soon as he gets to sleep I must put my room in order, and by that time all the best part of the day is gone.And at night I am so tired that I can hardly feel anything but my weariness.That, too, is.my only chance of seeing Ernest and if I lock my door and fall upon my knees, I keep listening for his step, ready to spring to welcome should he come.This is wrong, I know, but how can I live without one loving word from him, and every day I am hoping it will come.
MAY 2-Aunty was here to-day.I had not seen her for some weeks.She exclaimed at my looks in a tone that seemed to upbraid Ernest and Martha though of course she did not mean to do that.
"You are not fit to have the whole care of that great boy at night,"said she, "and you ought to begin to feed him, both for his sake and your own.
"I am willing to take the child at night," Martha said, a little stiffly."But I supposed his mother preferred to keep him herself.""And so I do," I cried."I should be perfectly miserable if I had to give him up just as he is getting teeth, and so wakeful.""What are you taking to keep up.your strength, dear?" asked Aunty.
"Nothing in particular," I said.
"Very well, it is time the doctor looked after that," she cried."It really never will do to let you run down in this way.Let me look at baby.Why, my child, his gums need lancing.""So I have told Ernest half a dozen times," I declared."But he is always in a hurry, and says another time will do.""I hope baby won't have convulsions while he is waiting for that other time," said Aunty, looking almost savagely at Martha.I never saw Aunty so nearly out of humor.
At dinner Martha began.
"I think, brother, the baby needs attention.Mrs.Crofton has been here and says so.And she seems to find Katherine run down.I am sure if I had known it I should have taken her in hand and built her up.
But she did not complain."
"She never complains," father here put in, calling all the blood Ihad into my face, my heart so leaped for joy at his kind word.
Ernest looked at me and caught the illumination of my face.
"You look well, dear," he said."But if you do not feel so you ought to tell us.As to baby, I will attend to him directly."So Martha's one word prevailed where my twenty fell to the ground.
Baby is much relieved, and has fallen into a sweet sleep.And I have had time to carry my tired, oppressed heart to my compassionate Saviour, and to tell Him what I cannot utter to any human ear.How strange it is that when, through many years of leisure and strength, prayer was only a task, it is now my chief solace if I can only snatch time for it.
Mrs.Embury has a little daughter.How glad I am for her! She is going to give it my name That is a real pleasure.
JULY 4.-Baby is ten months old to-day, and in spite of everything is bright and well.I have come home to mother.Ernest waked up at last to see that something must be done, and when he is awake he is very wide awake.So he brought me home.Dear mother is perfectly delighted, only she will make an ado about my health.But I feel a good deal better, and think I shall get nicely rested here.How pleasant it is to feel myself watched by friendly eyes, my faults excused and forgiven, and what is best in me called out.I have been writing to Ernest, and have told him honestly how annoyed and pained I was at learning that he had told his secret to Dr.Cabot.
JULY 12.-Ernest writes that he has had no communication with Dr.
Cabot or any one else on subject that, touching his father's honor as it does, he regards as a sacred one.
"You say, dear," be said, "you often say, that I do not understand you.Are you sure that you understand me ?"Of course I don't.How can I? How can I reconcile his marrying me and professing to do it with delight, with his indifference to my society, his reserve, his carelessness about my health?
But his letters are very kind, and really warmer than he is.I can hardly wait for them, and then, though my pride bids me to be reticent as he is, my heart runs away with me, and I pour out upon him such floods of affection that I am sure he is half drowned.
Mother says baby is splendid.
