After the dictation, I have an hour's time left for practicing
music. My sister comes in from the garden, with her pencil and
paint-box, and practices drawing. Then we go out for a walk--a
delightful walk, if my father goes too. He has something always
new to tell us, suggested by what we pass on the way. Then,
dinner-time comes--not always a pleasant part of the day to me.
Sometimes I hear paternal complaints (always gentle complaints)
of my housekeeping; sometimes my sister (I won't say the greedy
sister) tells me I have not given her enough to eat. Poor father!
Dear Eunice!

Dinner having reached its end, we stroll in the garden when the
weather is fine. When it rains, we make flannel petticoats for
poor old women. What a horrid thing old age is to look at! To be
ugly, to be helpless, to be miserably unfit for all the pleasures
of life--I hope I shall not live to be an old woman. What would
my father say if he saw this? For his sake, to say nothing of
my own feelings, I shall do well if I make it a custom to use
the lock of my journal.

Our next occupation is to join the Scripture class for girls,
and to help the teacher. This is a good discipline for Eunice's
temper, and--oh, I don't deny it!--for my temper, too. I may long
to box the ears of the whole class, but it is my duty to keep
a smiling face and to be a model of patience. From the Scripture
class we sometimes go to my father's lecture. At other times,
we may amuse ourselves as well as we can till the tea is ready.
After tea, we read books which instruct us, poetry and novels
being forbidden. When we are tired of the books we talk. When
supper is over, we have prayers again, and we go to bed. There