ailments, his pill-boxes, his fits of despair and his fits of dying.
But he is quiet and gentle, and even loving, and as he sits in his
corner, his Bible on his knees, I see how much more he reads the New
Testament than he used to do, and that the fourteenth chapter of St.
John almost opens to him of itself.

I must do Martha the justice to say that her absence, while it
increases my domestic peace and happiness, increases my cares also.
What with the children, the housekeeping, the thought for mother's
little comforts and the concern for father's, I am like a bit of
chaff driven before the wind, and always in a hurry. There are so
many stitches to be taken, so many things to pass through one's brain
! Mother says no mortal woman ought to undertake so much, but what
can I do? While Ernest is straining every nerve to pay off those
debts, I must do all the needlework, and we must get along with
servants whose want of skill makes them willing to put up with low
wages. Of course I cannot tell mother this, and I really believe she
thinks I scrimp and pinch and overdo out of mere stinginess.

DECEMBER 30.-Ernest came to me to-day with our accounts for the last
three months. He looked quite worried, for him, and asked me if there
were any expenses we could cut down.

My heart jumped up into my mouth, and I said in an irritated way:

"I am killing myself with over-work now. Mother says so. I sew every
night till twelve o'clock, and I feel all jaded out,"

"I did not mean that I wanted you to do anymore than you are doing
now, dear," he said, kindly. "I know you are all jaded out, and I