"I did want to come in this morning," she said,--"the very last day! I
should have liked to help you about Ernest's things. But Aunt Martha
must needs have a supernumerary wash, and I have just come in from
hanging the last of the clothes upon the line."
"It is very good of you, Violet," answered Mrs. Schroder, "but I was
glad to-day to have plenty to do. It is the thinking that troubles me.
My boys are grown up into men, and Ernest is going! It is our first
parting. To-day I would rather work than think."
Violet was the young girl's name. A stranger might think that the name
did not suit her. In her manner was nothing of the shrinking nature that
is a characteristic of the violet. Timidity and reserve she probably did
have somewhere in her heart,--as all women do,--but it had never been
her part to play them out. She had all her life been called upon to show
only energy, activity, and self-reliance. She was an only child, and
had been obliged to be son and daughter, brother and sister in one. Her
father was the owner of the house in which were the rooms occupied by
Mrs.
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