That she was an invalid, I gather from many remembered
trifles, such as the constant consideration shown for her strength in
walks and rides, the hooks in the ceiling from which her swing-chair had
formerly hung (at which I used to gaze, thinking it _such_ a pity that
it had ever been removed); her quiet pursuits, and her gentle, and
rather languid manner. She must have been simple and natural, as well as
refined in her tastes, and of a delicate neatness and purity in her
dress. If she was a rose, as her name would indicate, it must have been
a white rose; but I think she was more like a spotted lily. There was
her father, of whom I remember little, except that he slept in his large
arm-chair at noontide, when I was fain to be quiet, and that he looked
kindly and chatted pleasantly with me, as I sat on his knee at twilight.
I found my place at once in the household. If I had any first feelings
of strangeness to be overcome, which is probable, as I was but a timid
child, or if I wept any tears under deserved reproof, or was in any
trouble from childish indiscretions, the traces of these things have all
vanished; nothing remains but the record of long summer-days of delight.
Up and down, in and out, I wandered, at will, within certain limits.
An old cider mill (for such things _were_ in New England) in the orchard
was the remotest verge in one direction; to sit near it, and watch the
horse go slowly round and round, and chat with Chauncey, the youngest
son of the house, who was superintending it, was a great pleasure; but
most of my out-of-doors enjoyments were solitary.
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