But the truth was she could do almost anything;
and only those who knew her in these humbler human relations could
understand how joyous she was in the exercise of such duties, or how
well able to perform them. Writing to Mine from the Shoals once in
March, she says: "This is the time to be here; this is what I enjoy!
To wear my old clothes every day, grub in the ground, dig dandelions
and eat them too, plant my seeds and watch them, fly on the tricycle,
row in a boat, get into my dressing-gown right after tea, and make
lovely rag rugs all the evening, and nobody to disturb us,--
_this_ is fun!" In the house and out of it she was capable of
everything. How beautiful her skill was as a dressmaker, the exquisite
lines in her own black or gray or white dresses testified to every one
who ever saw her. She never wore any other colors, nor was anything
like "trimming" ever seen about her; there were only the fine, free
outlines, and a white handkerchief folded carefully about her neck and
shoulders.
In her young days it was the same, with a difference! She was slighter
in figure then, and overflowing with laughter, the really beautiful
but noisy laughter which died away as the repose of manner of later
years fell upon her. I can remember her as I first saw her, with the
seashells which she always wore then around her neck and wrists, and a
gray poplin dress defining her lovely form. She talked simply and
fearlessly, while her keen eyes took in everything around her; she
paid the tribute of her instantaneous laughter to the wit of others,
--never too eager to speak, and never unwilling.
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