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I； too； have seen the sad change in my father； but I happen to
know that he dislikes having it spoken of at home； and I have
kept my painful discoveries to myself。 Unhappily； the best
medical advice is beyond our reach。 The one really competent
doctor in this place is known to be an infidel。 But for that
shocking obstacle I might have persuaded my father to see him。 As
for the other two doctors whom he has consulted； at different
times； one talked about suppressed gout； and the other told him
to take a year's holiday and enjoy himself on the Continent。
The clock has just struck twelve。 I have been writing and copying
till my eyes are heavy； and I want to follow Eunice's example and
sleep as soundly as she does。 We have made a strange beginning of
this journalizing experiment。 I wonder how long it will go on；
and what will come of it。
SECOND DAY。
I begin to be afraid that I am as stupidno； that is not a nice
word to uselet me say as simple as dear Eunice。 A diary means a
record of the events of the day； and not one of the events of
yesterday appears in my sister's journal or in mine。 Well； it is
easy to set that mistake right。 Our lives are so dull （but I
would not say so in my father's hearing for the world） that the
record of one day will be much the same as the record of another。
After family prayers and breakfast I suffer my customary
persecution at the hands of the cook。 That is to say； I am
obliged； being the housekeeper； to order what we have to eat。 Oh；
how I hate inventing dinners！ and how I admire the enviable
slowness of mind and laziness of body which have saved Eunice
from undertaking the worries of housekeeping in her turn！ She can
go and work in her garden； while I am racking my invention to
discover variety in dishes without overstepping the limits of
economy。 I suppose I may confess it privately to myselfhow
sorry I am not to have been born a man！
My next employment leads me to my father's study； to write under
his dictation。 I don't complain of this； it flatters my pride to
feel that I am helping so great a man。 At the same time； I do
notice that here again Eunice's little defects have relieved her
of another responsibility。 She can neither keep dictated words in
her memory； nor has she ever been able to learn how to put in her
stops。
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 walka
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 comesnot 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 lifeI 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； andoh； 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 is
our day。 Oh； dear me！ there is our day。
。 。 。 。 。 。 。
And how has Eunice succeeded in her second attempt at keeping a
diary？ Here is what she has written。 It has one merit that nobody
can denyit is soon read：
〃I hope papa will excuse me； I have nothing to write about
to…day。〃
Over and over again I have tried to point out to my sister the
absurdity of calling her father by the infantile nickname of
papa。 I have reminded her that she is （in years； at least） no
longer a child。 〃Why don't you call him father； as I do？〃 I asked
only the other day。
She made an absurd reply： 〃I used to call him papa when I was a
little girl。〃
〃That；〃 I reminded her； 〃doesn't justify you in calling him papa
now。〃
And she actually answered： 〃Yes it does。〃 What a strange state of
mind！ And what a charming girl； in spite of her mind！
THIRD DAY。
The morning post has brought with it a promise of some little
variety in our livesor； to speak more correctly； in the life of
my sister。
Our new and nice friends； the Staveleys； have written to invite
Eunice to pay them a visit at their house in London。 I don't
complain at being left at home。 It would be unfilial； indeed； if
we both of us forsook our father； and last year it was my turn to
receive the first invitation； and to enjoy the change of scene。
The Staveleys are excellent peoplestrictly pious members of the
Methodist Connectionand exceedingly kind to my sister and me。
But it was just as well for my moral welfare that I ended my
visit to our friends when I did。 With my fondness for music； I
felt the temptation of the Evil One trying me； when I saw
placards in the street announcing that the Italian Opera
was open。 I had no wish to be a witness of the shameful and
sinful dancing which goes on （I am told） at the opera； but I did
feel my principles shaken when I thought of the wonderful singers
and the entrancing music。 And this； when I knew what an
atmosphere of wickedness people breathe who enter a theater！ I
reflect with horror on what _might_ have happened if I had
remained a little longer in London。
Helping Eunice to pack up； I put her journal into the box。
〃You will find something to write about now；〃 I told her。 〃While
I record everything that happens at home； you will keep your
diary of all that you do in London； and when you come back we
will show each other what we have written。〃 My sister is a dear
creature。 〃I don't feel sure of being able to do it；〃 she
answered； 〃but I promise to try。〃 Good Eunice！
CHAPTER XII。
EUNICE'S DIARY。
THE air of London feels very heavy。 There is a nasty smell of
smoke in London。 There are too many people in London。 They seem
to be mostly people in a hurry。 The head of a country girl； when
she goes into the streets； turns giddyI suppose through not
being used to the noise。
I do hope that it is London that has put me out of temper。
Otherwise； it must be I myself who am ill…tempered。 I have not
yet been one whole day in the Staveleys' house； and they have
offended me already。 I don't want Helena to hear of this from
other people； and then to ask me why I concealed it from her。 We
are to read each other's j