Mrs Nathaniel Conklin

Growing Up Mrs Nathaniel Conklin

Publisher Marketing: Judith's mother sat in her invalid chair before the grate; she looked very pretty to Judith with her hair curling back from her face, and the color of her eyes and cheeks brought out by the becoming wrapper; the firelight shone upon the mother; the fading light in the west shone upon the girl in the bay-window, the yellow head, the blue shoulders bent over the letter she was writing. "Judith, come and tell me pictures." About five o'clock in the afternoon, her mother's weariest-time, Judith often told her mother pictures. The picture-telling began when Judith was a little girl; one afternoon she said: "Mother, I'll tell you a picture; shut your eyes." It was in this very room; her mother leaned back in her wheel-chair, lifted her feet to the fender, shut her eyes, and a small seven-year-old "told" her "picture." Telling pictures had been the amusement of the one, and the rest of the other, many, many weary times since. As the child grew, her pictures grew. "Yes, mother," said the girl in the bay window, "I've just finished my letter; I've written Aunt Affy the longest letter and told her all you said." "Read it to me, please?" Standing near the window to catch the light, Judith read aloud the letter. At times it was quaint and unchildish; then, forgetting herself, Judith had run on with her ready pen, and, with pretty phrases, told Aunt Affy the exciting events in her own life, and the quiet story of her mother's days.