Annie Kilburn

"Well, that's all there is of us at present," said Mrs. Munger, coming down

the main road with her from the last place, "and you see just what we are.

It's a neighbourhood where everybody's just adapted to everybody else.

It's not a mere mush of concession, as Emerson says; people are perfectly

outspoken; but there's the greatest good feeling, and no vulgar display, or

lavish expenditure, or--anything."

Annie walked slowly homeward. She was tired, and she was now aware of

having been extremely bored by the South Hatboro' people. She was very

censorious of them, as we are of other people when we have reason to be

discontented with ourselves. They were making a pretence of simplicity

and unconventionality; but they had brought each her full complement of

servants with her, and each was apparently giving herself in the summer

to the unrealities that occupied her during the winter. Everywhere Annie

had found the affectation of intellectual interests, and the assumption

that these were the highest interests of life: there could be no doubt

that culture was the ideal of South Hatboro', and several of the ladies

complained that in the summer they got behind with their reading, or their

art, or their music. They said it was even more trouble to keep house in

the country than it was in town; sometimes your servants would not come

with you; or, if they did, they were always discontented, and you did not

know what moment they would leave you.

Annie asked herself how her own life was in any wise different from that of

these people. It had received a little more light into it, but as yet it

had not conformed itself to any ideal of duty. She too was idle and vapid,

like the society of which her whole past had made her a part, and she owned

to herself, groaning in spirit, that it was no easier to escape from her

tradition at Hatboro' than it was at Rome.

When she reached her own house again, Mrs. Bolton called to her from the

kitchen threshold as she was passing the corner on her way to the front

door: "Mis' Putney's b'en here. I guess you'll find a note from her on the

parlour table."

Annie fired in resentment of the uncouthness. It was Mrs. Bolton's business

to come into the parlour and give her the note, with a respectful statement

of the facts. But she did not tell her so; it would have been useless.

Mrs. Putney's note was an invitation to a family tea for the next evening.