Then there’s the man that paints pictures.  He’s tall and slim, and wears queer ties and long hair.  He’s always standing back and looking at things with his head on one side, and exclaiming “Oh!” and “Ah!” with a long breath.  He says Mother’s coloring is wonderful.  I heard him.  And I didn’t like it very well, either.  Why, it sounded as if she put it on herself out of a box on her bureau, same as some other ladies do!  Still, he’s not so bad, maybe; though I’m not sure but what his paints and pictures would be just as tiresome to live with as Father’s stars, when it came right down to wanting a husband to live with you and talk to you every day in the year.  You know you have to think of such things when it comes to choosing a new father—­I mean a new husband. (I keep forgetting that it’s Mother and not me that’s doing the choosing.)

Well, to resume and go on.  There’s the violinist.  I mustn’t forget him.  But, then, nobody could forget him.  He’s lovely:  so handsome and distinguished-looking with his perfectly beautiful dark eyes and white teeth.  And he plays—­well, I’m simply crazy over his playing.  I only wish Carrie Heywood could hear him.  She thinks her brother can play.  He’s a traveling violinist with a show; and he came home once to Andersonville.  And I heard him.  But he’s not the real thing at all.  Not a bit.  Why, he might be anybody, our grocer, or the butcher, up there playing that violin.  His eyes are little and blue, and his hair is red and very short.  I wish she could hear our violinist play!

And there’s another man that comes to the parties and teas;—­oh, of course there are others, lots of them, married men with wives, and unmarried men with and without sisters.  But I mean another man specially.  His name is Harlow.  He’s a little man with a brown pointed beard and big soft brown eyes.  He’s really awfully good-looking, too.  I don’t know what he does do; but he’s married.  I know that.  He never brings his wife, though; but Mother’s always asking for her, clear and distinct, and she always smiles, and her voice kind of tinkles like little silver bells.  But just the same he never brings her.

He never takes her anywhere.  I heard Aunt Hattie tell Mother so at the very first, when he came.  She said they weren’t a bit happy together, and that there’d probably be a divorce before long.  But Mother asked for her just the same the very next time.  And she’s done it ever since.

I think I know now why she does.  I found out, and I was simply thrilled.  It was so exciting!  You see, they were lovers once themselves—­Mother and this Mr. Harlow.  Then something happened and they quarreled.  That was just before Father came.

Of course Mother didn’t tell me this, nor Aunt Hattie.  It was two ladies.  I heard them talking at a tea one day.  I was right behind them, and I couldn’t get away, so I just couldn’t help hearing what they said.