My house is perfect. By great good fortune I have found a housekeeper no less to my mind, a low-voiced, light-footed woman of discreet age, strong and deft enough to render me all the service I require, and not afraid of loneliness. She rises
very early. By my breakfast-time there remains little to be done under the roof save dressing of meals. Very rarely do I hear even a clink of crockery; never the closing of a door or window. The first thing in one's home is comfort; let beauty of detail be added if one has the means, the patience, the eye. To me, this little book-room is beautiful, and chiefly because it is home. Through the greater part of life I was homeless.
Many places have I lived, some which my soul disliked, and some which pleased me well; but never till now with that sense of security which makes a home. At any moment I might have been driven forth by evil accident, by disturbing necessity.