She worked out-of-doors entirely too much.

And what she did there, as well as some of her work in the house, was very much like certain German literature--you did not know how it was done, or what it was for.
One afternoon I found Euphemia quite annoyed.
"Look here," she said, "and see what that girl has been at work at, nearly all this afternoon.

I was upstairs sewing and thought she was ironing.

Isn't it too provoking ?" It WAS provoking.

The contemplative German had collected a lot of short ham-bones--where she found them I cannot imagine--and had made of them a border around my wife's flower-bed.