Harper's New Monthly Magazine 26 (1863): 537-43.
The two months I spent at Newport with Aunt Eliza Huell, who had been
ordered to the sea-side for the benefit of her health, were the
months that created all that is dramatic in my destiny. My aunt was
troublesome, for she was not only out of health, but in a lawsuit. She
wrote to me, for we lived apart, asking me to accompany her--not because
she was fond of me, or wished to give me pleasure, but because I
was useful in various ways. Mother insisted upon my accepting her
invitation, not because she loved her late husband's sister, but because
she thought it wise to cotton to her in every particular, for Aunt Eliza
was rich, and we--two lone women--were poor.
I gave my music-pupils a longer and earlier vacation than usual, took a
week to arrange my wardrobe--for I made my own dresses--and then started
for New York, with the five dollars which Aunt Eliza had sent for my
fare thither. I arrived at her house in Bond Street at 7 A.M., and found
her man James in conversation with the milkman. He informed me that
Miss Huell was very bad, and that the housekeeper was still in bed. I
supposed that Aunt Eliza was in bed also, but I had hardly entered the
house when I heard her bell ring as she only could ring it--with an
impatient jerk.
"She wants hot milk," said James, "and the man has just come."
I laid my bonnet down, and went to the kitchen. Saluting the cook, who
was an old acquaintance, and who told me that the "divil" had been in
the range that morning, I took a pan, into which I poured some milk, and
held it over the gaslight till it was hot; then I carried it up to Aunt
Eliza.
"Here is your milk, Aunt Eliza. You have sent for me to help you, and I
begin with the earliest opportunity."
"I looked for you an hour ago. Ring the bell."