S. R. Crockett

“ Not that I am by nature an eavesdropper, but, after all, a scientific purpose, and a new riding whip, make some difference.
I was busy mounting my slides when I heard them come in. Instantly I needed some Canada balsam out of the wall press—in the interests of science. I heard Nance go to the door to listen “if baby was asleep.” I have often represented to her that she does not require to do this, because the instant baby is awake he advertises the fact to the whole neighborhood as effectually as if he had been specially designed with a steam-whistle attachment for the purpose. ”

“ It is sufficient to say that out of all this the Hempie came home to Nether Neuk, and at once established herself as the wonder of the neighborhood.
Nance was gone, Grace going, Clemmy Kilpatrick, the unobtrusive little woman whom Peter had married as a kind of foot-warmer, had been laid aside for six weeks with an “income” in her knee. The maid servants naturally took advantage. Every individual pot and pan in the house cumbered the back kitchen unwashed and begrimed. ”

“ My study, where I try upon occasion to do a little original work and keep myself from dropping into the rut of the pill-and-potion practitioner so common in rural districts, is next the little room where Nance sits reading, or sewing at the garmentry, white and mysterious, which women seem never to be able to let out of their reach. ”

“ Elizabeth Chrystie did not come back even for Grace's marriage to the laird of Butterhole.
“I am of more use where I am,” she wrote. “Tell Grace I am sending her an alarm clock!”
Whether this was sarcasm on the Hempie's part, I am not in a position to say. Grace had always been the sleepy-head of the family. If, however, it was meant ironically, it was wasted, for Grace was delighted with the present.
“It is so useful, you know,” the mistress of Butterhole told Nance. “I set it every morning for four o'clock. It is so nice to turn over and know that you do not need to get up till eight!” ”

“ Then came the first click-click, jiggity-click of a rocking-chair, which Nance had bought for me “when I was tired, dear”—and had used ever since herself. I did not regret this, for it left the deep-seated, chintz-covered one free. They are useless things, anyway—a man cannot go to sleep on a rocking-chair, or strike a match under the seat, or stand on it to put up a picture—or, in fact, do any of the things for which chairs are designed. Now, when a woman goes to sleep in a chair, she always wakes up cross. ”

“ I am informed from various quarters that they are becoming so exceedingly popular and discursive in their character that they are enough to ruin the reputation of any professing man of science. I will, therefore, be severe with myself (and with my readers) , and occupy one or two papers with a consideration of some of the minor characteristics common to the female sex.
I have mentioned before that my wife's youngest sister was called the “Hempie,” [1] which, being interpreted, signifies a wild, unbroke filly of a girl. ”

“ Men do something of the same kind when women go out after dinner. But very differently. A man becomes at once broader and louder, more unrestrained in quotation, allusion, illustration, more direct in application. ”