No wonder poor Mrs. Bunker longed for the wings of a dove, if they could bear her to anything like rest. It was Monday--washing-day--and _blue_ Monday into the bargain. The parlor was in disorder (the Bunkers always sat in their parlor on Sunday, and held it sacred the rest of the week); the front hall tracked and littered up with the arrival of a visitor's baggage--the spare room was not ready--the clothes not counted out--the girl idling away her time at the pump--the breakfast dishes unwashed--and the baby screaming, as only a cross child can scream, in its mother's arms, showing not the least symptom of a morning nap, or, indeed, of _anything_ but colic.
Mrs. Bunker, as she sat in the midst of this confusion, and expressed her desire to fly, bore no resemblance whatever to an angel--except that angels are usually represented with loose robes and unconfined hair. We question if she had looked at a brush since the day before, and her morning-dress was of the style denominated "wrapper"--a not over-clean chintz. The room itself was cheerful enough, so far as sunshine and comfortable furniture would go; but nothing was in its place; and this disorder, added to the forlorn appearance of Mrs. Bunker, holding the baby in its sour, crumpled night-dress and soiled flannel, was anything but an inviting prospect to a newly arrived guest.
Mrs. Bunker expected her every minute--Aunt Lovey--her husband's aunt, who had brought him up, and had given him all those particular ways that were the bane of Mrs. Bunker's wedded life, she having very little idea of the necessity he attached to method in managing a household. Mrs. Bunker, only two years from school, had written very nice letters to this friend of her husband's orphaned childhood. She loved her Joshua, in spite of his unsentimental name, and was inclined to adopt all his family in her affectionate little soul. Nor was it unnatural that she wished them to think well of her in return; she particularly desired to gain Aunt Lovey's good opinion, and when the long talked of visit was decided on, had hoped to make a grand first impression. If it hadn't been Monday morning, and if baby hadn't been so cross--if the spare room had only been cleared up after her brother's departure--if the girl was "worth two straws"--in fact, if everything hadn't been exactly what it shouldn't be, Mrs. Bunker would have got up herself, her house, and her baby, to the best advantage. She had a very pretty face and figure, a fact of which she was well aware, and as a school-girl and young lady in society, had made the most of. Since her marriage, this was not so apparent to Mr. Bunker, however, as in the days of their courtship. _Then_, she never allowed herself to be seen without her hair in the most wonderful French twists and Grecian braids--or her dress put on to the utmost advantage. Now, "it wasn't worth while to dress just for Joshua"--or "baby was _so_ troublesome"--or "she hadn't a thing to put on." It _was_ worth while to dress for Aunt Lovey, and she desired to look her very best--only baby _wouldn't_ go to sleep. "Rock-a-by baby"--