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AWagnerMatineebyWillaCatherIreceivedonemorningaletter,writteninpaleinkonglassy,blue-linednotepaper,andbearingthepostmarkofalittleNebraskavillage.Thiscommunication,wornandrubbed,lookingasthoughithadbeencarriedforsomedaysinacoatpocketthatwasnonetooclean,wasfrommyUncleHowardandinformedmethathiswifehadbeenleftasmalllegacybyabachelorrelativewhohadrecentlydied,andthatitwouldbenecessaryforhertogotoBostontoattendtothesettlingoftheestate.Herequestedmetomeetheratthestationandrenderherwhateverservicesmightbenecessary.OnexaminingthedateindicatedasthatofherarrivalIfounditnolaterthantomorrow.Hehadcharacteristicallydelayedwritinguntil,hadIbeenawayfromhomeforaday,Imusthavemissedthegoodwomanaltogether.ThenameofmyAuntGeorgianacalledupnotaloneherownfigure,atoncepatheticandgrotesque,butopenedbeforemyfeetagulfofrecollectionsowideanddeepthat,astheletterdroppedfrommyhand,Ifeltsuddenlyastrangertoallthepresentconditionsofmyexistence,whollyillateaseandoutofplaceamidthefamiliarsurroundingsofmystudy.Ibecame,inshort,theganglingfarmboymyaunthadknown,scourgedwithchilblainsandbashfulness,myhandscrackedandsorefromthecornhusking.Ifelttheknucklesofmythumbtentatively,asthoughtheywererawagain.Isatagainbeforeherparlororgan,fumblingthescaleswithmystiff,redhands,whileshe,besideme,madecanvasmittensforthehuskers.Thenextmorning,afterpreparingmylandladysomewhat,Isetoutforthestation.WhenthetrainarrivedIhadsomedifficultyinfindingmyaunt.Shewasthelastofthepassengerstoalight,anditwasnotuntilIgotherintothecarriagethatsheseemedreallytorecognizeme.Shehadcomeallthewayinadaycoach;herlinendusterhadbecomeblackwithsoot,andherblackbonnetgraywithdust,duringthejourney.WhenwearrivedatmyboardinghousethelandladyputhertobedatonceandIdidnotseeheragainuntilthenextmorning.WhatevershockMrs.Springerexperiencedatmyaunt'sappearancesheconsideratelyconcealed.Asformyself,Isawmyaunt'smisshapenfigurewiththatfeelingofaweandrespectwithwhichwebeholdexplorerswhohavelefttheirearsandfingersnorthofFranzJosefLand,ortheirhealthsomewherealongtheUpperCongo.MyAuntGeorgianahadbeenamusicteacherattheBostonConservatory,somewherebackinthelattersixties.Onesummer,whilevisitinginthelittlevillageamongtheGreenMountainswhereherancestorshaddweltforgenerations,shehadkindledthecallowfancyofthemostidleandshiftlessofallthevillagelads,andhadconceivedforthisHowardCarpenteroneofthoseextravagantpassionswhichahandsomecountryboyoftwenty-onesometimesinspiresinanangular,spectacledwomanofthirty.WhenshereturnedtoherdutiesinBoston,Howardfollowedher,andtheupshotofthisinexplicableinfatuationwasthatsheelopedwithhim,eludingthereproachesofherfamilyandthecriticismsofherfriendsbygoingwithhimtotheNebraskafrontier.Carpenter,who,ofcourse,hadnomoney,hadtakenahomesteadinRedWillowCounty,fiftymilesfromtherailroad.Theretheyhadmeasuredofftheirquartersectionthemselvesbydrivingacrosstheprairieinawagon,tothewheelofwhichtheyhadtiedaredcottonhandkerchief,andcountingoffitsrevolutions.Theybuiltadugoutintheredhillside,oneofthosecavedwellingswhoseinmatessooftenrevertedtoprimitiveconditions.Theirwatertheygotfromthelagoonswherethebuffalodrank,andtheirslenderstockofprovisionswasalwaysatthemercyofbandsofrovingIndians.Forthirtyyearsmyaunthadnotbeenfurtherthanfiftymilesfromthehomestead.ButMrs.Springerknewnothingofallthis,andmusthavebeenconsiderablyshockedatwhatwasleftofmykinswoman.Beneaththesoiledlinendusterwhich,onherarrival,wasthemostconspicuousfeatureofhercostume,sheworeablackstuffdress,whoseornamentationshowedthatshehadsurrenderedherselfunquestioninglyintothehandsofacountrydressmaker.Mypooraunt'sfigure,however,wouldhavepresentedastonishingdifficultiestoanydressmaker.Originallystooped,hershoulderswerenowalmostbenttogetheroverhersunkenchest.Sheworenostays,andhergown,whichtrailedunevenlybehind,roseinasortofpeakoverherabdomen.Sheworeill-fittingfalseteeth,andherskinwasasyellowasaMongolian'sfromconstantexposuretoapitilesswindandtothealkalinewaterwhichhardensthemosttransparentcuticleintoasortofflexibleleather.Iowedtothiswomanmostofthegoodthatevercamemywayinmyboyhood,andhadareverentialaffectionforher.DuringtheyearswhenIwasridingherdformyuncle,myaunt,aftercookingthethreemeals--thefirstofwhichwasreadyatsixo'clockinthemorning-andputtingthesixchildrentobed,wouldoftenstanduntilmidnightatherironingboard,withmeatthekitchentablebesideher,hearingmereciteLatindeclensionsandconjugations,gentlyshakingmewhenmydrowsyheadsankdownoverapageofirregularverbs.Itwastoher,atherironingormending,thatIreadmyfirstShakespeare',andheroldtextbookonmythologywasthefirstthatevercameintomyemptyhands.Shetaughtmemyscalesandexercises,too--onthelittleparlororgan,whichherhusbandhadboughtherafterfifteenyears,duringwhichshehadnotsomuchasseenanyinstrument,butanaccordionthatbelongedtooneoftheNorwegianfarmhands.Shewouldsitbesidemebythehour,darningandcountingwhileIstruggledwiththeJoyousFarmer,butsheseldomtalkedtomeaboutmusic,andIunderstoodwhy.Shewasapiouswoman;shehadtheconsolationsofreligionand,toheratleast,hermartyrdomwasnotwhollysordid.OncewhenIhadbeendoggedlybeatingoutsomeeasypassagesfromanolds