We tried to make a little order as Martha was coming. She didn’t like our newly distempered wall at all. She was loud in anything but praise. The kid, little Ervin, looks off colour. Pale, fragile, too well bred. For the time. Too silent. Poor little thing. I wish I could do something for him. He seems unhappy. I didn’t like the thought of taking him to the Cemetery with us, but he wouldn’t be left behind. The walk was too much for him too.