Friday, Oct 25, 1889 A quiet, grey morning. The leaves are pretty much all fallen and it seems late in the year. Crosby is at work on the cellar of his house on his lots in our garden. It seems strange to see our pretty, old garden thus destroyed, but we have made up our minds to it and so are able to take it philosophically. I have been all forenoon unpacking and putting my things away and have not entirely finished. I am glad to be home again and feel contented and happy. Our affairs look reasonably encouraging and that makes me contented. After all though I am easily troubled I think I am easily satisfied. Independence is happiness to me. I wrote to Eastman and sent him a statement of what I had paid on our joint account.
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