Saturday, 2nd March, 1867

I’ve spent most of my time this week reading, but feel entirely justified in doing so. It has really been a privilege I would too willingly relinquish for the good of others, thinking that for the good of the family my time might be more perfectly employed. – – I have become more selfish now. Don’t think they appreciate my self denial and the sacrifice I made as highly as I felt permitted to. I will do the best I can nevertheless. – – Tom boiled hominy very nicely in the kitchen today. Bill has been doing some job work with the hands this morning, too wet to plough. Fannie is a little indisposed. Bill rode George away on business after taking a snack. Returned at nine o’clk. Found Mr. Cooke here, who had been spending the evening. Just about that time, the mink was playing sad work with my fowls in the hen house. Tom came in to let me know. Went to the house and took out what he had killed and gave them to Tom to pick. He had returned the 2nd time, when Bill rode to the house and brought out three more, making eight killed. Finding it impossible to kill the mink, I concluded to have the fowls put in the office. Mr. Cooke left and Pigeo went to hold the light while Bill caught them and put them in, numbering only about 46 or 8. Among the killed was Nan’s beautiful little pullet she thought so much of. Well there is no use in grieving about it. – – (Pigeo has made a little disclosure to me this week.)