The Autobiography of Eleanor Roosevelt by Eleanor Roosevelt Page B

my subsequent troubles would have been avoided and my children would have had far happier childhoods. As it was, for years I was afraid of my nurses, who from this time on were usually trained English nurses who ordered me around quite as much as they ordered the children.
    As a rule, they kept the children in pretty good health and I think were really fond of them, but I had a silly theory that you should trust the people with your children and back up their discipline. As a result, my children were frequently unjustly punished, because I was unprepared to be a practical housekeeper, wife or mother.
    In the winter of 1907 I had a rather severe operation and was successful in getting Miss Spring to come back to me. Dr. Albert H. Ely, who was our family doctor, performed this operation in our own house, and I was found to be considerably weaker than anyone had dreamed. As a result, they thought I was not coming out of the ether, and I returned to consciousness to hear a doctor say, “Is she gone? Can you feel her pulse?”
    The pain was considerable, but as my own impulse was never to say how I felt I do not think I mentioned this until some time later on. I simply refused to speak to those who approached me, and they probably thought that I was far more ill than I really was.
    During the time my husband was at law school he had long summer holidays which made it possible for us to be at Campobello. In the summer of 1907 Mr. and Mrs. Henry Parish came to stay with us. I went with my husband to meet them on their arrival on the evening train. A thick fog made crossing the bay blind sailing, but my husband prided himself that with the engine he could do it and strike the exact spot he was headed for. We reached Eastport, Maine, without any mishap, and got our cousins aboard.
    On the return trip the compass light went out. Someone brought my husband a lantern and hung it on the main boom so he could see his course. He rang his bell for slow speed at the proper moment, but no buoy appeared for us to pick up, no land was in sight. After proceeding cautiously for some little time, the man on the bowsprit called out, “Hard aport,” and there, above us, loomed the Lubec docks, with just enough room to sheer off. Much annoyed and completely mystified, my husband reset his course for Campobello, realizing we had come through a narrow passageway and just by luck had not found ourselves in the tide running through the Narrows. About three minutes later “Hard over” came from the bowsprit, and we just missed a tiny island with one tree on it, which was entirely off our course.
    It dawned on my husband that the lantern swinging from the boom was of iron and had been attracting the compass! From there on we used matches, and found our way through the narrow pass and back to our buoy without any further difficulties. Mr. and Mrs. Parish had an uncomfortable time and I think were relieved that five days of solid fog made further sailing impossible for the rest of their stay.
    I was having difficulty that summer with my brother. I nagged and expected too much of him. In my most exasperating Griseldaish mood I refused to take any further responsibility. One of my most maddening habits, which must infuriate all those who know me, is this habit, when my feelings are hurt or when I am annoyed, of simply shutting up like a clam, not telling anyone what is the matter, and being much too obviously humble and meek, feeling like a martyr and acting like one. Years later a much older friend of mine pointed this out to me and said that my Griselda moods were the most maddening things in the world. I think they have improved since I have been able to live more lightly and have a certain amount of humor about myself. They were just a case of being sorry for myself and letting myself enjoy my misery.
    But those first years I was serious and a certain kind of orthodox goodness was my ideal and ambition. I fully expected that my young husband would have