We had entirely forgotten the episode until this afternoon, when the

expressman drove up to the door with a present for the John Grier

Home from the chemical laboratories of Wilton J. Leverett. It was a

barrel--well, anyway, a good sized keg--full of liquid green soap!

Did I tell you that the seeds for our garden came from Washington?

A polite present from Gordon Hallock and the U. S. Government. As an

example of what the past regime did not accomplish, Martin Schladerwitz,

who has spent three years on this pseudo farm, knew no more than to dig

a grave two feet deep and bury his lettuce seeds!

Oh, you can't imagine the number of fields in which we need making over;

but of course you, of all people, can imagine. Little by little I am

getting my eyes wide open, and things that just looked funny to me at

first, now--oh dear! It's very disillusionizing. Every funny thing that

comes up seems to have a little tragedy wrapped inside it.

Just at present we are paying anxious attention to our manners--not

orphan asylum manners, but dancing school manners. There is to be

nothing Uriah Heepish about our attitude toward the world. The little

girls make curtseys when they shake hands, and the boys remove caps and

rise when a lady stands, and push in chairs at the table. (Tommy Woolsey

shot Sadie Kate into her soup yesterday, to the glee of all observers

except Sadie, who is an independent young damsel and doesn't care for

these useless masculine attentions.) At first the boys were inclined to

jeer, but after observing the politeness of their hero, Percy de Forest

Witherspoon, they have come up to the mark like little gentlemen.

Punch is paying a call this morning. For the last half-hour, while I

have been busily scratching away to you, he has been established in the

window seat, quietly and undestructively engaged with colored pencils.

Betsy, EN PASSANT, just dropped a kiss upon his nose.

"Aw, gwan!" said Punch, blushing quite pink, and wiping off the caress

with a fine show of masculine indifference. But I notice he has resumed

work upon his red-and-green landscape with heightened ardor and an

attempt at whistling. We'll succeed yet in conquering that young man's

temper.

Tuesday.

The doctor is in a very grumbly mood today. He called just as the

children were marching in to dinner, whereupon he marched, too, and

sampled their food, and, oh, my dear! the potatoes were scorched! And

such a clishmaclaver as that man made! It is the first time the potatoes

ever have been scorched, and you know that scorching sometimes happens

in the best of families. But you would think from Sandy's language that

the cook had scorched them on purpose, in accordance with my orders.




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