l almost morning, hearing
such a lot of strange sounds that I was as nervous as a hen. There was a
big tree by the corner of the house, and its branches would swish across
the roof as if a ghost was trying to get in the window. Talk about the
quiet of a country night, I never heard so many sounds in all my life
and they all seemed sad. The little frogs go chug, chug, as if their
hearts was broken, and every once in a while, the tinkle of the cow-bell
from some pasture down below, would come to me. There is a night bird
called the whip-o-will that set in a tree up near the barn and called
another one across the lake whose answer I could just hear. There is a
funny animal up here called the bull-frog, who sets upon a log over at
the back of the lake and hollars at his friends. The first time I heard
them, it nearly scared a lung from me, but now I lie in bed and laugh
when they commence. I thought the Smiths were joshing me when they
showed me the little thing that made such a big noise. Wouldn't it be
nice if we could make a noise as big according to our size as the
bull-frog does to his? I know lots of people that I would like to sit on
a log and hollar at.

It seemed I had just shut my eyes when they called me to breakfast, but
it was beautiful. We ate out in front of the kitchen door and saw a gray
mist rise over the lake all turning to rose when the sun touched it. It
looked like a pink silk dancing petticoat under a gray chiffon skirt.
Did you ever eat at a table under a great big tree looking out on the
water? You know you eat different. You eat slow, and you think of the
things you love, the things you have read about, and of what you would
like to be. The toast seems crisper, and the coffee tastes better, and
you forget the rotten crowd and old New York and the hot, dry streets
and the Childs restaurants and the dance halls and the whole bum world.
Then our evenings are so happy! We row around the lake and afterwards
come home and water the flowers. We must pump the water from the pump in
the kitchen and carry it in pails. I had one side of the lawn and Mrs.
Smith had the other side, and last night my flowers took fifteen pails.
It makes my back ache, and the pump coughs as if it had the T. B., but
the flowers are so pretty, and they look so happy and so old fashioned
in the big green tubs, that I am willing to do anything for them. Mrs.
Smith has learnt me their names. There are pansies with purple and
yellow fa