hat I've hardly had a moment in which to draw breath. It
was a blow to me that she wouldn't stay for she was really an excellent
nurse and the baby got on so well with her, but there aren't any
coloured people of her kind here, and she got so homesick for Dinwiddie
that I thought she would lose her mind if she stayed. You know how
dependent they are upon company, and going out on Sunday afternoon and
all that kind of thing, and there really wasn't any amusement for her
except taking the baby out in the morning. She got so low spirited that
it was almost a relief when she went, but of course I feel her loss
dreadfully. I haven't let the baby out of my sight because I wouldn't
trust Daisy with her for anything in the world. She is so terribly
flighty. I have the crib brought into my room (though Oliver hates it)
and I take entire charge of her night and day. I should love to do it if
only Oliver didn't mind it so much. He says I think more of the baby now
than I do of him. Isn't that absurd? But of course she does take every
single minute of my time, and I can't dress myself for him every evening
as carefully as I used to do and look after all the housekeeping
arrangements. Daisy is a very poor cook and she simply throws the things
on the table, but it seems to me that my first duty is to the baby, so I
try to put up with the discomforts as well as I can. It is hard to eat
what she cooks since everything tastes exactly alike, but I try to
swallow as much as I can because the doctor says that if I don't keep up
my strength I shall have to stop nursing the baby. Wouldn't that be
dreadful? It almost breaks my heart to think of it, and I am sure we'd
never get any artificial food to agree with her. She is perfectly well
now, the sweetest, fattest thing you ever saw, and a real beauty, and
she is so devoted to me that she cries whenever I go out of her sight. I
am never tired of watching her, and even when she is asleep I sit
sometimes for an hour by her crib just thinking how pretty she looks
with her eyes closed and wishing you could see her. Oliver says I spoil
her to death, but how can a baby of seven months be spoiled. He doesn't
enjoy her half as much as I do, and sometimes I almost think that he
gets impatient of seeing her always in my arms. At first he absolutely
refused to have her crib brought into our room, but when I cried, he
gave in and was very sweet about it. I feel so ashamed sometimes of the
way the house look