how Susanna was getting on with the cat
and hens. She had received three letters from Miss Wixon and, as news
bearers, they were far from satisfactory.

"That girl makes me so provoked," sniffed Hephzy, dropping the most
recent letter in her lap with a gesture of disgust. "She says she's got
a cold in the head and she's scared to death for fear it'll get 'set
onto her,' whatever that is. Two pages of this letter is nothin' but
cold in the head and t'other two is about a new hat she's goin' to have
and she don't know whether to trim it with roses or forget-me-nots. If
she trimmed it with cabbage 'twould match her head better'n anything
else. I declare! she ought to be thankful she's got a cold in a head
like hers; it must be comfortin' to know there's SOMETHIN' there. You've
got a letter, too, Hosy. Who is it from?"

"From Campbell," I answered, wearily. "He wants to know how the novel is
getting on, of course."

"Humph! Well, you write him that it's gettin' on the way a squid gets
ahead--by goin' backwards. Don't let him pester you one bit, Hosy. You
write that novel just as fast or slow as you feel like. He told you to
take a vacation, anyway."

I smiled. Mine was a delightful vacation.

The summer dragged on. The days passed. Pleasant days they were, so far
as the weather was concerned. I spent them somehow, walking, riding,
golfing, reading. I gave up trying to work; the half-written novel
remained half written. I could not concentrate my thoughts upon it and I
lacked the courage to force myself to try. I wrote Campbell that he must
be patient, I was doing the best I could. He answered by telling me not
to worry, to enjoy myself. "Why do you stay there in England?" he wrote.
"I ordered you to travel, not to plant yourself in one place and die
of dry rot. A British oyster is mighty little improvement on a Cape Cod
quahaug. You have been in that rectory about long enough. Go to Monte
Carlo for change. You'll find it there--or lose it."

It may have been good advice--or bad--according to the way in which
it was understood, but, good or bad, it didn't appeal to me. I had no
desire to travel, unless it were to travel back to Bayport, where I
belonged. I felt no interest in Monte Carlo--for the matter of that, I
felt no interest in Mayberry or anywhere else. I was not interested in
anything or anybody--except one, and that one had gone out of my life.
Night after night I went to sleep determining to forget and mornin