wind, and I
like to snatch them and crush the life out of them against my breast and
face. I have been to bed every night this spring with a bunch of cool
violets against my cheek, and I feel that I am going to dance with my
tall row of hollyhocks as soon as they are old enough to hold up their
heads and take notice. They always remind me of very stately gentlemen,
and I have wondered if the little narcissus weren't shaking their
ruffles at them.

A real love-letter ought to be like a cream puff with a drop of dynamite
in it. Alfred's was that kind. I felt warm and happy down to my toes as
I read it, and I turned round so that old Lilac Bush couldn't peep over
my shoulder at what he said.

He wrote from Rome this time, where he had been sent on some sort of
diplomatic mission to the Vatican, and his letter about the Ancient City
on her seven hills was a prose-poem in itself. I was so interested that
I read on and on and forgot it was almost toast-apple time.

Of course, anybody that is anybody would be interested in Father Tiber
and the old Colosseum, but what made me forget the one slice of dry
toast and the apple was the way he seemed to be connecting me up with
all those wonderful old antiquities that had never even seen me. Because
of me he had felt and written that poem descriptive of old Tiber, and
the moonlight had lit up the Colosseum just because I was over here
lighting up Hillsboro. Of course, that is not the way he put it all, but
there is no place to really copy what he did say down into this imp book
and, anyway, that is the sentiment he expressed, boiled down and sugared
over.

That's just what I mean--love boiled down and sugared over is apt to get
an explosive flavour, and one had better be careful with that kind if
one is timid; which I'm not. As I said, also, I am ready for a little
more of life, so I read on without fear. And, to be fair, Alfred had
well boiled his own last paragraph. It snapped; and I jumped and gasped.
I almost thought I didn't quite like it, and was going to read it over
again to see, when I saw a procession coming over from Dr. John's, and
I laid the bombshell down on the bench.

First came the red setter that is always first with Dr. John, and then
he came himself, leading Billy by the hand. It was Billy, but the most
subdued Billy I ever saw, and I held out my arms and started for him.

"Wait a minute, please, Molly," said the doctor in a voice he always
uses when he's p