Golly, I forgot. Lorraine said she'd cut down the cookies if things
weren't told orderly the way they happened. So I've got to begin back.
First then, I've had the best time since Peggy got engaged that I've
ever had in my own home. Not quite as unbossed as when they sent me on
the Harris farm last summer, and I slept in the stable if I wanted to,
and nobody asked if I'd taken a bath. That was a sensible way to live,
but yet it's been unpecked at and pleasant even at home lately. You
see, with such a lot of fussing about Peggy and Harry Goward, nobody has
noticed what I did, and that, to a person with a taste for animals,
is one of the best states of living. I've gone to the table without
brushing my hair, and the puppy has slept in my bed, and I've kept a
toad behind the wash-basin for two weeks, and though Lena, the maid,
knew about it, she shut up and was decent because she didn't want to
worry mother. A toad is such an unusual creature to live with. I've got
a string to his hind leg, but yet he gets into places where you don't
expect him, and it's very interesting. Lena seemed to think it wasn't
nice to have him in the towels in the wash-stand drawer, but I didn't
care. It doesn't hurt the towels and it's cosey for the toad.

I had a little snake--a stunner--but Lena squealed when she found him in
my collars, so I had to take him away. He looked awfully cunning inside
the collars, but Lena wouldn't stand for him, so I let well enough alone
and tried to be contented with the toad and the puppy and some June-bugs
I've got in boxes in the closet, and my lizard--next to mother, he's
my best friend--I've had him six months. I'm not sure I wouldn't rather
lose mother than him, because you can get a step-mother, but it's
awfully difficult to replace a lizard like Diogenes. I wonder if
Lorraine will think I've written too much about my animals? They're
more fun than Peggy anyway, and as for Harry Goward--golly! The toad
or lizard that couldn't be livelier than he is would be a pretty sad
animal.

A year ago I was fishing one day away up the river, squatting under a
bush on a bank, when Peggy and Dr. Denbigh came and plumped right over
my head. They didn't see me--but it wasn't up to me. They were looking
the other way, so they didn't notice my fish-line either. They weren't
noticing much of life as it appeared to me except their personal selves.
I thought if they wouldn't disturb me I wouldn't disturb them. At first
I d