hade to it
when it gets dusk. I've got a very short bed with a dark red sateen
quilt on to which my sheet is buttoned a11 round, a pillow propped up
so high on a wedge stuck under the mattress that I shall sleep sitting
up almost straight, and then as a crowning glory the sack of feathers,
which will do beautifully for holding me down when I'm having a
nightmare. In a corner, with an even greater air of being an
afterthought than the bed, there's a very tiny washstand, and pinned on
the wall behind it over the part of the wallpaper I might splash on
Sunday mornings when I'm supposed really to wash, is a strip of grey
linen with a motto worked on it in blue wool:

Eigener Heerd
Ist Goldes Werth

which is a rhyme if you take it in the proper spirit, and isn't if you
don't. But I love the sentiment, don't you? It seems peculiarly sound
when one is in a room like this in a strange country. And what I'm
here for and am going to work for _is_ an _eigener Heerd_, with you and
me one each side of it warming our happy toes on our very own fender.
Oh, won't it be too lovely, mother darling, to be together again in our
very own home! Able to shut ourselves in, shut our front door in the
face of the world, and just say to the world, "There now."

There's a little looking-glass on a nail up above the _eigener Heerd_
motto, so high that if it hadn't found its match in me I'd only be able
to see my eyebrows in it. As it is, I do see as far as my chin. What
goes on below that I shall never know while I continue to dwell in the
Lutzowstrasse. Outside, a very long way down, for the house has high
rooms right through and I'm at the top, trams pass almost constantly
along the street, clanging their bells. They sound much more
aggressive than other trams I have heard, or else it is because my ears
are tired tonight. There are double windows, though, which will shut
out the noise while I'm practising--and also shut it in. I mean to
practise eight hours every day if Kloster will let me,--twelve if needs
be, so I've made up my mind only to write to you on Sundays; for if I
don't make a stern rule like that I shall be writing to you every day,
and then what would happen to the eight hours? I'm going to start them
tomorrow, and try and get as ready as I can for the great man on
Saturday. I'm fearfully nervous and afraid, for so much depends on it,
and in spite of knowing that somehow from somewhere I've got a kind of
gift f