y of the Byrd cottage without at
least a half dozen pages of Uncle Pompey and what he cooks. I am going
to get the nutcake recipe and paste it on the margin. All women
readers will like that if they try it once.

And just as I was so tired that I was about to fall into the ink-well
it occurred to me to describe faithfully the great-grandmother Byrd
portrait, especially about her being such a friend of George
Washington's wife and about the English earl who fell in love with
her, but grandfather Byrd was the victor to carry off the prize. It
gave Father credit just to have bought the house they lived in.

I got up early this morning and wrote about what good friends he has
made of Judge Luttrell and Mr. Chadwell, and some of the other
gentlemen. I told what a great lawyer the Judge is and I here
mentioned Tony's Scout medal, too, for if a Scout medal is not
distinguished, I don't know what is.

And writing about Tony's medal reminded me that I would have to write
something about myself, or seem to be prudish. I left that until
to-night, and I have just finished it. I had to get in two pages about
Miss Priscilla and the Colonel before I began on myself. I defended
her for not marrying him unless she wants to, and I moralized five
sentences on a woman's right not to marry.

Then I thought that when it is published all over the United States,
Mamie Sue might accidentally see a copy and be hurt that she was not
in it, so I put her recipe for fudge in with her name signed to it. I
grouped Pink and Sam and the two Willises and some others as prominent
citizens who were all Father's friends, with just slight mention of
their being his guest on the hay-ride. I left Belle and Helena and the
Petway silk-tie-boy out. I thought it was kindness.

Then when I got to myself I hadn't a word to say because I had used
all the words in the dictionary several times over about the others,
so I just wrote this that I copy down in order to see again how it
looks: "Mr. Forsythe has one child, Phyllis. She is a tall, strong
girl with tan hair, and she shares his friendship for Byrdsville
enthusiastically." Now, if that isn't the truth, I don't know what is,
and what more could I say about myself? That is a very dignified and
correct account of me.

I have only to write the note to Cousin Gilmore to tell him that a
thousand dollars is the price and not to let it come out later than
next Saturday, and tie it up in a box for the express. As