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et square and valiant beyond her size and years； seized a stick much bigger than herself and went after the cows； the cowherd being nowhere to be seen。 She planted herself in front of them brandishing her stick； and they stood in a row and stared at her in great astonishment； and she kept them off until one of the men from the farm arrived with a whip； and having found the cowherd sleeping peacefully in the shade； gave him a sound beating。 The cowherd is a great hulking young man； much bigger than the man who beat him； but he took his punishment as part of the day's work and made no remark of any sort。 It could not have hurt him much through his leather breeches； and I think he deserved it； but it must be demoralising work for a strong young man with no brains looking after cows。 Nobody with less imagination than a poet ought to take it up as a profession。
After the June baby and I had been welcomed back by the other two with as many hugs as though we had been restored to them from great perils； and while we were peacefully drinking tea under a beech tree； I happened to look up into its mazy green； and there； on a branch quite close to my head； sat a little baby owl。 I got on the seat and caught it easily； for it could not fly； and how it had reached the branch at all is a mystery。 It is a little round ball of gray fluff； with the quaintest； wisest； solemn face。 Poor thing！ I ought to have let it go； but the temptation to keep it until the Man of Wrath； at present on a journey； has seen it was not to be resisted； as he has often said how much he would like to have a young owl and try and tame it。 So I put it into a roomy cage and slung it up on a branch near where it had been sitting； and which cannot be far from its nest and its mother。 We had hardly subsided again to our tea when I saw two more balls of fluff on the ground in the long grass and scarcely distinguishable at a little distance from small mole…hills。 These were promptly united to their relation in the cage； and now when the Man of Wrath comes home； not only shall he be welcomed by a wife decked with the orthodox smiles； but by the three little longed…for owls。 Only it seems wicked to take them from their mother； and I know that I shall let them go again some day perhaps the very next time the Man of Wrath goes on a journey。 I put a small pot of water in the cage； though they never could have tasted water yet unless they drink the raindrops off the beech leaves。 I suppose they get all the liquid they need from the bodies of the mice and other dainties provided for them by their fond parents。 But the raindrop idea is prettier。
May 15th。How cruel it was of me to put those poor little owls into a cage even for one night！ I cannot forgive myself； and shall never pander to the Man of Wrath's wishes again。 This morning I got up early to see how they were getting on； and I found the door of the cage wide open and no owls to be seen。 I thought of course that somebody had stolen them some boy from the village； or perhaps the chastised cowherd。 But looking about I saw one perched high up in the branches of the beech tree； and then to my dismay one lying dead on the ground。 The third was nowhere to be seen； and is probably safe in its nest。 The parents must have torn at the bars of the cage until by chance they got the door open； and then dragged the little ones out and up into the tree。 The one that is dead must have been blown off the branch； as it was a windy night and its neck is broken。 There is one happy life less in the garden to…day through my fault； and it is such a lovely； warm dayjust the sort of weather for young soft things to enjoy and grow in。 The babies are greatly distressed； and are digging a grave； and preparing funeral wreaths of dandelions。
Just as I had written that I heard sounds of arrival； and running out I breathlessly told the Man of Wrath how nearly I had been able to give him the owls he has so often said he would like to have； and how sorry I was they were gone； and how grievous the death of one； and so on after the voluble manner of women。
He listened till I paused to breathe； and then he said； 〃I am surprised at such cruelty。 How could you make the mother owl suffer so？ She had never done you any harm。〃
Which sent me out of the house and into the garden more convinced than ever that he sang true who sang
Two paradises 'twere in one to live in Paradise alone。
May 16th。The garden is the place I go to for refuge and shelter； not the house。 In the house are duties and annoyances； servants to exhort and admonish； furniture； and meals； but out there blessings crowd round me at every step it is there that I am sorry for the unkindness in me； for those selfish thoughts that are so much worse than they feel； it is there that all my sins and silliness are forgiven； there that I feel protected and at home； and every flower and weed is a friend and every tree a lover。 When I have been vexed I run out to them for comfort； and when I have been angry without just cause； it is there that I find absolution。 Did ever a woman have so many friends？ And always the same； always ready to welcome me and fill me with cheerful thoughts。 Happy children of a common Father； why should I； their own sister； be less content and joyous than they？ Even in a thunder storm； when other people are running into the house； I run out of it。 I do not like thunder stormsthey frighten me for hours before they come； because I always feel them on the way； but it is odd that I should go for shelter to the garden。 I feel better there； more taken care of； more petted。 When it thunders； the April baby says； 〃There's lieber Gott scolding those angels again。〃 And once； when there was a storm in the night； she complained loudly； and wanted to know why lieber Gott didn't do the scolding in the daytime； as she had been so tight asleep。 They all three speak a wonderful mixture of German and English； adulterating the purity of their native tongue by putting in English words in the middle of a German sentence。 It always reminds me of Justice tempered by Mercy。 We have been cowslipping to…day in a little wood dignified by the name of the Hirschwald； because it is the happy hunting…ground of innumerable deer who fight there in the autumn evenings； calling each other out to combat with bayings that ring through the silence and send agreeable shivers through the lonely listener。 I often walk there in September； late in the evening； and sitting on a fallen tree listen fascinated to their angry cries。
We made cowslip balls sitting on the grass。 The babies had never seen such things nor had imagined anything half so sweet。 The Hirschwald is a little open wood of silver birches and springy turf starred with flowers； and there is a tiny stream meandering amiably about it and decking itself in June with yellow flags。 I have dreams of having a little cottage built there； with the daisies up to the door； and no path of any sort just big enough to hold myself and one baby inside and a purple clematis outside。 Two roomsa bedroom and a kitchen。 How scared we would be at night； and how completely happy by day！ I know the exact spot where it should stand； facing south…east； so