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and the next question was hushed upon her awe…stricken tongue； as I
intended。
〃They are obeying my wish to be let alone； there's no doubt of
that；〃 I was thinking。 〃For my part； I like a little more spirit；
and a little less 〃letter〃！〃
As the word 〃letter〃 flitted through my thoughts； I pulled one from
my pocket and glanced through it carelessly。 It arrived； somewhat
tardily； only last night； or I should not have had it with me。 I
wore the same dress to the post…office yesterday that I wore to the
Hen Conference to…day； and so it chanced to be still in the pocket。
If it had been anything I valued； of course I should have lost or
destroyed it by mistake； it is only silly； worthless little things
like this that keep turning up and turning up after one has
forgotten their existence。
〃You are a mystery！〃 ＇it ran。＇ 〃I can apprehend； but not
comprehend you。 I know you in part。 I understand various bits of
your nature； but my knowledge is always fragmentary and
disconnected； and when I attempt to make a whole of the mosaics I
merely get a kaleidoscopic effect。 Do you know those geographical
dissected puzzles that they give to children？ You remind me of one
of them。
〃I have spent many charming （and dangerous） hours trying to 〃put
you together〃； but I find； when I examine my picture closely； that
after all I've made a purple mountain grow out of a green tree；
that my river is running up a steep hillside； and that the pretty
milkmaid； who should be wandering in the forest； is standing on her
head with her pail in the air
〃Do you understand yourself clearly？ Or is it just possible that
when you dive to the depths of your own consciousness； you
sometimes find the pretty milkmaid standing on her head？ I
wonder！〃 。 。 。
Ah； well； it is no wonder that he wonders！ So do I； for that
matter！
CHAPTER XII
July 17th。
Thornycroft Farm seems to be the musical centre of the universe。
When I wake very early in the morning I lie in a drowsy sort of
dream； trying to disentangle； one from the other； the various bird
notes； trills； coos； croons； chirps； chirrups； and warbles。
Suddenly there falls on the air a delicious； liquid； finished song；
so pure； so mellow； so joyous； that I go to the window and look out
at the morning world； half awakened； like myself。
There is I know not what charm in a window that does not push up；
but opens its lattices out into the greenness。 And mine is like a
little jewelled door； for the sun is shining from behind the
chimneys and lighting the tiny diamond panes with amber flashes。
A faint delicate haze lies over the meadow； and rising out of it；
and soaring toward the blue is the lark； flinging out that
matchless matin song； so rich； so thrilling； so lavish！ As the
blithe melody fades away； I hear the plaintive ballad…fragments of
the robin on a curtsying branch near my window； and there is always
the liquid pipe of the thrush； who must quaff a fairy goblet of dew
between his songs； I should think； so fresh and eternally young is
his note。
There is another beautiful song that I follow whenever I hear it；
straining my eyes to the treetops； yet never finding a bird that I
can identify as the singer。 Can it be the …
〃Ousel…cock so black of hue；
With orange…tawny bill〃？
He is called the poet…laureate of the primrose time； but I don't
know whether he sings in midsummer； and I have not seen him
hereabouts。 I must write and ask my dear Man of the North。 The
Man of the North； I sometimes think； had a Fairy Grandmother who
was a robin； and perhaps she made a nest of fresh moss and put him
in the green wood when he was a wee bairnie； so that he waxed wise
in bird…lore without knowing it。 At all events； describe to him
the cock of a head； the glance of an eye； the tip…up of a tail； or
the sheen of a feather； and he will name you the bird。 Near…
sighted he is； too； the Man of the North； but that is only for
people。
The Square Baby and I have a new game。
I bought a doll's table and china tea…set in Buffington。 We put it
under an apple…tree in the side garden； where the scarlet lightning
grows so tall and the Madonna lilies stand so white against the
flaming background。 We built a little fence around it； and every
afternoon at tea…time we sprinkle seeds and crumbs in the dishes；
water in the tiny cups； drop a cherry in each of the fruit…plates；
and have a the chantant for the birdies。 We sometimes invite an
〃invaleed〃 duckling； or one of the baby rabbits； or the peacock； in
which case the cards read：…
Thornycroft Farm。
The pleasure of your company is requested
at a
The Chantant
Under the Apple Tree。
Music at five。
It is a charming game； as I say； but I'd far rather play it with
the Man of the North； he is so much younger than the Square Baby；
and so much more responsive； too。
Thornycroft Farm is a sweet place； too； of odours as well as
sounds。 The scent of the hay is for ever in the nostrils； the
hedges are thick with wild honeysuckle； so deliciously fragrant；
the last of the June roses are lingering to do their share； and
blackberry blossoms and ripening fruit as well。
I have never known a place in which it is so easy to be good。 I
have not said a word； nor scarcely harboured a thought； that was
not lovely and virtuous since I entered these gates； and yet there
are those who think me fantastic； difficult； hard to please；
unreasonable！
I believe the saints must have lived in the country mostly （I am
certain they never tried Hydropathic hotels）； and why anybody with
a black heart and natural love of wickedness should not simply buy
a poultry farm and become an angel； I cannot understand。
Living with animals is really a very improving and wholesome kind
of life； to the person who will allow himself to be influenced by
their sensible and high…minded ideals。 When you come to think
about it； man is really the only animal that ever makes a fool of
himself； the others are highly civilised； and never make mistakes。
I am going to mention this when I write to somebody； sometime； I
mean if I ever do。 To be sure； our human life is much more
complicated than theirs； and I believe when the other animals
notice our errors of judgment they make allowances。 The bee is as
busy as a bee； and the beaver works like a beaver； but there their
responsibility ends。 The bee doesn't have to go about seeing that
other bees are not crowded into unsanitary tenements or victimised
by the sweating system。 When the beaver's day of toil is over he
doesn't have to discuss the sphere； the rights； or the voting
privileges of beaveresses； all he has to do is to work like a
beaver； and that is comparatively simple。
CHAPTER XIII
I have been studying The Young Poultry Keeper's Friend of late。 If
there is anything I dislike and deplore； it is the possession of
knowledge which I cannot put to practical use。 Having discovered
an interesting disease called Scaly Leg in the July number； I took
the magazine out into the poultry…yard and identified the malady on
three hens and a cock。 Phoebe joined me in the diagnosis and we
treated the victims with a carboli