has had his corn, and is as happy as Brinsley Tyson after a good
dinner. Oh, such eating and drinking! How these old men love it! And you
with your bread and milk and your book propped up against the lamp, or
your handful of raisins and your book under a tree!

But I must scribble fast and ask my question. It isn't easy to ask. So
I'll put it in sections:

Do you
ever
see
Jimmie--Ford?

That is the first time that I have written his name since I came here. I
had made up my mind that I wouldn't write it. But somehow the
rose-colored atmosphere of the other night, and these men of his kind
have brought it back--all those whirling weeks when you warned me and I
wouldn't listen. Uncle Rod, if a woman hadn't an ounce of pride she might
meet such things. If I had not had a grandmother as good as Jimmie's and
better--I might have felt less--stricken. Geoffrey Fox spoke to me on
Saturday in a way which--hurt. Perhaps I am too sensitive--but I haven't
quite learned to--hold up my head.

You mustn't think that I am unhappy. Indeed, I am not, except that I
cannot be with you. But it is good to know that you are comfortable, and
that Cousin Margaret is making it seem like home. Some day we are to have
a home, you and I, when our ship comes in "with the sunset packed in the
hold." But now it is well that I have work to do. I know that this is my
opportunity, and that I must make the most of it. There's that proverb of
yours, "The Lord sends us quail, but he doesn't send them roasted." I
have written it out, and have tucked it into my mirror frame. I shall
have to roast my own quail. I only hope that I may prove a competent
cook!

Eric is here, and I must say "Good-bye." Diogenes sends love, and a
little feather that dropped from his wing. Some day he will send a big
one for you to make a pen and write letters to me. I love your letters,
and I love you. And oh, you know that you have all the heart's best of
your own

ANNE.

* * * * *

_The Morning After the Magi Came._

I am up early to tell you about it. But I must go back a little because I
have had so much else to talk about that I haven't spoken of the Twelfth
Night play.

It seems that years ago, when old Dr. Brooks first built the schoolhouse,
the children used his stable on Twelfth Night for a spectacle
representing the coming of the Wise Men.

Mr. David had told me of it, and I had planned to r