want to
do my share, and keep a shoulder to the wheel, if the going's got to be
heavy for the next year or two. I won't be the Dixon type. I won't--I
won't! My Duncan will need me during this next year, and it will be a
joy to help him. For I love that man, Matilda Anne,--I love him so much
that it hurts!

_Sunday the Twenty-seventh_

Christmas has come and gone. It was very lonely at Casa Grande. I prefer
not writing about it. Percy is improving, but is still rather weak. I
think he had a narrow squeak.

_Wednesday the Thirtieth_

My patient is up and about, looking like a different man. He shows the
effects of my forced feeding, though he declares I'm trying to make him
into a Strasburg goose, for the sake of the _pate de foies gras_ when I
cut him up. But he's decided to go to Santa Barbara for the winter: and
I think he's wise. So this afternoon I togged out in my furs, took the
jumper, and went kiting over to the Titchborne Ranch. Oh, what a shack!
What disorder, what untidiness, what spirit-numbing desolation! I don't
blame poor Percival Benson for clearing out for California. I got what
things he needed, however, and went kiting home again.

_Thursday the Thirty-first_

I hardly know how to begin. But it must be written or I'll suddenly go
mad and start to bite the shack walls. Last night, after Percy had
helped me turn the bread-mixer (for, whatever happens, we've at least
got to eat) I helped him pack. Among other things, he found a copy of
Housman's _Shropshire Lad_ and after running through it announced that
he'd like to read me two or three little things out of it. So I squatted
down in front of the fire, idly poking at the red coals, and he sat
beside the stove with his book, in slippers and dressing gown. And there
he was solemnly reading out loud when the door opened and in walked
Dinky-Dunk.

I say he walked in, but that isn't quite right. He stood in the open
door, staring at us, with an expression that would have done credit to
the Tragic Muse. I imagine Enoch Arden wore much the same look when he
piped the home circle after that prolonged absence of his. Then
Dinky-Dunk did a most unpardonable thing. Instead of saying "Howdy!"
like a scholar and a gentleman, he backed out of the shack and slammed
the door. When I'd caught my breath I went out through that door after
him. It was a bitterly cold night, but I did not stop to put anything
on. I was too amazed, too indignan