t too strenuous for my lazy temper. The little stream is
filled with trout; one has flies for bait which have to be kept on the
move continually. Walking and jerking the lines out of the water
continually soon makes my arms and legs tired. I like best of all to lie
in a bed of fragrant leaves, my head in the shade and the rest of me in
the sun, the murmur of the brook in my ears, the skies mirrored in my
eyes, fantastic dreams in my mind--in these you are seldom absent. At
night I sleep as I have never slept--a deep, dreamless slumber. I awake
to a cold plunge in the stream. Oh, it just suits me! I am tired of
people, tired of tears and laughter, of men that 'laugh and weep,' and
'of what may come hereafter, for men that sow to reap.'"

A letter from Terry came like a dart into her solitude and for a moment
disturbed her mood--her deeply hygienic, fruitful mood. She wrote to
him:

"Your letter was a dreadful, an overwhelming shock. It aroused passions
in me which I thought were laid to rest. But, after getting very drunk,
I had sense enough to sleep over it, so that this morning I am almost
my new self again. Last night I felt like cursing you with all the
wrath of the earth and heaven. The last three weeks I have been camping
here, caught in the spell of the wonder and beauty of nature. I have
written you the half crazy rhapsodies of a girl intoxicated with the joy
of life and health. Now I do indeed think that life is beautiful and
worth the living. No, I do not worry about you. I am as happy and
care-free as the birds, and live in and for the moment. Everything in
the past is dead. Only when your letter came, these old things of my old
self raised their heads for a little time, but they too shall die
speedily, if I mistake not. Life is too wonderful, too beautiful to be
marred thus by the ends of frayed and worn-out passions, by memories or
regrets of you. I have become happy, healthy, and free, free without
hardness, and in my freedom and joy I have found my love, my beautiful
Terry, whom I may love passionately, tenderly and for ever, the dear
ideal one. Is it not wonderful? I crown myself with flowers and go forth
to meet him every day. I kneel at his feet and caress his dear hands.
For I love him dearly, this very new Terry. Yet, my dear, if you should
come near me, I mean, you, my old poisonous Terry, I would flee from you
as from a pest. I would loath myself and the sun and flowers and all the
other beautiful