is, I
hoped to finish off my previous sketches, which are in a frightful state
of incompletion, and spend a good deal of time on the interior of this
cathedral, which is unusually beautiful." (At this juncture aunt Celia
disappeared for a moment to ask the barmaid if, in her opinion, the
constant consumption of malt liquors prevents a more dangerous indulgence
in brandy and whiskey. She is gathering statistics, but as the barmaids
can never collect their thoughts while they are drawing ale, aunt Celia
proceeds slowly.)

"For my part," said I, with mock humility, "I am a docile person who
never has any intentions of her own, but who yields herself sweetly to
the intentions of other people in her immediate vicinity."

"Are you?" asked Mr. Copley, taking out his pencil.

"Yes, I said so. What are you doing?"

"Merely taking note of your statement, that's all.--Now, Miss Van Tyck, I
have a plan to propose. I was here last summer with a couple of Harvard
men, and we lodged at a farmhouse half a mile from the cathedral. If you
will step into the coffee-room of the Shoulder of Mutton and Cauliflower
for an hour, I'll walk up to Farmer Hendry's and see if they will take us
in. I think we might be fairly comfortable."

"Can aunt Celia have Apollinaris and black coffee after her morning
bath?" I asked.

"I hope, Katharine," said aunt Celia majestically,--"I hope that I can
accommodate myself to circumstances. If Mr. Copley can secure lodgings
for us, I shall be more than grateful."

So here we are, all lodging together in an ideal English farmhouse.
There is a thatched roof on one of the old buildings, and the dairy house
is covered with ivy, and Farmer Hendry's wife makes a real English
courtesy, and there are herds of beautiful sleek Durham cattle, and the
butter and cream and eggs and mutton are delicious; and I never, never
want to go home any more. I want to live here forever, and wave the
American flag on Washington's birthday.

I am so happy that I feel as if something were going to spoil it all.
Twenty years old to-day! I wish mamma were alive to wish me many happy
returns.

Memoranda: Casual remark for breakfast table or perhaps for luncheon,--it
is a trifle heavy for breakfast: "Since the sixteenth century and despite
the work of Inigo Jones and the great Wren (not Jenny Wren--Christopher),
architecture has had, in England especially, no legitimate development."