SETS
STARS
SURF
SOLANDER ISLAND
SIWASHES
SAGHALIE LAMONTIS
SKOOKUM CHUCK
SEA-LIONS

[Transcriber's note: In original, initial "S" was one very large
decorative letter, 10 letter-heights tall.]

and alas, also _Seasickness_, that I can't think straight!"

Susie's soul, apparently, has had the dry-shampoo it was in need of.
But as for me, I'm like an old horse-shoe with its calks worn off. The
Master-Blacksmith of Life should poke me deep into His fires and fling
me on His anvil and make me over!

I've been worrying about my Dinkie. It's all so trivial, in a way, and
yet I can't persuade myself it isn't also tragic. He told Susie,
before she left, that he was quite willing to go to bed a little
earlier one night, because then "he could dream about Doreen." And I
noticed, not long ago, that instead of taking just _one_ of our Newton
Pippins to school with him, he had formed the habit of taking _two_.
On making investigation, I discovered that this second apple
ultimately and invariably found its way into the hands of Mistress
Doreen O'Lone. And last week Dinkie autocratically commanded Whinstane
Sandy to hitch Mudski up in the old cutter, to go sleigh-riding with
the lady of his favor to the Teetzels' taffy-pull. Dinkie's mother was
not consulted in the matter--and that is the disturbing feature of it
all. I can't help remembering what Duncan once said about my boy
growing out of my reach. If I ever lost my Dinkie I would indeed be
alone, terribly and hopelessly alone.

_Wednesday the Eighth_

Dinkie, who has been disturbing me the last few days by going about
with an air of suppressed excitement, brought my anxiety to a head
yesterday by staring into my face and then saying:

"Mummy, I've got a secret!"

"What secret?" I asked, doing my best to appear indifferent.

But Dinkie was not to be trapped.

"It wouldn't be a secret, if I told you," he sagaciously explained.

I studied my child with what was supposed to be a reproving eye.

"You mean you can't even tell your own Mummy?" I demanded.

He shook his head, in solemn negation.

"But can you, some day?" I pursued.

He thought this over.

"Yes, some day," he acknowledged, squeezing my knee.

"How long will I have to wait?" I asked, wondering what could bring
such a rhapsodic light into his hazel-specked eye. I thought, of
course, of Doreen O'Lone. And I wished the O'Lones would follow in the
footsteps of so many other successful ranchers