n here in the garden;
the gods were evidently not unwilling and turned the lock for me, though
perhaps I have thrown back the cover too rashly, for out has flown,
instead of dire disaster, ambition in a flock of winged ideals, hopes,
and wishes masquerading cleverly as necessities, that will keep me alert
in trying to overtake and capture them all my life long.

Last night, once again comfortably settled in the den, we took inventory
of the season's doings, and unlike most ventures, find there is nothing
to write upon the nether page that records loss. Of the money set aside
for the improvement of the knoll half yet remains, allowing for the
finishing of the tree transplanting. Into this remainder we are
preparing to tuck the filling for the rose bed, a goodly store of lily
bulbs, some flowering shrubs, an openwork wire fence to be a
vine-covered screen betwixt us and the road, instead of the broken
rattling pickets, a new harness for Romeo to wear when he returns home,
as a thank offering for his comfortable services (really the bridle of
the old one is quite scratched to bits upon the various trees and rough
fence rails to which he has been tethered), and last of all, what do you
think? Three guesses may be easily wasted without hitting the mark, for
instead of, as we expected, tearing down the old barn, our summer camp,
we are going to remodel it to be a permanent outdoor shelter. It is to
have a wide chimney and fireplace at one end, before which our beds may
be drawn campfire fashion if it is too cool, and adjustable shutters so
that it may be either merely a roof or a fairly substantial cabin and at
all possible seasons a study and playroom for us all. Then too we shall
overlook "Maria Maxwell's Experiment," as Bart calls her scheme of
running the Opal Farm. We were heartily glad to know that she had leased
and not bought it, but we were much surprised to learn, first through
the village paper, and not the man and woman concerned, that "Mr. Ross
Blake, the engineer in charge of the construction of the new reservoir,
believing in the future of the real-estate boom in Woodridge (we didn't
know there was one), has recently purchased the Amos Opie farm as an
investment, the deed being to-day recorded in the town house. He has
already leased it for a young ladies' seminary, pending its remodelling,
for which he himself is drawing the plans."

Dear _Man from Everywhere!_ much as I like Maria, I think he would be
the mo