they never could have tasted water yet unless they drink the
raindrops off the beech leaves. I suppose they get all the liquid they
need from the bodies of the mice and other dainties provided for them by
their fond parents. But the raindrop idea is prettier.

May 15th.--How cruel it was of me to put those poor little owls into a
cage even for one night! I cannot forgive myself, and shall never pander
to the Man of Wrath's wishes again. This morning I got up early to see
how they were getting on, and I found the door of the cage wide open
and no owls to be seen. I thought of course that somebody had stolen
them--some boy from the village, or perhaps the chastised cowherd. But
looking about I saw one perched high up in the branches of the beech
tree, and then to my dismay one lying dead on the ground. The third was
nowhere to be seen, and is probably safe in its nest. The parents must
have torn at the bars of the cage until by chance they got the door
open, and then dragged the little ones out and up into the tree. The
one that is dead must have been blown off the branch, as it was a windy
night and its neck is broken. There is one happy life less in the garden
to-day through my fault, and it is such a lovely, warm day--just the
sort of weather for young soft things to enjoy and grow in. The babies
are greatly distressed, and are digging a grave, and preparing funeral
wreaths of dandelions.

Just as I had written that I heard sounds of arrival, and running out
I breathlessly told the Man of Wrath how nearly I had been able to give
him the owls he has so often said he would like to have, and how sorry
I was they were gone, and how grievous the death of one, and so on after
the voluble manner of women.

He listened till I paused to breathe, and then he said, "I am surprised
at such cruelty. How could you make the mother owl suffer so? She had
never done you any harm."

Which sent me out of the house and into the garden more convinced than
ever that he sang true who sang--

Two paradises 'twere in one to live in Paradise alone.

May 16th.--The garden is the place I go to for refuge and shelter, not
the house. In the house are duties and annoyances, servants to exhort
and admonish, furniture, and meals; but out there blessings crowd round
me at every step--it is there that I am sorry for the unkindness in me,
for those selfish thoughts that are so much worse than they feel; it
is there that all my sins and silli