side
also. But then, to get back of a night! To find a good little wife like
Annie waiting for you at the upper gate or by the house door. To eat
your supper and smoke your pipe, with your feet on the mantel-piece if
you pleased, and no possibility of being ordered into dress clothes to
go to some vile theatre or idiotic dance--above all, to know that
Catherine knew you were perfectly happy without her--by the bye, I
wonder she has not written to me! Not that I want her to, of course.
This would entail a few frozen conventional lines back by way of answer.
But I am surprised she can endure thus easily the neglect of even the
most insignificant of her subjects. I felt sure she would write to ask
why I did not call on Sunday. She trusts, no doubt, to the greatness of
my folly to bring me again, unasked, to her feet. Her confidence is for
once misplaced.

April 9.--A great improvement in the weather. I was awakened by the sun
pouring in at my window, and looked out on to a light, bright blue sky,
full of white cumuli that cast down purple shadows upon a grey-green
sea. I draped myself in the white dimity window curtain, and watched
Annie making her way up between the lettuce rows, with her hands full of
primroses. She came from the orchard, where the green tussucked grass at
the foot of the apple trees is starred with these lovely little flowers.

I must have a talk with Annie in the orchard one day. It would be just
the background to show off her particular style of beauty. I like to
suit my scenery to the drama in hand. Catherine would be quite out of
place in an orchard, where she might stain her gown, or a harmless
beetle or spider terrify her into fits.

There appears to be only one post a day here; but Mrs. Anderson tells me
that by walking up to Orton village I might find letters awaiting
to-morrow's morning delivery. I was ass enough to go over this
afternoon, and of course found nothing.

As I passed the barn on my way in, my ear was saluted by much laughter
and shouting. I came upon Annie giving her little brothers a swing. Both
great doors of the barn were turned back upon the outside wall and the
swing hanging by long ropes to the rafters, and holding two chubby
urchins together on the seat, swung out now into the sunshine, now back
into the gloom, while Annie stood and pushed merrily. Three tiny calves,
penned off in a loose box at one end of the building, stared over the
low partition with soft, astonishe