he table.

It all happened in a flash,--before I could catch my breath the table
was overturned, chairs were flying, bedlam had broken loose. In vain I
commanded, implored, threatened,--I might as well have spoken to the
raging sea.

[Illustration: "The table was overturned, chairs were flying, bedlam had
broken loose."]

Dreadful moments followed, during which I could only dodge chairs and
wring my hands wildly. Worse was to come, however,--when I saw Killis
grab the shovel, Nucky the poker, and Keats the tongs, while Philip
wrested off a table-leg, and Taulbee and others either smashed chairs to
pieces for weapons, or seized remaining table-legs, then indeed I felt
that death was imminent for all concerned, and, running to the door,
shrieked for Howard and the big boys over the workshop. Returning, I
plucked the broom from Iry, and rushed with it, straw end foremost, into
the thick of the fight. I was lammed on the head by a shovel, on the
shoulder by a table-leg, on the elbow by something,--it is not safe to
say what might have been the outcome had not Howard opportunely arrived,
snatched the broom from me, and, with the handle-end, beaten and whacked
the boys mercilessly until they finally surrendered their weapons and
retired, bloody but happy, from the "battle."

I lay long awake last night, not from fleas, but nursing bruises and
reconstructing theories. I see now that love and gentleness need to be
backed up by good muscle, and that to be a success in my undertaking
here I require, not the small body I actually possess, but the physique
of an Amazon. Of course it is all a mistake, and I must give it up, even
sooner than I had anticipated. But I am sorry,--the boys are most
attractive, and time spent with them passes with lightning
swiftness,--incredible as it seems, for seven whole days I have not had
a chance to think of myself, my grief, my loneliness. Undoubtedly this
is the Lethe I need,--but if its waves buffet me to bits, what then?

_Later._

Inspiration came when I visited the loom-house this morning, and saw
Cleo Royce, the head-weaving-girl, at her work. She is so large and
handsome and strong,--a young Juno, with glorious muscle. The heads are
to let her come to the cottage and occupy a cot in my room,--I am
determined to stay out my month.

_Wednesday._

For two days I have taken away their scanty playtime from the boys in
punishment of their fighting Sunday night. Yesterday I