ng so dead
as a young widow's deceased husband, and God ought to give His wisest
man-angel special charge concerning looking after her and the devil at
the same time. They both need it! I don't know how all this is going to
end and I wish my mind wasn't in a kind of tingle. However, I'll do the
best I can and not hold myself at all responsible for myself, and then
who will there be to blame?

There are a great many kinds of good-feeling in this world, from radiant
joy down to perfect bliss, but this spring I have got an attack of just
old-fashioned happiness that looks as if it might become chronic.

I am so happy that I planted my garden all crooked, my eyes upon the
clouds with the birds sailing against them, and when I became conscious
I found wicked flaunting poppies sprouted right up against the sweet
modest clover-pinks, while the whole paper of bachelor's-buttons was
sowed over everything--which I immediately began to dig right up again,
blushing furiously to myself over the trowel, and glad that I had caught
myself before they grew up to laugh in my face. However, I got that
laugh anyway, and I might just as well have left them, for Billy ran to
the gate and called Doctor John to come in and make Molly stop digging
up his buttons. Billy claims everything in this garden, and he thought
they would grow up into the kind of buttons you pop out of a gun.

"So you're digging up the bachelor-pops, Mrs. Molly?" the doctor asked
as he leaned over the gate. I went right on digging without looking up
at him. I couldn't look up because I was blushing still worse. Sometimes
I hate that man, and if he wasn't Billy's father I wouldn't neighbor
with him as I do. But somebody _has_ to look after Billy.

I believe it will be a real relief to write down how I feel about him
in his old book and I shall do it whenever I can't stand him any longer,
and if he gave the horrid, red leather thing to me to make me miserable,
he can't do it; not this spring! I wish I dared burn it up and forget
about it, but I don't! This record on the first page is enough to
_reduce_ me--to tears, and I wonder why it doesn't.

I weigh one hundred and sixty pounds, down in black and white, and it
is a tragedy! I don't believe that man at the grocery store is so very
reliable in his weights, though he had a very pleasant smile while he
was weighing me. Still I had better get some scales of my own, smiles
are so deceptive.

I am five feet three inches