Write-On

One of four siblings

she made all the bread, because her father just loved hers. She said, "And people must have puddings..." This, very dreamily, as if puddings were comets.

- So she made them.

Her father was angry, and I have to think, at them from a great silence. He did not want them to read anything except the Bible. One day her brother hid her and Kavanagar under a piano cover and they had signs read over them. Finally her father found them and was upset. Presumably one of them had known another child (Miss Lydia Marie), who brought them books and hid them at the doors. They were then little things in short dresses with their feets on the rungs of the chair. Looking back then on what they discovered, she exclaims in ecstasy: “This then is a book!"  

"It is interesting. They say that the truth is such a strange thing."

She told them, "We are the ones who will play all of the cards in all of the stories that we have been told."

“She told me.”

I think I will mail this here as I have found time to write so much. It is peaceful country at sunrise.

T. W. Higginson (1823-1911), correspondent.

The next day she closes his notes and writes away his doctor. She dates the letter, Wednesday, noon.