And after that, of course, the white-bound _Baby Book_. My mother kept one of me. Absurd pictures are in it, a lock of yellow hair, and all sorts of dear, foolish comments. Even my first word is written there, with, I know, a vainglorious pen. The word is not startling. It is "birdie." Father has often told me that mother declared this initial effort of speech a direct sign of abnormal brilliancy on my part, as the dictionary meaning of my christian name is "European song thrush or throstle." I wonder if even a throstle would not get out of tune were it sentenced to life-long captivity? I am terribly restless of late. I think that both father and Sarah have noticed it. But they have said nothing. In winter, I lie almost dormant, but Spring breeds a fever in my blood, and Summer sets me frantic with the longing to be up and out and away. But of all the hours, I love the one, toward twilight, before sunset, when the light is long and level, and a mellow golden. A breeze springs up and whispers gently in the trees, and I come nearest of all then to a sense of peace and quietude. This hour is, I think, of all summer hours the one most significant of her. In winter, one does not find the day entering imperceptibly into that period of lovely transition; in winter, one has daylight and then darkness. Bedtime, Diary. The stars are thick tonight, and I can see the fireflies on the grass below my window, in pretty competition with the high, still light in the sky. Good-night! If I have been cross and rebellious in this writing, forgive me. It's only in books that a shut-in is angelic all the time! And even if I do write down my revolts and teacup revolutions in a book, I am still very far from being a heroine! I wonder--will Mr. Denton consent to the alien role of go-between and accomplice? CHAPTER III SOME LETTERS WOODLAND HOUSE SUMMIT, N. H. Dear little Mavis: Of course I know Richard Warren. He is a very nice person to know! And he will be more than glad to hear from you, I am sure. By all means write to him. I wish I were twenty-odd and a Poet, instead of fifty-even and a Publisher! However, I shall take the second best, and play go-between. Whenever you wish, I will further your schemes and preserve your incognito, you Designing Person! Affectionately JOHN DENTON July 6th FROM A ROSE-GREY BOWER July 7th To you-- A Maker of Songs: With your _Lyric Hour_ close beside me, and a picture of you in my imagination, I can feel little hesitancy in writing to tell you, as best I can, all that your poems have meant to me. I am, briefly, a "shut-in," in whose whole limited life books must necessarily play a greater part than in the active world of the well person.