Of co'se, Sonny, he bein' at home, an' she bein' his company, why, he talks constant, an' she'll glance up at him sort o' sideways occasional. Wife an' me, we find it ez much ez we can do, sometimes, to hold in; we feel so tickled over their cunnin' little ways together. To see Sonny politely take her cup o' tea an' po' it out in her saucer to cool for her so nice, why, it takes all the dignity we can put on to cover our amusement over it. You see, they've only lately teethed together, them child'en. I reckon the thing sort o' got started last summer. I know he give her a flyin' squir'l, an' she embroidered him a hat-band. I suspicioned then what was comin', an' I advised wife to make up a few white-bosomed shirts for him, an' she didn't git 'em done none too soon. 'Twasn't no time befo' he called for 'em. A while back befo' that I taken notice thet he 'd put a few idees down on sheets o' paper for her to write her compositions by. Of co'se, he wouldn't _write_ 'em. He's too honest. He'd thess sugges' idees promiscu'us. She's got words, so he says, an' so she'd write out mighty nice compositions by his hints. I taken notice thet in this world it's often that-a-way; one'll have idees, an' another'll have words. They ain't always bestowed together. When they are, why, then, I reckon, them are the book-writers. Sonny he's got purty consider'ble o' both for his age, but, of co'se, he wouldn't never aspire to put nothin' he could think up into no printed book, I don't reckon; though he's got three blank books filled with the routine of "out-door housekeeping," ez he calls it, the way it's kep' by varmints an' things out o' doors under loose tree-barks an' in all sorts of outlandish places. I did only last week find a piece o' paper with a po'try verse on it in his hand-write on his little table. I suspicioned thet it was his composin', because the name "Mary Elizabeth" occurred in two places in it, though, of co'se, they's other Mary Elizabeths. He's a goin' to fetch that housekeepin' book up north with him, an' my opinion is thet he's a-projec'ing to show it to Mr. Burroughs. But likely he won't have the courage. Yas; take it all together, I'm glad them two child'en has took the notion. It'll be a good thing for him whilst he's throwed in with all sorts o' travelin' folks goin' an' comin' to reelize thet he's got a little sweetheart at home, an' thet she's bein' loved an' cherished by his father an' mother du'in' his absence. Even after they've gone their sep'rate ways, ez they most likely will in time, it'll be a pleasure to 'em to look back to the time when they was little sweethearts. I know I had a number, off an' on, when I was a youngster, an' they're every one hung up--in my mind, of co'se--in little gilt frames, each one to herself. An' sometimes, when I think 'em over, I imagine thet they's sweet, bunches of wild vi'lets a-settin' under every one of 'em--all 'cep'n' one, an' I always seem to see pinks under hers.