And I liked a story about an Irish patriot who, when they brought him an address of honor with a green cover, told them to take it away and bind it in purple, the color of the heather. Also I loved to read about heroines with "eyes like the purple twilight," though just at present these are scarce in our part of the country. One of our forbears (funny word--for _we_ are the Four Bears, the little ones! Somebody I know is the Big Big Growly--only don't tell him!) well, one of our ancestors--immediate ancestors, I mean--left us blue eyes, but as we grew older they all turned gray, which I think unfair. Later on, I loved to be told about the "purple Codex"--that is, the Gospels written out on purple vellum in letters all gold. That must be lovely. I tried to stain a sheet with Amethystine ink, and print on it in gold paint. But it only looked blotchy and stupid--you never saw such a mess. So I thought it was better just to dream about the Codex. I wasn't born in the purple myself, but I resolved early never to marry anybody that wasn't. And I should have a purple nursery, and purple bibs, and a purple "prim-pram," and a nurse with purple strings to her caps, and baby should live exclusively on preserved violets (candied) and beautiful purple jelly. Then wouldn't she be a happy child? Not commonplace like me, and compelled to wear a clean white pinafore. They don't half know how to bring up children now-a-days. Oh, how I do wish that I had been "born in the purple!" But I wasn't, and white soils so easily. You see, if the purple were only dark enough, you wouldn't get scolded half so much, and they wouldn't all the time be telling you that milk food is "so wholesome"! Oh, how tired I am of being told that! Still, after all, chocolate isn't bad, and you can easily make believe that it is purple instead of brown. At least _I_ can. And it tastes just the same. Good-by, Dear, my Diary. There's Nurse calling. III PRESENTS _Still the Same Age. But no Date._ I wish we could choose our own presents, don't you? People give you surprises, or think they do. For mostly you can tell pretty well by keeping an eye on the parcels and things as they come in. Or one of the servants tells you, or you hear the Grown-ups whispering when they think you are not attending. Attending! Why, you are always attending. How could you learn else? _They_ did just the same themselves, only they forget. Of all presents, I hate most "useful" ones--"to teach you how to keep your things tidy," and what "you will be sure to need by and by, you know, dear!" For when the time comes you've had it so long that you don't care a button about it. I suppose there are some Miss Polly Prinks who like things to put on. But I haven't got to _that_ yet. Nor yet money that you are told you mustn't spend. There ought to be a "Misfit Presents' Emporium," where you could take all the presents you don't care about and get them exchanged for what you do.