15th—Shall I make a little kimono for Schuyler’s baby? It would be a souvenir of my visit. The crape kept in the Jap stores of this town isn’t appropriate for a baby’s “bebe.” My flower-dyed under-kimono should be utilized. I opened my trunk. Mother Schuyler brought in a young lady. She was her niece, that is to say the daughter of Mrs. Ellis. Mrs. Ellis is the one with the long hair on her cheek. I told them of my new drift. They were surprised at my determination. Miss Olive applied to be my pupil in Japanese sewing. What a southern name! Olive perfectly fits for a girl born in the passionate breeze. Her “Is that so?” or “Don’t you?” fluttered affectionately like golden sunshine. Mrs. Schuyler bade her servant to move in the machine. I objected. Machine-clicking is not Oriental. The “bebe” has to be done in pure Japanese. 16th—I found a hammock on the veranda. It is the thing for summer, of course. I never laid me in it before in my life. I thought that I would see how I would feel. I hanged it. I romped in it. It was delightful. I fancied that we—I and who?—hammocked among the summer breezes. Then a star appeared. He said, “How beautiful the star is!” What did I fancy next? Oh, never mind! I tossed my feet. The skirt fluttered. My new satin slippers—number one and a half—were all seen. I drew up my skirt a little, and made a whole show of my honourable legs. I prayed that somebody would pass by to fling an adoring glance at them. No one roamed along. I scorned my frivolity. The Bible by me wasn’t open at all. I decided to read it to-day, although religion isn’t so becoming. My Bishop sent it this morning. Dear old Bishop! He thought me quite a docile “nenne.” I stretched my body in the hammock. Alas, ma! My hana kanzashi with the butterflies was caught by the meshes. The wings of one butterfly were tortured. Yes, I had put a Japanese pin on my hair this morning. I hoped I could pay a bit more attention to my head all the time. I was sad for a while. 17th—Good Annie wrote me from Mrs. Willis’. What a scrawl! But woman’s bad grammar and infirm penmanship are pathetic, don’t you think so? It might look better on a thin blue tablet. But poor Annie chose such thick smooth paper. Oya! What? A five-dollar check? My goodness, I had forgotten all about my lottery! Even the ticket I have lost. It drew out five dollars. Why not thirty thousand dollars? It was better than a blank, anyway, I said philosophically. Now let me send a little present to my home! A little thing is a deal sweeter. I ordered fourteen packets of N. Y. Central Park lawn seed from a nursery. New York Central Park! Doesn’t it sound grand? And other flower seeds also. The dwarf sweet pea is named “Cupid.” It will be no wonder if my father mistakes it for a kibisho. Cupid is a handsome boy, not a bullfrog-looking teapot, funny papa!