OUR COUNTRY LIFE 



to year with the names of relatives, friends, and 

 acquaintances. 



When we ask a visitor who has not been to our home 

 before to write in the guest book, a curious, pensive, 

 not to say haunted, look comes into his face especially 

 if he is famous with pen or brush. And I have even 

 known him to say, "Mayn't I just wait a little?" 



"For an inspiration?" 



Then when we explain that the only tribute levied 

 is the autograph, the relief in his countenance and the 

 alacrity with which he rises to the occasion are de 

 lightful to witness. 



When we leave for the winter this beloved book 

 of white vellum is carefully wrapped in its leather 

 case, placed in a cotton-flannel bag, then in a tin box 

 which is enveloped in paper to keep out the dampness, 

 put inside another tin box and carried out of the house. 



What a long procession of figures moves before me 

 as I turn the leaves of our guest book, from the "mark" 

 of the tiny tot just toddling across the floor, our first 

 grandniece, to the fine, firm hand of my dear 



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