The Sort of Life We Lead 29 



stacked it up near the strawberry bed ready for use 

 by the time the ground is well frozen. Wrote after 

 luncheon from one to three o'clock. Started out 

 at three for the woods with the children, and went 

 two miles to chop down some pines that we can 

 have for almost nothing for firewood. Cut up 

 enough to make a quarter of a cord, I should 

 think, and got back at sundown with enough twigs 

 to make kindling for a week. When my neighbor 

 B. gets ready next month to haul our wood-pile 

 home, he will find that my axe has been kept sharp. 

 The day ended with a splendid break of sunshine, 

 the pink of the whole west presaging the coming 

 autumn. Every blow of the axe seems to bring up 

 pictures of what glorious good fires these pine logs 

 will make for us. On the way home stopped for 

 the mail, a bundle of books coming from the 

 library. After dinner read some sketches of 

 Henry James, published in the old Galaxy years 

 ago, which E. sends us as worth reading. They 

 have all James" present subtlety with the pictur- 

 esque quality that he appears to have lost in some 

 degree, judging from his recent French studies. 



Tuesday. Hard work in the garden before 

 breakfast and until ten o'clock. Hoed up all the 

 bean plants and planted late carrots; doubtful if 



