30 The Sort of Life We Lead 



they come to much so late, but worth trying. Had 

 to branch up some of the tomato vines, which were 

 too heavy for the twigs already under them. Yes- 

 terday's rain seems to have given a new start to the 

 whole garden, which last week seemed to be taking 

 a rest after the summer's exertions, and ready to 

 give up the battle for the year. The late beans, 

 carrots, turnips, lettuce, tomatoes looking superb. 

 Wrote from ten to twelve, intending to go oystering 

 in the afternoon with the children. After lunch it 

 was blowing great guns on the bay, the white caps 

 in every direction. Only half-a-dozen boats out, 

 and those triple-reefed; too rough for pleasant 

 oystering, and so started off again for the woods, 

 baby and all, the baby going along in his carriage. 

 Went in for tree-cutting as if life depended upon it. 

 Took a new road across country coming back, and 

 got lost, but found a deserted orchard and filled 

 the baby-carriage with enough stolen apples to last 

 a week. No letters in the mail, no books, nothing. 

 Finished up the Galaxy sketches of James, and 

 voted them well worth the time spent upon them. 



Wednesday. A touch of frost in the air, although 

 September is not half over. After breakfast, filled 

 up some gaps in my new strawberry bed with run- 

 ners from the old one. Dug four post-holes in 



