OUR GUEST BOOK 



permints are hidden, the old Italian oil jar filled with 

 peanuts for the squirrels! After chipmunks and squir- 

 rels have had their fill, sometimes a wistful voice ob- 

 serves : "We like peanuts, too." In the cool of the 

 late afternoon when little feet have grown weary and 

 little tongues grown still, sometimes there come bliss- 

 ful moments of drifting over deep waters where mer- 

 maids may be lingering and fairies cannot be so very 

 far away. 



How pleased and proud we are to seize occasionally 

 one who is perhaps our greatest living American sculp- 

 tor and carry him off to our lair in the country! Here 

 he enjoys each leaf on each shrub just as we do, and 

 enters into our bird life with sympathetic comprehen- 

 sion. At his own beautiful place in the Berkshires he 

 boasted of a deer who now and then visited his corn 

 field. The gardener naturally wished to shoot it. 



"But," he protested, "I 'd rather have that deer than 

 fifty corn fields." 



So modest is he that it is next to impossible to per- 

 suade him to talk about his work, and as unassuming as 



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