"Because you shouldn't see anything I put down. I just thought I would write a bit each day until we get to Penetang; but there are things which a woman would not want to tell to a man, even her husband."
"I never thought of that," he replied gravely. "Still, there may be truth in it."
"I don't want to be mean, Harold," she said relentingly, handing him the scrap book. "Read it this time, but please let me write what I want without showing it to you again, until we reach Penetang anyway. I promise that you may read the whole of it then if you insist."
"Well, I agree," he replied, stooping to kiss her. "Writing letters to nobody with nobody to read them."
"Who else should read them but the nobody for whom they were written," was her laughing response.
The horses were harnessed, but he had still time to glance hastily over the first entry of her diary. It ran thus:
"Shebenacadie, Nova Scotia, Jan., 1814.
"Just three days and nights since we left Halifax. The weather sharp, cold and bright, with scarcely a cloud in the sky at any time, and jolly long drives they have been. We had great fun at a lumber camp on our first day out. A good-natured Scotchman was what they call 'Boss' and he made it very pleasant for us. He gave us an excellent dinner and was very gallant to us all, but he tried to be funny, too. For instance, he told me it was lucky I was not going to stay in Nova Scotia, for if I did, I would become a 'blue-nose' like the rest of the women, for I was catching the disease already.
"I laughingly repudiated the charge and told him it was a calumny upon the Nova Scotia women, for their noses were all a natural color.
"'My dear woman,' he replied, 'I'm no daft. Their noses are all blue, but for the sake of effect they just paint 'em pink.'