Just now the men are busy digging potatoes. They are finding a good deal of disease in them, but probably will have enough to last through the season, as they always sow more than they require.
Sunday, February 9.—The other day at school a short piece from Mr. Peck's journal was read to the children, who were told to write out what they could remember of it. One little girl of nine began, "Mr. Peck live in a bag." The fur bag that he slept in interested them far more than anything else. The Sunday class of girls is very well attended, no girl staying away unless ill. It is difficult to get replies from some of them, but there are one or two who give very intelligent answers.
Tuesday, February 11.—It is a thick misty day, but a ship is coming in. The men have had such a rush to get off, some having run all the way from the Potato patches and arriving on the beach in a great state of heat. In a few minutes others appeared just as the second boat was going off, one so breathless he could not speak. But after all their efforts they failed to reach the ship, which kept too far out.
Wednesday, February 12.—Last Saturday all the school-children were turned into the wheat-field to help to thresh the wheat. Flails had been made by tying pieces of wood to cricket stumps. The boys beat the sheaves with great energy, especially the younger ones. Graham and I have spent our whole afternoon in threshing and he is now winnowing by moonlight.
Monday, February 17.—On Friday afternoon with the girls' help we finished threshing the wheat and the next day winnowed it.
Tuesday, February 18.—Mrs. Andrew Swain brought us this evening a few apples and four peaches. These are the first peaches we have seen; they are green, but will soon ripen. Her husband brought about half a bushel home, but the trees rarely bear; probably they are too old.
We had seriously thought this week of camping out near the ponds. For a tent we should have taken an old sail. The weather, however, has become so unsettled we have given up the idea.
Thursday, February 20.—Graham ground a little wheat yesterday between two stones and I made a loaf of it, which he says is the best brown bread he has ever tasted.
We have just been taking a turn in the dusk, and on the way called at the Repettos' to find out the name of the owners of the Greta Holme, the steamer which has been here more than once. We think we may perhaps get it to call for us to take us home.
Monday, February 24.—It is such a quiet evening, the lamps are lit and the windows are wide open and we can plainly hear the gurgling of the stream outside.