Ye gods!
He is now asleep, and I am writing this at 2 A. M.
I, and I alone, know that there is a Criminal in this house, serving our meals and quareling with the cook as if a regular Butler, but really a Spy. And although I cry aloud in my anguish, those who hear me but maintain that I am having a nightmare.
I am a Voice crying in the Wilderness.
April 15th: 9 A. M. William is going about as usual, but looks as though he had not had enough sleep.
Father has told mother about last night, and I am not to have coffee in the evenings. This is not surprizing, as they have always considered me from a physical and not a mental standpoint.
My very Soul is in revolt.
6 P. M. This being Sunday, camp did not convene until 3 P. M. and then but for a short time. We flag-signaled mostly and are now to the letter E. Also got the gun loaded at last and fired it several times, I giving the orders as in the book, page 262, in a loud voice:
(1) “Hold the rifle on the mark.” (2) “Aim properly.” (3) “Squeeze the Triger properly.” (4) “Call the shot.”
We had but just started, and Mademoiselle had taken the car and gone back to the Adams’s resadence to bring out Mr. Adams, as she considers gun-shooting as dangerous, when a farmer with to dogs came over a fense and objected, saying that it was Sunday and that his cows were getting excited anyhow and would probably not give any milk.