Then she did kick many kicks in the air. I did tickle her toes. She likes to have her toes tickled. She has likes for it. This baby has likes for many things. She has likes to sit up on the bed. The mamma has me to prop it up so it won’t fall over. And this baby—it has likes to make bubbles with its mouth and to stick its foot in its mouth. It does like to rattle all the rattles the grandma and Jenny Strong and Elsie bring to it. It does have such likes to be rocked. And most of the times when it is awake, it does want to be singed to and carried about. It is a baby [that] has satisfaction looks on its face for a little time when it gets what it wants. It only has those satisfaction looks a little time. Soon it does have some more wants, and it wants to have what it wants. The mamma does have me to rock it and rock it and teeter it on the bed and walk the floor with it. Sometimes it does get most heavy. Then I do let my knees bend under and I do sit on the floor and rock it back and forth. The mamma, she does have much likes for it to have what it wants.
I am joy all over. I have found in the near woods a plant that has berries like the berries symphorine has. And its leaves are like the leaves symphorine has. I have had seeings of it before, and every time I do meet with this new old plant, I do say, “I have happy feels to see you, Symphorine.” And when the wind comes walking in the near woods, the little leaves of symphorine do whisper little whispers. I have thinks they are telling me they were come here before I was come here. I make a stop to have more listens. They do whisper, “See, petite Françoise, we were a long time come.” I can see they were, too, because their toes have grown quite a ways down in the ground.
To-day, as I did walk a walk to where they grow, I did tell them about the day that it is. I told them all about this being the borning day of Jeanne d’Albret, mère de Henri IV, in 1528. I told the year-numbers on my fingers. I had thinks they might have remembers better if I so told them on my fingers. I do have remembers of numbers better when I do tell them on my fingers. Brave Horatius did stand by and listen while I so told them. We went on.
I tied bits of bread on the tips of the branches of the trees. Too, I tied on popcorn kernels. They looked like snow-flowers blooming there on fir trees. I looked looks back at them. I have knows the birds will be glad for them. Often I do bring them here for them. When I do have hungry feels I feel the hungry feels the birds must be having. So I do have comes to tie things on the trees for them. Some have likes for different things. Little gray one of the black cap has likes for suet. And other folks has likes for other things.
There is a little box in the woods that I do keep things for the pheasants and grouses and squirrels and more little birds and wood-mouses and wood-rats. In fall-time days Peter Paul Rubens did come here with me when I did bring seeds and nuts to this box for days of hiver. When we were come to the box, I did have more thinks of him. I think the soul of Peter Paul Rubens is not afar. I think it is in the forest. I go looking for it. I climb up in the trees. I call and call. And then when I find it not, I do print a message on a leaf, and I tie it onto the highest limb I can reach. And I leave it there with a little prayer for Peter Paul Rubens. I do miss him so.
To-day, after I so did leave a message on a leaf away up in a tree for him, I did have going in along the lane and out across the field and down the road beyond the meeting of the roads. There was grayness everywhere—gray clouds in the sky and gray shadows above and in the canyon. And all the voices that did speak—they were gray tones. “Petite Françoise, c’est jour gris.” And all the little lichens I did see along the way did seem a very part of all the grayness. And Felix Mendelssohn in my apron pocket—he was a part of the grayness, too. And as I did go adown the road, I did meet with a gray horse—and his grayness was like the grayness of William Shakespeare. Then I did turn about. I did turn my face to the near woods where is William Shakespeare.
When Rob Ryder is n’t looking, I give to William Shakespeare pieces of apple and I pull grass for him. He so likes a nice bit to eat after he does pull a long pull on the logs. And while I do feed him bits of apple and bits of grass, I do tell him poems. William Shakespeare has likes for poems. And sometimes I do walk along by him when he is pulling in logs and I do tell the poems to him while he pulls. And I give his head rubs when he is tired, and his back too. And on some Sundays when he is in the pasture I go there to talk with him. He comes to meet me. William Shakespeare and I—we are friends. His soul is very beautiful. The man that wears gray neckties and is kind to mice says he is a dear old horse.
[CHAPTER XII
Of Elsie’s Brand-New Baby, and all the Things that Go with it; and the Goodly Wisdom of the Angels who Bring Folks Babies that Are like them.]
Elsie has a brand-new baby and all the things that go with it. There’s a pink fleur on its baby brush and a pink bow on its cradle-quilt. The angels brought the baby just last night in the night. I have been to see it a goodly number of times—most everything I did start to do, I went aside before I did get through doing it to take peeps at the darling baby. I so did when I was sent to feed the chickens, and when I went to carry in the wood, and when I went to visit Aphrodite, and when I went to take eggs to the folks that live yonder, and when I went to get some soap at the ranch-house, and when I went to take a sugar-lump to William Shakespeare, and when I went to take food to the folks in the hospital, and when I went to the ranch-house to get the milk. And in the between times I did go in the way that does lead to the house of Elsie.