"How long did you write your dairy?"
"Diary, Peace. I am still writing it—"
"Ain't that book full yet?"
"Oh, yes, a dozen or more, but most of them were burned up in the fire at—"
"I thought maybe this was one of them." She held up the brown and gold volume, much disappointed to think it did not contain the record of those early attempts which Elizabeth had so charmingly described.
"No, dear, that is a notebook which I was intending to send John's youngest brother, Jasper, who thinks he wants to be an author, so he might jot down bits of information or interesting anecdotes to help him in his work. However, it just occurred to me that perhaps Peace Greenfield would like such a book to gather up sunbeams in."
"To gather up sunbeams?"
"Yes, dear. Don't you think it would be a nice plan these rainy, dreary days to write down all the cheerful bits of poetry you know or happy thoughts that come to you, or the pretty little fairy tales you and Allee love to make up about the moon lady and the brownies in the dell? You see, I have painted little brownies all along the margins of the various pages—"
"And they are carrying sunflowers," Peace interrupted.
"Sun-flowers if you wish," and Elizabeth made a wry face at her reflection in the mirror. "I called them black-eyed Susans, but sun-flower is a better name for them, because this is to be a sunshine book. Another coincidence—I have written on the fly-leaf the very verse I just quoted: