Yours,
“Morning Glory”
19th—I forced Uncle to swear to me that he would overlook everything I did, in consideration of my great service in darning his socks.
I peeled off my shoes to begin with.
I sat like a Turk.
“Why do you frown like an Oni in hell?” I acidified my smile. I held my needle and thread suspended in the air, while I said: “What is a Trust?”
“Be quiet!” he exclaimed.
He didn’t even glance at me, being engaged in writing in the other nook.
“Uncle, your hair ought to be curled. I will step in to-morrow morning, and turn it up before you awake. What do you think, Uncle? Oji San!”
“Morning Glory San!”