The bread was not a worthy invitation. I varied it with a fragment of ham.
Mr. Squirrel wasn’t void-stomached.
I thought he needed something to read. I tore a poem from the wall. I left it by his respectable cavern.
Lo!
His head sprouted out to pull it in.
“Aha, even the squirrel is a poetry devotee, in this hill!” I said in humourous mood.
18th—
“Most Beloved:
“Mamma was flogged with a bamboo rod some hundred times when she was a girl, her exchanging of a word with a boy over the fence being deemed an obscenity. My papa spent his lonely days in a room with Confucious till one night a middleman left him with my mamma as with a dolly. I do believe they never wrote any love letter.
“What would they say, I wonder, if they knew that their daughter had taken to Love-Letter Writing as a profession in Amerikey?