And it’s sheer stupidity to track after a tradition.
I wound a large flapping piece of black crape about my head. (How awfully becoming the garb of a Catholic nun would be! I do not know what is dear, if it is not the rosary. A writhing rope around the waist is celestial carelessness.)
I appeared on the lawn, but without a sprinkler and rake. It would have been too theatrical to carry them.
I gathered the small stones from amid the grasses into a wheelbarrow near by.
Just as my new enterprise was beginning to seem so delightful, the luncheon gong gonged.
My uncle goggled from the hall, and said:
“Where have you been? I was afraid you had eloped.”
“I’ve no chance yet to meet a boy,” I spoke in an undertone.
Afterward I was ashamed that I had been so awkwardly sincere.
22nd—There was one thing that I wanted to test.