The path of true love never ran smooth; difficulties were encountered at once.  Philip put a generous supply of straw in one end of the box for a bed, but when he put them in they turned round and round as if they were not quite satisfied with their lodgings.  Then Philip had one of those dazzling ideas which so often led to trouble with the other members of his family.  He made a hurried visit to Rose’s—­his sister’s —­room.  Rose was a grown-up lady of twelve.

When he came back, he brought with him a dove-grey chiffon auto veil, the kind that was much favored that spring by young ladies in Rose’s set, for a head protection instead of hats.

Rose’s intimate friend, Hattie Matthews, had that very day put a knot in each side, which made it fit very artistically on Rose’s head.  Philip carefully untied the knots, and draped it over the straw.  The effect was beautiful.  Philip exclaimed with delight!  They looked so pretty and “woozy”!

In the innocence of his heart, he ran into the house, for Rose; he wanted her to rejoice with him.

Rose’s language was pointed, though dignified, and the pretty sight was ruthlessly broken up.  Philip’s mother, however, stepped into the gap, and produced an old, pale blue veil of her own, which was equally becoming.

It was she, too, who proposed a pigeon book, and a very pleasant time was spent making it,—­for it was not a common book, bought with money, but one made by loving hands.  Several sheets of linen notepaper were used for the inside, with stiff yellow paper for the cover, the whole fastened with pale blue silk.  Then Philip printed on the cover: 

Philip Brown,
Pigeon Book,

but not in any ordinary, plain, little bits of letters!  Each capital was topped off with an arrow, and ended with a feather, and even the small letters had a thick blanket of dots.

The first entry was as follows: 

April 7th.—­I wocked out to Crane’s, and got 2 fantales. they are hard to ketch.  I payed 25 scents.  My father knailed a box on the stable, and I put in a bed of straw, they are bootiful. my sister would not let me have her vale, but I got one prettier. they look woozy.

The next day, Sunday, Philip did not see how he could go to church or Sunday-school—­he had not time, he said, but his mother agreed to watch the pigeons, and so his religious obligations did not need to be set aside.

Monday afternoon the Browns’ back yard was full of little boys inspecting Philip’s pigeons, not merely idle onlookers, but hard-headed poultry fanciers, as shown by the following entry: 

April 9th.—­I sold a pare of white ones to-day to Wilfred Garbett, to be kept three weeks after birth, Eva Gayton wants a pare too any color, in July.  She paid for them.

Under this entry, which was made laboriously in ink, there was another one, in lead pencil, done by Philip’s brother, Jack: