think perhaps I shall have note-books for the four seasons, and that’ll take a good while.  Two of the best chapters in Jenny’s book are called ‘on my face’ and ’on my back,’ and they are about what he sees lying on his face and then on his back.  I’m going to do the same, and put down everything, just as it comes; beetles, chrysalises, flowers, funguses, mosses, earth-nuts, and land-snails, all just as I find them.  If one began with different note-books for the creatures, and the plants, and the shells, it would be quite endless.  I think I shall start at that place in the hedge in the croft where we found the bumble-bee’s nest.  I should like to find a mole-cricket, but I don’t know if they live about here.  Perhaps our soil isn’t light enough for them to make their tunnels in, but one ought to find no end of curious burrowing creatures when one is on one’s face, besides grubs of moths to hatch afterwards.  When I am on my back, I fancy what I shall see most of are spiders.  You can’t conceive what a lot of spiders there are in the world, all sorts and sizes.  They are divided into hunters, wanderers, weavers, and swimmers.  I expect you’ll see some queer ones, if you go to hot places.  And oh, Jack! talking of burrows, of course you’re in Nova Scotia, and that’s where Cape Sable is, where the stormy petrels make their houses in the sand.  They are what sailors call Mother Carey’s chickens, you know.  I’m sure we’ve read about them in adventure books; they always come with storms, and sailors think they build their nests on the wave.  But they don’t, Jack, so you mustn’t think so.  They make burrows in the sand, and all day they are out on the wing, picking up what the storms toss to the top, and what the cooks throw overboard, and then they go home, miles and miles and miles at night, and feed their young.  They don’t take the trouble to make houses if they can find any old rabbit-burrows near enough to the sea, Mr. Wood says; like the puffins.  Do you know, one evening when old Isaac came to see me, I made him laugh about the puffins till the tears ran down his face.  It was with showing him that old stuffed puffin, and telling him how the puffin gets into a rabbit-burrow, and when the rabbit comes back they set to and fight, and the puffin generally gets the best of it with having such a great hooked nose.  Isaac was so funny.  He said he’d seen the rabbits out on the spree many and many a moonlight night when sober folks were in bed; and then he smacked his knees and said, ’But I’d give owt to see one on ’em just nip home and find a Pooffin upon t’ hearthstun.’  And, my dear Jack, who else has been to see me, do you think?  Fancy!  Lorraine!  You remember our hearing the poor Colonel was dead, and had left Lorraine all that he had?  Well, do you know it is a great deal more than we thought.  I mean he’s got a regular estate and a big house with old pictures inside, and old trees outside.  Quite a swell.  Poor Lorraine!  I don’t mean poor because