Papa rises about 1/2 past 7 in the morning, breakfasts at eight, writes, plays tennis with Clara and me and tries to make the donkey go, in the morning; does varius things in P.M., and in the evening plays tennis with Clara and me and amuses Jean and the donkey.

Mama rises about 1/4 to eight, breakfasts at eight, teaches Jean German reading from 9-10; reads German with me from 10-11.  Then she reads studdies or visits with aunt Susie for a while, and then she reads to Clara and I till lunch time things connected with English history (for we hope to go to England next summer) while we sew.  Then we have lunch.  She studdies for about half an hour or visits with aunt Susie, then reads to us an hour or more, then studdies writes reads and rests till supper time.  After supper she sits out on the porch and works till eight o’clock, from eight o’clock to bedtime she plays whist with papa and after she has retired she reads and studdies German for a while.

    Clara and I do most everything from practicing to donkey riding and
    playing tag.  While Jean’s time is spent in asking mama what she can
    have to eat.

It is impossible, at this distance, to convey all that the farm meant to the children during the summers of their infancy and childhood and girlhood which they spent there.  It was the paradise, the dreamland they looked forward to during all the rest of the year.  Through the long, happy months there they grew strong and brown, and drank deeply of the joy of life.  Their cousins Julia, Jervis, and Ida Langdon ranged about their own ages and were almost their daily companions.  Their games were mainly of the out-of-doors; the woods and meadows and hillside pastures were their playground.  Susy was thirteen when she began her diary; a gentle, thoughtful, romantic child.  One afternoon she discovered a wonderful tangle of vines and bushes between the study and the sunset—­a rare hiding-place.  She ran breathlessly to her aunt: 

“Can I have it?  Can Clara and I have it all for our own?”

The petition was granted, of course, and the place was named Helen’s Bower, for they were reading Thaddeus of Warsaw and the name appealed to Susy’s poetic fancy.  Then Mrs. Clemens conceived the idea of building a house for the children just beyond the bower.  It was a complete little cottage when finished, with a porch and with furnishings contributed by friends and members of the family.  There was a stove—­a tiny affair, but practical—­dishes, table, chairs, shelves, and a broom.  The little house was named Ellerslie, out of Grace Aguilar’s Days of Robert Bruce, and became one of the children’s most beloved possessions.  But alas for Helen’s Bower!  A workman was sent to clear away the debris after the builders, and being a practical man, he cut away Helen’s Bower—­destroyed it utterly.  Susy first discovered the vandalism, and came rushing to the house in a torrent of sorrow.  For her the joy of life seemed ended, and it was long before she could be comforted.  But Ellerslie in time satisfied her hunger for retreat, became, in fact, the nucleus around which the children’s summer happiness centered.