Eves Diary | Page 4

I am happy; but those were
heavy days; I do not think of them when I can help it.
I tried to get him some of those apples, but I cannot learn to throw
straight. I failed, but I think the good intention pleased him. They are
forbidden, and he says I shall come to harm; but so I come to harm
through pleasing him, why shall I care for that harm?

MONDAY.--This morning I told him my name, hoping it would
interest him. But he did not care for it. It is strange. If he should tell me
his name, I would care. I think it would be pleasanter in my ears than
any other sound.
He talks very little. Perhaps it is because he is not bright, and is
sensitive about it and wishes to conceal it. It is such a pity that he
should feel so, for brightness is nothing; it is in the heart that the values
lie. I wish I could make him understand that a loving good heart is

riches, and riches enough, and that without it intellect is poverty.
Although he talks so little, he has quite a considerable vocabulary. This
morning he used a surprisingly good word. He evidently recognized,
himself, that it was a good one, for he worked in in twice afterward,
casually. It was good casual art, still it showed that he possesses a
certain quality of perception. Without a doubt that seed can be made to
grow, if cultivated.
Where did he get that word? I do not think I have ever used it.
No, he took no interest in my name. I tried to hide my disappointment,
but I suppose I did not succeed. I went away and sat on the moss-bank
with my feet in the water. It is where I go when I hunger for
companionship, some one to look at, some one to talk to. It is not
enough--that lovely white body painted there in the pool--but it is
something, and something is better than utter loneliness. It talks when I
talk; it is sad when I am sad; it comforts me with its sympathy; it says,
"Do not be downhearted, you poor friendless girl; I will be your
friend." It IS a good friend to me, and my only one; it is my sister.
That first time that she forsook me! ah, I shall never forget that --never,
never. My heart was lead in my body! I said, "She was all I had, and
now she is gone!" In my despair I said, "Break, my heart; I cannot bear
my life any more!" and hid my face in my hands, and there was no
solace for me. And when I took them away, after a little, there she was
again, white and shining and beautiful, and I sprang into her arms!
That was perfect happiness; I had known happiness before, but it was
not like this, which was ecstasy. I never doubted her afterward.
Sometimes she stayed away--maybe an hour, maybe almost the whole
day, but I waited and did not doubt; I said, "She is busy, or she is gone
on a journey, but she will come." And it was so: she always did. At
night she would not come if it was dark, for she was a timid little thing;
but if there was a moon she would come. I am not afraid of the dark,
but she is younger than I am; she was born after I was. Many and many
are the visits I have paid her; she is my comfort and my refuge when
my life is hard--and it is mainly that.

TUESDAY.--All the morning I was at work improving the estate; and I
purposely kept away from him in the hope that he would get lonely and
come. But he did not.
At noon I stopped for the day and took my recreation by flitting all
about with the bees and the butterflies and reveling in the flowers,
those beautiful creatures that catch the smile of God out of the sky and
preserve it! I gathered them, and made them into wreaths and garlands
and clothed myself in them while I ate my luncheon--apples, of course;
then I sat in the shade and wished and waited. But he did not come.
But no matter. Nothing would have come of it, for he does not care for
flowers. He called them rubbish, and cannot tell one from another, and
thinks it is superior to feel like that. He does not care for me, he does
not care for flowers, he does not care for the painted sky at eventide--is
there anything he does care for, except building shacks to coop himself
up in from the good clean rain, and