millions of hooks and buttons. My old Bella is back with me, but she
has found a mistress whose temper has shortened as the temperature has
risen. Yesterday she fumbled so fastening my dress that I jumped round
on her, stamped my foot, and said, "Bella, I shall slap you in a
minute," She replied in such a reproving tone, "Oh! Missee Baba." Tea
makes one feel better, and then there is tennis and a drive in the
cool of the evening.

Mosquitoes are a great trial. They don't worry so much through the
day, but at night--at night, when one with infinite care has examined
the inside of the mosquito-curtains to make sure none are lurking, and
then, satisfied, has dived into bed and tucked the curtain carefully
round, and is just going off to sleep--buzz-z-z sounds the hateful
thing, and all hope of a quiet night is gone. The other night I woke
and found G. springing all over her bed like a kangaroo. At first I
thought she had gone mad, dog-like, with the heat, but it turned out
she was only stalking a mosquito.

Yesterday we all went--Mrs. Townley, Sister Anna Margaret, G., and
I--to the Calcutta Zoo. We fed the monkeys with buns, watched the
loathly little snakes crawl among the grass in their cages, and then
G. began gratuitously to insult a large fierce tiger by poking at it
with her sunshade.

It wasn't a kind thing to do, for it is surely bad enough to be caged
without having a sunshade poked at one, and evidently the tiger
thought so, for it lashed its tail and its roars shook the cage. We
went home, and retribution followed swift and sure.

The first floor of the house consists of the drawing-room and two