"Gibby [1] and I," she writes towards the end of one October, "up a
little after five this morning and up the big hill to see the sun
rise. It was moonlight when we went out, and all so still and
indistinct--for it was a cloudy moon--that our steps and voices
sounded quite odd. It was mild enough, but so wet with dew that our
feet grew very cold. We waited some time on the top before he rose
and had a long talk with the Kaims shepherd. It was well worth
having gone; though there was nothing fine in the sky or clouds
compared to what I have constantly seen at sunrise. But what I
thought beautiful was the entire change that his rising made in
everything. All we were looking at suddenly became so bright and
cheerful, and a hum of people and noises of animals were heard from
the village." "I wish people," she adds impetuously, "would shake
off sleep as soon as the blushing morn does peep in at their
windows."

[1] Her brother Gilbert.

The entries in these early diaries show a quality of clear authentic
vision, which was afterwards so characteristic of her conversation. For
those who remember their own youthful feelings, even the stiff occasional
scraps of poetry she wrote at this time glow with a life not always
discernible in the deft writing of more experienced verse-makers.

The household was a brisk, cheerful, active one, and ruled by the spirit of
order necessary in a home where many different kinds of things are being
done each day by its different inmates. The children were treated with no
particular indulgence, and the elder ones were taught to be responsible not
only for their own actions, but for the good behaviour, and, in a certain