There are beautiful roofs and walls here. I guess you would
think you were high up! Harett and I go up from under the
cheese-room windows right over the whole house, and we sit on
the peak by the chimney. Harett is Mrs. Dillon's girl. Not the
girl that lives with her,--her daughter. But the girls that
live with people are daughters here. Somebody's else, I mean.
They are all alike. I suppose her name is Harriet, but they all
call her Harett. I don't like to ask her for fear she should
think I thought they didn't know how to pronounce.

I go to school with Harett; up to the West District. We carry
brown bread and butter, and doughnuts, and cheese, and
apple-pie in tin pails, for luncheon. Don't you remember the
brown cupboard in Aunt Oldways' kitchen, how sagey, and
doughnutty, and good it always smelt? It smells just so now,
and everything tastes just the same.

There is a great rock under an oak tree half way up to school,
by the side of the road. We always stop there to rest, coming
home. Three of the girls come the same way as far as that, and
we always save some of our dinner to eat up there, and we tell
stories. I tell them about dancing-school, and the time we went
to the theatre to see "Cinderella," and going shopping with
mother, and our little tea-parties, and the Dutch dolls we made
up in the long front chamber. O, _don't_ you remember, Laura?
What different pieces we have got into our remembrances
already! I feel as if I was making patchwork. Some-time,
may-be, I shall tell somebody about living _here_. Well, they
will be beautiful stories! Homesworth is an elegant place to