heart. Once I got so discouraged at the idea of having all this hades
in this life that I mingled tears with the beads of perspiration that
rolled down my cheeks, and she snatched me out of those steaming
grave-clothes in less time than it takes to tell it, soused me in
a tub of cold water, fed me a chicken wing and a hot biscuit and the
information that I was "good-looking enough for _anybody_ to eat up
alive without all this foolishness," all in a very few seconds. Now I
have to beg her to help me and I heard her tell her nephew, who does the
gardening, that she felt like an undertaker with such goings-on. At any
rate, if it all kills me it won't be my fault if anybody has to lie in
saying that I was "beautiful in death".

But now that more than a month has passed, I really don't mind it so
much. I feel so good and strong and prancy all the time that I can't
keep from bubbling. I have to smile at myself.

Then another thing that helps is Billy and his ball. I never could
really play with him before, but now I can't help it. But an awful thing
happened about that yesterday. We were in the garden playing over by the
lilac bushes and Billy always beats me because when he runs to base he
throws himself down and slides along on the grass on his little stomach
as he sees the real players do over at the ball grounds. Then all of a
sudden, before I knew it, I just did the same thing, and we slid to the
flower pot we use as a base together, each on his own stomach. And what
did Billy do but begin right there on the grass the kind of a tussle we
always have in the big rocking-chair on the porch! Over and over we
rolled, Billy chuckling and squealing while I laughed myself all out of
breath. I'm glad I always would wear delicious petticoats, for there,
looking right over my front fence, I discovered Judge Benton Wade. I
wish I could write down how I felt, for I never had that sensation