after supper.

To-morrow is my birthday and everyone has been invited and Mother has
made strawberry cream and waffles. How spiffing.

July 30th. To-day is my birthday. Father gave me a splendid parasol
with a flowered border and painting materials and Mother gave me a huge
postcard album for 800 cards and stories for school girls, and Dora gave
me a beautiful box of notepaper and Mother had made a chocolate-cream
cake for dinner to-day as well as the strawberry cream. The first thing
in the morning the Warths sent me three birthday cards. And Robert had
written on his: With deepest _respect your faithful R_. It is glorious
to have a birthday, everyone is so kind, even Dora. Oswald sent me a
wooden paper-knife, the handle is a dragon and the blade shoots out
of its mouth instead of flame; or perhaps the blade is its tongue, one
can't be quite sure. It has not rained yet on my birthday. Father says I
was born under a lucky star. That suits me all right, tip top.

July 31st. Yesterday was heavenly. We laughed till our sides ached over
Consequences. I was always being coupled with Robert and oh the things
we did together, not really of course but only in writing: kissed,
hugged, lost in the forest, bathed together; but I say, I wouldn't do
_that!_ quarrelled. That won't happen, it's quite impossible! Then we
drank my health clinking glasses five times and Robert wanted to drink
it in wine but Dora said that would never do! The real trouble was
this. She always gets furious if she has to play second fiddle to me and
yesterday I was certainly first fiddle.

Now I must write a word about to-day. We've had a splendid time. We
were in Tiefengraben with the Warths where there are such a lot of wild