It is midnight, and--as you know--I am always up at five, but I must send
you just a few words before I go to bed, for these last two days have
been so full that it has seemed to be impossible to find a moment in
which to write you. "Business is rushing" at the Gray Homestead these
days, and everything going finely. The chickens and ducklings are all
coming along well--about four hundred of them--and we've had three
beautiful new heifer calves this week. Peter is beside himself with joy,
for they're all Holsteins. I went to Wallacetown yesterday afternoon, and
made another $200 payment on our note at the bank--at this rate we'll
have that halfway behind us soon.

To-day I've been over at your house every minute that I could spare and
succeeded in getting the last workman out--for good--at eight o'clock
this evening. (I bribed him to stay overtime. There are a few little odd
jobs left, but I can work those in myself in odd moments.) There is no
reason now why you shouldn't begin to send furniture any time you like. I
never would have believed that it would be possible to get three such
good bedrooms--not to mention a bathroom and closets--out of the attic,
or that tearing out partitions and unblocking fireplaces would work such
wonders downstairs. It's all just as you planned it that first day we
tramped over in the snow to see it--do you remember?--and it's all
lovely, especially your bedroom on the right of the front door, and the
big living-room on the left. The papers you chose are exactly right for
the walls, and the white paint looks so fresh and clean, and I'm sure the
piazza is deep enough to suit even you. I've ploughed and planted your
flower- and vegetable-gardens, as well as those at the Homestead, and
this warm, early spring is helping along the vegetation finely, so I
think things will soon be coming up. We've decided to try both wheat and
alfalfa as experiments this year, and I can hardly wait to see whether