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The Diary of a Goose Girl
only last night； or I should not have had it with me。 I wore the same
dress to the post…office yesterday that I wore to the Hen Conference to…day；
and so it chanced to be still in the pocket。 If it had been anything I valued；
of course I should have lost or destroyed it by mistake； it is only silly；
worthless little things like this that keep turning up and turning up after
one has forgotten their existence。
〃You are a mystery！〃 ＇it ran。＇ 〃I can apprehend； but not comprehend
you。 I know you in part。 I understand various bits of your nature； but
my knowledge is always fragmentary and disconnected； and when I
attempt to make a whole of the mosaics I merely get a kaleidoscopic effect。
Do you know those geographical dissected puzzles that they give to
children？ You remind me of one of them。
〃I have spent many charming （and dangerous） hours trying to 〃put you
together〃； but I find； when I examine my picture closely； that after all I've
made a purple mountain grow out of a green tree； that my river is running
up a steep hillside； and that the pretty milkmaid； who should be wandering
in the forest； is standing on her head with her pail in the air
〃Do you understand yourself clearly？ Or is it just possible that when
you dive to the depths of your own consciousness； you sometimes find the
pretty milkmaid standing on her head？ I wonder！〃 。 。 。
Ah； well； it is no wonder that he wonders！ So do I； for that matter！
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The Diary of a Goose Girl
CHAPTER XII
July 17th。
Thornycroft Farm seems to be the musical centre of the universe。
When I wake very early in the morning I lie in a drowsy sort of dream；
trying to disentangle； one from the other； the various bird notes； trills； coos；
croons； chirps； chirrups； and warbles。 Suddenly there falls on the air a
delicious； liquid； finished song； so pure； so mellow； so joyous； that I go to
the window and look out at the morning world； half awakened； like
myself。
There is I know not what charm in a window that does not push up；
but opens its lattices out into the greenness。 And mine is like a little
jewelled door； for the sun is shining from behind the chimneys and
lighting the tiny diamond panes with amber flashes。
A faint delicate haze lies over the meadow； and rising out of it； and
soaring toward the blue is the lark； flinging out that matchless matin song；
so rich； so thrilling； so lavish！ As the blithe melody fades away； I hear
the plaintive ballad…fragments of the robin on a curtsying branch near my
window； and there is always the liquid pipe of the thrush； who must quaff
a fairy goblet of dew between his songs； I should think； so fresh and
eternally young is his note。
There is another beautiful song that I follow whenever I hear it；
straining my eyes to the treetops； yet never finding a bird that I can
identify as the singer。 Can it be the …
〃Ousel…cock so black of hue； With orange…tawny bill〃？
He is called the poet…laureate of the primrose time； but I don't know
whether he sings in midsummer； and I have not seen him hereabouts。 I
must write and ask my dear Man of the North。 The Man of the North； I
sometimes think； had a Fairy Grandmother who was a robin； and perhaps
she made a nest of fresh moss and put him in the green wood when he was
a wee bairnie； so that he waxed wise in bird…lore without knowing it。 At
all events； describe to him the cock of a head； the glance of an eye； the tip…
up of a tail； or the sheen of a feather； and he will name you the bird。
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The Diary of a Goose Girl
Near… sighted he is； too； the Man of the North； but that is only for people。
The Square Baby and I have a new game。
I bought a doll's table and china tea…set in Buffington。 We put it
under an apple…tree in the side garden； where the scarlet lightning grows
so tall and the Madonna lilies stand so white against the flaming
background。 We built a little fence around it； and every afternoon at tea…
time we sprinkle seeds and crumbs in the dishes； water in the tiny cups；
drop a cherry in each of the fruit…plates； and have a the chantant for the
birdies。 We sometimes invite an 〃invaleed〃 duckling； or one of the baby
rabbits； or the peacock； in which case the cards read：…
Thornycroft Farm。 The pleasure of your company is requested at a
The Chantant Under the Apple Tree。 Music at five。
It is a charming game； as I say； but I'd far rather play it with the Man
of the North； he is so much younger than the Square Baby； and so much
more responsive； too。
Thornycroft Farm is a sweet place； too； of odours as well as sounds。
The scent of the hay is for ever in the nostrils； the hedges are thick with
wild honeysuckle； so deliciously fragrant； the last of the June roses are
lingering to do their share； and blackberry blossoms and ripening fruit as
well。
I have never known a place in which it is so easy to be good。 I have
not said a word； nor scarcely harboured a thought； that was not lovely and
virtuous since I entered these gates； and yet there are those who think me
fantastic； difficult； hard to please； unreasonable！
I believe the saints must have lived in the country mostly （I am certain
they never tried Hydropathic hotels）； and why anybody with a black heart
and natural love of wickedness should not simply buy a poultry farm and
become an angel； I cannot understand。
Living with animals is really a very improving and wholesome kind of
life； to the person who will allow himself to be influenced by their sensible
and high…minded ideals。 When you come to think about it； man is really
the only animal that ever makes a fool of himself； the others are highly
civilised； and never make mistakes。 I am going to mention this when I
write to somebody； sometime； I mean if I ever do。 To be sure； our human