On Sunday afternoons, time tle doo   te paper . I can see ternoon—summer, of course, al pork and greens still floating in tarting off to read test murder but gradually falling asleep acles,  feeling of summer all round you, tarling cooing some tableclotent. After tea, as alk in a ruminative kind of  tuff y, and tice t to turns up in t once in taken out ter, alive but bleace by tric juice. Fat sceptical of tory, and of til 1909 no one in Lo o fly. trine  if God  us to fly  orting t if God  us to ride  even  believe in the new flying machines.

    It ernoons, and per t, t Faturned o suc otimes  really suc to do, but o be al beruggling about y little cubby-er in tebook ump of pencil.  man and a very obliging man, very anxious to provide good stuff and s o get on in business.  tmaster, for instance, or station- master of a country station. But  eiterprise to borroion to t ic of  treak of imagination ion of a neure for cage-birds (Boure it  o Uncle Ezekiel. Uncle Ezekiel  of a bird-fancier and ities of goldfinctle s ion in t. In tiny plot of ground in  ty kinds of ting, and o dry to be an advertisement for Boure. Certainly, unlike most bullfincurned black.

    Mot ever since I remember  it’s from  I in my pituitary deficiency, or  is t makes you get fat.

    S taller tendency to  except on Sundays I never remember  an apron. It ion, but not a very big one, to say t I never remember  cooking. o see eristic attitude. It seems to you t tly t as ump of pencil ly cable,  a lum