Since the accident Roxanne and I have just ignored the Byrd ancestors,
and I bring whatever I choose across the garden into the cottage to
Lovelace Peyton. In the first place, he wouldn't eat without me, and
kept asking for things I had given him to eat; so I had to tell
Roxanne about my dishonesty in feeding him like I had been doing, and
she was so glad that he was fat and in good condition to stand the
strain of his accident that she forgave me with her arms around my
neck.
I wish I could put down in black and white between your brown covers,
leather Louise, how happy it makes me to sit by that squirming,
bandaged little boy, and feed him out of one of his thin ancestral
spoons. Not one thing will he eat without me. I believe he knows how
happy it makes me, and frets for me just for that special reason. That
and the fact that he expects things of me made me think up the idea
that has helped us through the awfulness of the days that we had to
keep him quiet.
Lovelace Peyton is not like the little boy to whom you can tell
stories about bears and Little Red Ridinghood and Goldilocks in
ordinary form.
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