Robert Frost’s by late afternoon – find them on the porch at rear, Mrs. Frost fixing string beans.  We spend a pleasant time talking.  After supper, we go up to rise at ground back of house and play at quoits.  Blue hills to north disappearing in overlapping succession – sun setting – a cool wind out of the north – it reminds me of my childhood – how north felt to me – we played until dark, with only the moon to light us and we had to tie handkerchiefs on the stakes.  Afterwards indoors discussing various subjects such as spiritualism and modern civilization.  Frost played us some good records of Bert Williams.  Frost’s boy and his young wife were there (the farm having been given to the boy) and they were a pleasing sight – fresh, young and shy – almost idyllic.  AtmidnightFrost as he put it “killed the fatted watermelon” for us after which we talked on and on till2:30, when I was aching and agonizing for sleep.
      We laid our bed in the barn on some new hay (that smelled delicious) and with the memory of the brilliantly stormy night that we had seen awhile before we fell into the first peaceful sleep of the trip.  Waking at morning was funny