fills me with fury. It is bad enough that we adults waste our time & thought on such things, without having children do the same - and it is worse for them, for as long as possible, they should live in a child’s world; for only so can their soul grow & expand.
     I told her to ask her teacher whether he knew that hepaticas were in bloom, and to tell him that their blooming was of far greater importance to a child than all the crises in the world.
     Geo. Marcha here, digging around the apple trees, fixing the front lawn etc. I puttered around, trimming the hedge, and just finding all the excuses I could to wander back and forth thru the yard. Blue-birds could be heard all day and often we saw them in the tree-tops, making short flights up in the air for stray insects.
     Arthur decided he would make a garden up back of the pavilion, and spent most of the day there, digging away the turf with undiminishing enthusiasm. It does me good to know that his instincts are healthy and right. A boy digging & sweating over a garden is a joy to behold.
     Tonight, the sky is shrouded in a rain-gloom - sounds are intimate - the piping of hylas, the shouts of children, church bells with their sadl (sic) nostalgic tolling; a distant train; the peculiar muffled clatter of a bowling alley, passing cars- it is all agonizing.