Atlanta Georgian. [volume] (Atlanta, Ga.) 1912-1939, 1913-07-16


1 have not learned to spell the
- long name of the little postoffice
where Manette and I walk every
morning to get the mail and send our
daily letter to Richards. nor the
longer name of the little lodge in the
woods that is our home.
A man named John Allen and his
wife occupy it, and occasionally take
summer boarders, but Manette and
will be the only ones during our stay.
The doctor saw to that before l would
consent to come.
He says the name Of the postoffice
had its origin in some Indian tradi-
ton. There was the usual Indian
maiden (funny she is never referred
TO as an Indian girl in these Legends,
but always as an Indian maiden),
and she loved a young brave who
scorned her You know the rest;
plaintive swan song one twilight while
standing on a rock jutting out over
the rapids, and then a plunge to her
death.
1t is an injustice that so many
songs and poems are written to hon
or those who die for love, when liv-
ing for those we love is so much
harder. | think some day l will at
tempt a plaintive wall about a hero
inc who married her lover and con-
unued to love him through all his
meanness, even after his hair and
teeth had come out There is rare in
spiration in that for those who think
love the greatest thing in the world
This depression is due to my great
amount of time for doing nothing
Manette and l take no short cuts all
through the day, and the habit stays
with me when l approach you, my
foolish Diary, at night
Very Tiresome.
I have been here ten days, and do
ing nothing has grown so tIresome
am glad to recall the little song that
used to torment me when / was lit
tie and hated work 1t begins with
There will be something in heaven
for children to do. None are idle in
that blessed land" and carries with
it the soothing assurance that there
will also be work for the adults, for
we couldn't sit around on pink clouds
in idleness and let kids do 1t all.
l hope l will be poor there and
have to work as hard as l work ed
when l was young man. Then, and
under no other circumstances, will
be happy.
This is our routine: We arise about
in the morning, and jump from our
nightClOthes into swimming suits and
make a quick run for a pool about a
quarter of a mile from the house.
Manette, who occupies a room ad-
joining mine, with connecting door
between, awakens without calling,
gets into and out Of her clothes with
out assistance, and often my first in
timation that day has come is gained
through feeling her little face pressed
against mine and hearing her voice
calling, Wake up. Uncle Max; wake
up" with the brown eyed pup giving
shrill banks to assist ner.
For he is with us. No longer a
wabbly legged pup, he has become a
sedate dog with an affection for his
little mistress that has grown with his
years. Take him" Sally Spencer
urged, then you viii know the child
has a guardian with her that no one
may bride or deceive"
So we brought him, and I am not
sorry. Every night he sleeps on a lit
tie hard pallet at the foot of Manette's
bed, and his gTOwl when he hears
mysterious sound is something fine to
hear. He never leaves her, day or
night. and on one occasion, when l
sent him home alone with her a half
mile through the woods. he yielded to
no temptation of rabbit or squirrel on
the bypaths, but walked close beside
her on the main road, growing away
down deep in his innermost basement
all the way.
He DigTesses.
I seem to have depressed again.
make no apologies. That is what
am here for. To digress, and to for
get many things in the love of a
child
After our pIunge-and the water is
cold. and (MaY Richards never knew