ABSTRACT
I rise about 7, dress slowly, do needlework for Robin, breakfast, reading Arnold, then I draw and think; if the connection of any passage in my books with the train of thought strikes me, and if I want to follow it up, I get the book and do so, and such long, deep, delightful vistas of thought open before me. I glory in the silence, and the things around me seem to have all the life and importance that they have to children; all the flowers seem to have such real and distinct life, and as for David and Saul, and all the men of old, they seem to be really breathing.
