Mavis of Green Hill Part 8

Dear Lady:

Have I in any way offended you? I have had no word from you since the 31st. I am praying that you are not angry because I allowed myself the selfish pleasure of adding to your library. Or is it the talisman? I hope not! You see, it was not just a purchased thing. It belonged to my father.

But I would far rather than you were vexed with me than too ill to write.

Anxiously, RICHARD WARREN

THE CASTLE August 7th

How very rude you must think me, dear friend! For several days have pa.s.sed, and I have not yet thanked you for the books, and for the curiously carven piece of jade, which you a.s.sure me will bring me my heart's desire. It lies close in my left hand as I write. I like the cool touch of it. And what a beautiful color it is, like the very heart of Summer! But you should not have robbed yourself of anything so precious.

The books are delightful. I wonder if one reads one's self into every book! Your choice of friends is faultless. I have fallen desperately in love with "Paul," already. But "Fiametta" and I are not alike. For where she is brown, I am white, and where her face is oval, mine is pointed, and where her hair is oak-and-gold, mine is just yellow-and-brown! And you know perfectly well that I am no longer ten. Except perhaps when Peter urges me to be.

And now I have a Something-Lovely to share with you! Also, it is the main reason why I have not let you hear from me before. In a few days I'm to be carried downstairs--and out under the trees, where an ingenious cot awaits my occupancy. For several days I have been preparing. The Disagreeable Doctor insists, and Father and our own Medicine Man aid and abet him. There's been a large Scandinavian Lady here every day. She possesses strong hands and a cloudy accent. And I am informed that she is to be the Witch who will remove certain fetters from my circulation. I have wished on my talisman that she may be successful. You see, I can't be very sanguine about it, for they tried all manner of things of this sort long ago, and to no avail. But, O Poet, if ever I get out under the trees again! Once there, how my spirit will strain at the leash of my body, to be off and away, over the hills!

I've not told you before of our breath-taking plan, lest it not come true!

What did you dream, Poet, and will you not tell me the Secret?

Gratefully yours, AN IMPATIENT INVALID

P.S. Paul, Fiametta, Alice, and other of your intimates, wish to be affectionately remembered. And Peter wants to know if you are by chance a Scout. It is the ambition of his life to attain the age of twelve and his modern knighthood.

NEW YORK CITY August 9th

Kind Princess:

Your letter of the seventh has reached me. It must have crossed mine. I began to feel happier directly I had written. So I must have known that you were writing too! Thank you for absolving me!

Your news is good news indeed! But I must know who is to have the joy of carrying you out into the sunshine, which is your birthright. The Old Unpleasant Doctor? The Young and even More Unpleasant Doctor?

I think perhaps you had better arrange to have your father play magician!

I have had a letter from my mother. There's a message for you in it. Obediently, I quote:

"Please tell the Unknown Lady that I have received her love, and am taking care of it. I wish I could run in to visit with her in that rose-grey room. But it wouldn't do at all! Not with my hair!

Tell her she must have it done over in blues and browns before I can put in an appearance. The years, thank G.o.d, whatever else they take, still leave me my vanity! Give the Princess my love, and ask her if rose-and-grey bedsocks would become her feet.

Size, too, please."

There's more to it, only if I should quote further you'd grow aware how much I have written her about you, and just what I have said. And that would never do. But you can see for yourself how well brought up I am. Confiding in my maternal parent! Did you know the verses were dedicated to her?

No! I will not tell you my dream, nor what the Talisman is hiding from you. If I did, you would lose all interest, for I should no longer be a Man of Mystery!

Will you tell an egotistical male just which verse most pleases you?

And of course you will let me hear directly you leave the Castle?

Yours RICHARD WARREN

Please congratulate Peter for me on his aspirations. Tell him that although h.o.a.ry beyond belief, I too have always yearned to be a Scout--a good one!

R. W.

THE CASTLE August 15th

Monster!

How dare you have secrets? Is that not Woman's prerogative? I will not answer any of your questions today, nor, indeed, write to you at all. Instead, I will write to your Mother:

Yours indifferently, HER ROYAL HAUGHTINESS

(Enclosure)

Dear Mother of the Poet:

Your son has written me your message. It is lovely of you to understand. And you _do_ understand, do you not, just how much this pleasant pen-and-ink friendship means to me in my restricted world, bound as it is by walls, north and south, east and west.

The bedsocks sound beautiful. I have some severe gray ones which always make me feel very plain. But Sarah, who fashioned them, has little imagination. It is dear of you to want to knit for me, and when the cold nights come, I shall welcome your gift!

About size three, I should say.

Mr. Warren writes me that _The Lyric Hour_ is dedicated to you. I have turned to the page and read it with new eyes. "To the Dearest of All." And I am sure that the poem which is my favorite is your own. It is the one which begins

For this, the patience of your Love, The pride which gives me wings.

Dearest, my grat.i.tude....

If only I could say it in verse, what a thankful little poem would go to you now! But I can only sign myself,

VERY MUCH YOUR DEBTOR

NEW YORK CITY August 16th

Cruel Princess!

My head is in the dust! Such an uncomfortable place for it, too!

Reluctantly, I have forwarded to my mother the letter which should have been mine. I have read it, every word! Surely that snippy little note, in which you call me--me, a perfect stranger--names! cannot be considered a real letter! On second thoughts, the wildest flight of fancy could never claim that your enclosure was intended for me. However, if I cannot knit, I can write poems for you. There are some on my desk now. But I will not send them to you yet. They are very shy.

How is Peter?

Yours despondently, RICHARD WARREN

P.S. What little feet you have!

UNDER-THE-TREES August 22d