It is flagrantly unfair . Oh , I hate him ! * * * * * January Twentieth . No , I do n't . I believe I like him . Yet it 's almost unbelievable . I 've always thought men so detestable . I 'm tingling all over with the surprise and pleasure of a little unexpected adventure . For the first time I have something really worth writing in a diary ... and I 'm glad I have a diary to write it in . Blessings on Aunt Jemima ! May her shadow never grow less . This evening I started out for a last long lingering ramble in my beloved Stillwater woods . The last , I thought , because I knew Sidney Elliot was expected home next week , and after that I 'd have to be cooped up on our lawn . I dressed myself comfortably for climbing fences and skimming over snowy wastes . That is , I put on the shortest old tweed skirt I have and a red jacket with sleeves three years behind the fashion , but jolly pockets to put your hands in , and a still redder tam . Thus accoutred , I sallied forth . It was such a lovely evening that I could n't help enjoying myself in spite of my sorrows . The sun was low and creamy , and the snow was so white and the shadows so slender and blue . All through the lovely Stillwater woods was a fine frosty stillness . It was splendid to skim down those long wonderful avenues of crusted snow , with the mossy grey boles on either hand , and overhead the lacing , leafless boughs , I just drank in the air and the beauty until my very soul was thrilling , and I went on and on and on until I was most delightfully lost .
That is , I did n't know just where I was , but the XXXXX were n't so big but that I 'd be sure to come out safely somewhere ; and , oh , it was so glorious to be there all alone and never a creature to worry me .
adventure hand lawn pleasure ramble snow sorrows stillness sun woods