Camp pictures—the wood crew walking in after lunch in all kinds of caps and clothes, battered and patched, torn and dusty, motley but picturesque; Dr. Mather and Johnson carrying goat garbage can between them on shoulder pole.
The bank-side shacks are so amusing, with roofs of canvas, cogon grass, rusty tin or woven branches. Some are very disheveled, awry, rakish and blown looking; others are neat, with tight-packed earth terraced in, flowers growing already in prim but scant border. They are odd pictures, with their Owners sitting at tea on log benches, a dirt terraced couch, a plank settee. or chairs created with no two pieces of wood alike.
The night I was sick I literally cut myself out of my girdle which is so completely patched that it has no more elasticity and is molded on to hold up my socks and hold in my scar, My stockings are now finished except one pair in which to be rescued so I have taken off the museum piece girdle and it is a sight to show the family at home.