it.Well, now I've begun this journal by telling all about ourselves and our
homes and everything else I can think of. But as I read it over, it
doesn't sound one bit exciting or likely to become "an interesting
contribution to history," as Miss Cullingford would say. I wonder what
she'd think about it. I'm glad I didn't promise to _show_ her my
journal, for I'm not very proud of this sample. I'm crazy to see what
Carol has written. We're going to compare our journals to-morrow.One thing is certain, though. I'm not going to write another word till I've something more interesting to talk about, even if I have to wait six months!

CHAPTER II NEW DEVELOPMENTS

December 1, 1913. I haven't written a thing in this journal for over a week, for a number of reasons. In the first place, I'd made up my mind not to write till I had something worth writing about. In the second place, we've been having some exams at school that took a lot of work to prepare for. Third, Thanksgiving holidays came along, and we were all pretty busy and had a lot of engagements. Altogether, I haven't had a minute till now--and something has happened that's rather interesting to write about.

Carol is ever so much better at this journal business than I am. She writes nearly every other day. But then, she doesn't mind writing about all the little ordinary occurrences,--the things she does about the housework and her studies and so on. But I simply can't do it. If I can't tell about something a little out of the ordinary, I won't write at all. And as nothing besides the usual ever happens in either one of our two households (or at school or in the village!), I find myself turning more and more to Louis and his affairs for interest.

It's strange (I've heard other people speak of the same thing, too) that when you once get to thinking about a certain thing, all sorts of other ideas and events connected with it will suddenly begin to appear. I never gave a thought to Louis and his affairs before I began this journal. He has always lived here, and we've always known him and never thought there was anything strange about his folks. But now so many queer little things have happened and so many strange ideas have come to us (Carol and myself, I mean) about that house across the Green that it seems as if there must be some mystery right near our commonplace lives after all.

Before I tell what happened, however, I must remark that the Imp has been particularly exasperating lately. She got wind somehow or other (at first we couldn't think how) that Carol and I are 

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