amidst backyard scenery and gentle summer breeze. It was very superior pleasure for me, making up and down hops on that ladder with agility resembling birds. So I continued onwards near my duty. With extreme earnestness I suspended following clothing where they hung lynched upon line: 1 tablecloths (slightly dragged on ground, yet quite pale). 9 towels (one of them dropped, but was nicely brushed afterwards). 3 sox. 4½ pillow-case. While standing tip-top on that ladder I was enabled to observe Nature. It are wonderful79 how tall a short Japanese feels while standing on a ladder! I could distinctly see over fence into next yard where Hon. Swede lady employed for cook by Mrs. J. C. Camel was making flirting conversation with Hon. Ice Man. I also observe Hon. Cat obtaining slight refreshment of cream-pitcher from window while that Swede was too interested. I stood in joyful trance holding wet sheet while biting clothes-pin like wooden sigars. It make such inexpensive enjoyment for cool summer day to stand on ladder beholding other folk’s business! 79 In the midst of everything Hon. Swede Lady turn off suddenly and see Hon. Cat. She made rude “Shoo!” with voice, and Hon. Cat were so offended he fell from window in the midst of milk pitcher and extreme breakage. With immediate quickness he made rabid scoot for fence with tail enlarged like a comets. “I shall attach him for you!” I holla to Mrs. Swedish—but soonly as I did so—O calamity!! I lean too forward and Hon. Ladder stub his toe and broke lame leg with loud scrash! Bereaved of my support I make wildly grabb for atmosphere, Hon. Clothesline was where I struck, so I clasp him with tense affection. And there I was, hanging among clothes, swinging my legs with motion peculiar to wet stockings. Hon. Maggie Kelley observe me in this dangled condition. “Git downward!” she snuggest. Before I could reproach back, Hon. Rope80 bursted and I was anticipated to ground so forcibly that I sat there wondering what. Entire clothes-line seemed to surround me with damp washing like a wounded sail. Hon. Maggie making hysteria, seize bottle of wash blue in her prize-fight hands and approach a.m. screaming war cries. With howell of great intensity she threw that sky-colored liquid to my head,
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