SATURDAY AFTERNOON ON THE BEACHSaturday afternoon is a good time to leave the house, with its accumulation of odd jobs. There is a pile of unanswered letters on my desk. A boy in Ontario has written asking me to help him to get autographs of the leading Canadian poets; he says he has written to them but they have not answered, and so, if I have ever had letters from them, will I please send them to him, for this is his pet ambition. And I have two manuscripts to read. There are a few stockings to darn, and I should pick some late cherries, but I have a working alibi for leaving the house any time I want to now—some one should take the two little girls to the beach!
So we go down the wooded path past the place we sowed the snapdragon seed, which did not grow, and past the cascara tree, whe
