Yet, isn't it strange, when I was there I used to long so for America, that many a time I climbed up in the pear-tree at the end of the garden for a good cry.

Don't forget to swing up into that pear-tree.

There's a fine view from the top.
"When you see Jules, ask him to show you the goats that chewed up the cushions of the pony cart, the day we had our Thanksgiving barbecue in the garden.

I fairly ache to be with you.

Please write me a good long letter and tell me what you are doing; and whenever you hear the nightingales in Madame's garden, and the cathedral bells tolling out across the Loire, think of your loving JOYCE." "Let's do those things to-morrow," exclaimed Lloyd, as she folded the letter and slipped it back into its envelope.