But Aunt Margaret spoiled her compliment by telling
me I look exactly as she did at my age. If I thought I'd
ever look as Aunt Margaret does now, I don't know what I'd
do. She is so fat and red.
June 29.
Last week I went to the garden party and I met a young man
called Paul Osborne. He is a young artist from Montreal who
is boarding over at Heppoch. He is the handsomest man I have
ever seen--very tall and slender, with dreamy, dark eyes and
a pale, clever face. I have not been able to keep from
thinking about him ever since, and to-day he came over here
and asked if he could paint me. I felt very much flattered
and so pleased when Aunt Margaret gave him permission. He
says he wants to paint me as "Spring," standing under the
poplars where a fine rain of sunshine falls through. I am to
wear my blue muslin gown and a wreath of flowers on my hair.
He says I have such beautiful hair. He has never seen any of
such a real pale gold. Somehow it seems even prettier than
ever to me since he praised it.
I had a letter from home to-day. Ma says the blue hen stole
her nest and came off with fourteen chickens, and that pa has
sold the little spotted calf. Somehow those things don't
interest me like they once did.
July 9.
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