Sarah . . . of us in our chaise the photograph
shows Colin and I turning a bend towards The Ferns;
will send it soon. Introduced, fussed-over, we still laugh
as ‘newly weds’. The other guests – one’s a baronet – take turns
as mama and papa: ‘You babes so young . . .’ (Often
it felt unlikely I was married.) After luncheon Mr. McCracken took
us out in the motor. ‘Where to Mrs?’ he asked. When
that made feelings quite important this ‘high toned lady’ (me) looked
out over the mountains: miles of fern-gully, waterfall,
and ‘To the prettiest place you know!’ I replied.
If raining we never read, but pretend it’s a log-cabin, all-
for-us.
             Yet, from the verandah, we saw this stupid boy who shied
a bird from a tree. I slipped hand into my husband’s watching
the wilful child tread the damp lawn, slingshot aimed and smiling.