I go on--but not calmly--I rage and cry--but I
do it all in private and blow off steam in this diary; and when it's
over I vow I'll show them. I never sulk. I detest people who sulk.
Anyhow, we've got the society started and we're to meet once a week, and
we're all going to learn to knit.
"Shirley and I went down to the station again to try to induce Dog
Monday to come home but we failed. All the family have tried and failed.
Three days after Jem had gone Walter went down and brought Monday home
by main force in the buggy and shut him up for three days. Then Monday
went on a hunger strike and howled like a Banshee night and day. We had
to let him out or he would have starved to death.
"So we have decided to let him alone and father has arranged with the
butcher near the station to feed him with bones and scraps. Besides, one
of us goes down nearly every day to take him something. He just lies
curled up in the shipping-shed, and every time a train comes in he will
rush over to the platform, wagging his tail expectantly, and tear around
to every one who comes off the train. And then, when the train goes and
he realizes that Jem has not come, he creeps dejectedly back to his
shed, with his disappointed eyes, and lies down patiently to wait for
the next train. Mr. Gray, the station master, says there are times when
he can hardly help crying from sheer sympathy.
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