I have roamed its demesnes for ten beautiful years , and I 'm sure I love them a hundredfold better than he does , or can . It is flagrantly unfair . Oh , I hate him ! * * * * * January Twentieth . No , I do n't . I believe I like him . Yet it 's almost unbelievable . I 've always thought men so detestable . I 'm tingling all over with the surprise and pleasure of a little unexpected adventure . For the first time I have something really worth writing in a diary ... and I 'm glad I have a diary to write it in . Blessings on Aunt Jemima ! May her shadow never grow less . This evening I started out for a last long lingering ramble in my beloved Stillwater woods . The last , I thought , because I knew Sidney Elliot was expected home next week , and after that I 'd have to be cooped up on our lawn . I dressed myself comfortably for climbing fences and skimming over snowy wastes . That is , I put on the shortest old tweed skirt I have and a red jacket with sleeves three years behind the fashion , but jolly pockets to put your hands in , and a still redder tam . Thus accoutred , I sallied forth . It was such a lovely evening that I could n't help enjoying myself in spite of my sorrows . The sun was low and creamy , and the snow was so white and the shadows so slender and blue . All through the lovely Stillwater woods was a fine frosty stillness .
It was splendid to skim down those long wonderful avenues of crusted snow , XXXXX the mossy grey boles on either hand , and overhead the lacing , leafless boughs , I just drank in the air and the beauty until my very soul was thrilling , and I went on and on and on until I was most delightfully lost .
after because for in of on over than that with