"Charlotte wanted to study music, "not like a boarding-school miss," she told Nancy. "I want to make it the real thing. I tell you I don't know anything about it—but I'm going to, yet." Old Mr. Spencer, while he had no objections to one of the arts as a ladylike accomplishment, felt that it was not exactly respectable for a girl to go into it seriously, just why, he would have been at a loss to say. "You know," Charlotte had explained, with her humorous smile, "there is a notion that it's all right for a 'lady' to dabble in anything, painting, music, or embroidery and so on, so long as she doesn't attempt to make a profession of it, or think of making money by it."
Walking to the mailbox yesterday, when the sun evidently wasn’t on duty, I was wondering if young people of today have seen a slate. Maybe a slate roof, guess that depends on where you live.
Yesterday’s sky was closer to pewter-gray than slate-gray — it drizzled all day, which softened the drive way to the extent that I’d put down the old sofa in the middle of it, to let people know that if they want to see us, they have to walk up. If I have to go somewhere, I have to do it early in the mornings, while the road still is cold and not yet so soft that I get stuck in the middle of it.
I’m still waiting for the beautiful spring to arrive — so far it’s only brown and muddy, with a few, very few flowers.