In Chang Chang, we begin in March to go away for the summer.
Then, after days of creeping chill and rain that congeal the marrow, the sun opens our coats and weights our steps. Listless, we sip our tea and murmur nothings. Comes the inevitable spark.
"Four months from now we will be climbing the mountains at Kuling."
"Swimming Peitaiho, you mean No more is said, but we sip on, thoughtfully.
By the end of April we have discarded Kuling as too cold, Chefso as too hot, Mokanshan as too quiet, Peitaiho as too hectic socially. Exchange is unfavourable for a summer in Korea, Japan is too far away, and besides. We are looking out for other worlds to card or discard when a friend very quietly asks w correspondence we have had on the subject.
"Absolutely nothing," we reply, and she says the same thing.
As we are a thorough-going family, we feel that if correspondence is a part of going away for the sumner, correspondence we will have. We insert advertisements, we address Real Estate offices, presenting our demand for a six-room house, with bath,—servants' quarters. lawns, tennis court, beautiful look-out.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.