Monday.—The new creature says its
name is Eve. That is all right, I have no objections.
Says it is to call it by, when I want it to come.
I said it was superfluous, then. The word evidently
raised me in its respect; and indeed it is a large,
good word and will bear repetition. It says
it is not an It, it is a She. This is probably
doubtful; yet it is all one to me; what she is were
nothing to me if she would but go by herself and not
talk.
Tuesday.—She has littered the whole
estate with execrable names and offensive signs:
This way to Goat Island
She says this park would make a tidy summer resort
if there was any custom for it. Summer resort—another
invention of hers —just words, without
any meaning. What is a summer resort? But
it is best not to ask her, she has such a rage for
explaining.
Friday.—She has taken to beseeching
me to stop going over the Falls. What harm does
it do? Says it makes her shudder. I wonder
why; I have always done it—always liked
the plunge, and coolness. I supposed it was what
the Falls were for. They have no other use that
I can see, and they must have been made for something.
She says they were only made for scenery—like
the rhinoceros and the mastodon.
I went over the Falls in a barrel—not satisfactory
to her. Went over in a tub—still not
satisfactory. Swam the Whirlpool and the Rapids
in a fig-leaf suit. It got much damaged.
Hence, tedious complaints about my extravagance.
I am too much hampered here. What I need is
a change of scene.
Saturday.—I escaped last Tuesday night,
and traveled two days, and built me another shelter
in a secluded place, and obliterated my tracks as
well as I could, but she hunted me out by means of
a beast which she has tamed and calls a wolf, and
came making that pitiful noise again, and shedding
that water out of the places she looks with.
I was obliged to return with her, but will presently
emigrate again when occasion offers. She engages
herself in many foolish things; among others; to study
out why the animals called lions and tigers live on
grass and flowers, when, as she says, the sort of teeth
they wear would indicate that they were intended to
eat each other. This is foolish, because to do
that would be to kill each other, and that would introduce
what, as I understand, is called “death”;
and death, as I have been told, has not yet entered
the Park. Which is a pity, on some accounts.
Sunday.—Pulled through.
Monday.—I believe I see what the week
is for: it is to give time to rest up from the
weariness of Sunday. It seems a good idea. .
. . She has been climbing that tree again.
Clodded her out of it. She said nobody was looking.
Seems to consider that a sufficient justification
for chancing any dangerous thing. Told her that.
The word justification moved her admiration—and
envy, too, I thought. It is a good word.
