This being a visitor’s number, I think it only right and proper that something should be said about my visitors. I have a great many, but I am going to tell you about just two or three of them. 

First of all, there are two small boys. They have light hair, and one is just a head taller than the other. I can hear them coming from way down by the front door. They seem always to be in a good deal of a hurry, and they come running up over the stairs as fast as they can make their heavy boots go. One day I had closed my book, and was ready for them, but the oldest one took up the book and read the title on the outside, “ ‘Alice’s — Adventures — in Wonderland’ — oh, I’ve read that!” 

“Did you like it?” I asked. My visitors and I always jump right into things. We don’t stop to say “How do you do?” or to inquire about the weather. That kind of thing does not interest us. 

“I liked ‘The Croquet Party,” and the time Alice got stuck in the White Rabbit’s house.” 

The smaller boy had climbed on to a chair and was looking over the shingling and the structure of the chimney of my house. Boys who come to visit always swing the doors and rattle the latches and shut the blinds and fasten them. They also get into my living-room and examine the brick oven. I sometimes wonder if they will not get stuck the way Alice did in the White Rabbit’s house. I like to have them take an interest in the upkeep of my home. One of them discovered that the window frame was sadly in need of repair, and another that the moulding in the living-room was becoming quite loose. The older boy had emptied my fruit on the living-room rug and was piling it back again into the basket. 

“Orange, apple, pear, another orange, a walnut, another pear, and a bunch of grapes. Look at this tiny little bunch of grapes! My, wouldn’t some girl like this house?” 

At this remark I noticed they both backed away, and for a time I thought they had entirely forgotten me, for they were handling the little bronzes of Peter Rabbit, Mrs. Tiggywinkle, and the blue-coated Benjamin Bunny that are on the table by the window. Then the younger one came back and straightened the logs in the fireplace.  

“Look here!” he exclaimed, “real logs of wood and real little pine cones!” 

After they have gone I always feel very much alive. They seem to bring in with them a great deal of sunshine and a fresh breeze. I sometimes wonder if when they are playing hard out-of-doors or exploring in the woods, they may not come upon — perhaps a cluster of pine needles — and shout “This would make a hearth brush for Alice-Heidi’s house!” 

One day something wonderful happened. I was looking out and listening to what was going on, when I heard a hurry of small feet and a flutter of skirts, and the next moment I was swept up into the arms of a little girl. 

”Why, Alice-Heidi, I do love you and I have read all of your ‘Secrets’.” She rocked me a while in her arms and then set me back in my wing-chair, being particularly careful to arrange a cushion behind me.  

Then followed a glorious afternoon. My new friend set my tea-table with its little pink-flowered china and big teapot and pitcher. Then she set out the toast rack and the plates of cake. We had such a nice time over our tea. We discussed — what do you suppose? Not books, but clothes.  

She thought my yellow silk was rather too nice for everyday wear, and went upstairs to look over my bureau drawers. She thought, perhaps, the blue organdie would be better. After tea she put away all the tea things, and then changed my dress for me. She straightened out my bureau and folded away my yellow dress so that it would be smooth and fresh for a special occasion.  

Another day we had a luncheon party together. That was very exciting. I wore my yellow dress. There we were out in the big lunch-room with a great many people around. It was a very tiring experience, so when we got back to my house, my friend undressed me and put me to bed for a while in the afternoon. She spread my clothes out neatly on a chair and opened my window, and then sat down near me and read to me. That was the most fun of all. She read “Sleeping Beauty,” but I fell asleep myself, it was so quiet and her voice was so sweet to listen to.  

When I woke up she had gone, but the next time she comes, I know we will have just as good a time together. Perhaps you won’t understand entirely, but living as I do in a lovely little house that everybody likes to see, I myself am sometimes quite forgotten. Everybody likes my little house, but it is most wonderful of all when somebody likes me better than my house, and I am sure this friend does. 

From the June 1925 issue of The Horn Book Magazine.