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Maynard, Sunday Evening.

Dear Folks:

Buster, the dog, is snarling as though there was something hanging around outside the house - probably a cat or a creature of like nature. I am alone. The Hodgesses have gone up on the hill to a birthday party. Little Alice is eight years old and yesterday Mrs. Hodgess made a large, round nut cake which she frosted today and is to put little rose-bud candle-holders on which will hold the eight tiny candles. They are very fond of each other. It seems so nice to have them that way.

Mrs. Hodgess was pleased with her bag; so was I with my night-gown. 

Yesterday I washed my hair (tell Doris) and last night I put in curlers.  As a consequence I am