As I started to say, he wouldn't let me.

I know he wouldn't.

He says novels are a silly waste of time, if not absolutely wicked.

But, a diary--oh, he loves diaries! He keeps one himself, and he told me it would be an excellent and instructive discipline for me to do it, too--set down the weather and what I did every day.
The weather and what I did every day, indeed! Lovely reading that would make, wouldn't it?
Like this: "The sun shines this morning.

I got up, ate my breakfast, went to school, came home, ate my dinner, played one hour over to Carrie Heywood's, practiced on the piano one hour, studied another hour.
Talked with Mother upstairs in her room about the sunset and the snow on the trees.