I have the most interesting little boy staying with me for a few days.  I cannot keep up with his imagination.  He spends much of his time in the corner reading in the warmth of a sunbeam, surrounded by a collection of stuffed animals he takes everywhere.  The rest of his time is spent outside with those same animals.  He has a certain fascination for thickets.  To get an extra hour of knitting time, I send Mr. Rochester out after Master Robin for tea.  He’ll be ambling along, tripping over the errant root, calling out while young Christopher hides in the base of an oak tree with his trusted toys.  I wish this didn’t amuse me so much.

Of his toys, Christopher seems to favor a portly little bear, tragically named “Pooh.”  We had a devil of a time when Christopher first arrived, what with him proclaiming each time he found the bear “oh, there’s Pooh.”  I had poor Grace running hither and yon with a wash bucket and told Mr. Rochester his spindly cat’s days were numbered.  There’s a donkey named Eeyore, if I am not mistaken.  That thing loses its tail every other moment.  But don’t suggest a safety pin if a crying boy makes you shudder.  The tiger doll is my secret favorite; I cannot get enough of that silly grin, even if I am not able to explain how it ended up next to my toppled teacup, grin in place.  That one is Tigger; from there Christopher simply gave up and named the toys Kanga, Roo, Owl and Piglet.  I will let you Hercule Poirots figure out what they are.

Christopher has been delighting us with stories about how the animals come alive in the woods.  I do hope he has not been sampling Mr. Rochester’s special brand of mushrooms hidden out there.  I’d send Grace to check on him and the mushroom patch but the last time I did that, she wasn’t able to put her tongue back in her mouth for four days.

Darling Christopher is leaving us tomorrow.  He and his clever tales shall be missed but I will finally be able to address of few odd happenings around Thornfield once he leaves.  No stranger to noises-from-above, thank you Bertha, I keep hearing the most infectious giggling followed by what sounds like bouncing coming from the library.  But when I investigate, there’s Christopher and that sweet little tiger doll of his.

And I cannot for the life of me account for all of the honey we have gone through in the last few days.  Now if you will excuse me, I must wash Christopher’s bear once again.  How that thing keeps getting a sticky paw and muzzle, I will never know.

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