Did Ray give Hannah the slide rule?

Hannah is eighteen today. Her card went on Monday. We telephoned after supper, and she answered from a corridor with a great deal of noise behind her; her floor had made her a cake out of something. The proper dinner is Sunday, when her parents can come.

Eighteen years ago this morning I was in the library at Tamarack Hill, shelving the new picture books, when Bunny came to the door herself instead of buzzing. Ellen had gone in at five. I taught until 11:30, because there was nobody to take the kindergarten, and then R. came for me in the old truck and we drove to Naperville with the windows down. She was four hours old when I held her. That was before I kept anything in here, so I am putting it down now.

R. has his slide rule out on the desk in the den. He means to give it to her on Sunday. I said she will not know what it is. He said, "She will in five minutes."

A cold clear morning, 38 at seven, the first frost on the garage roof. Church; R. ushered, though it is not his Sunday, because one of the first-Sunday men has a cold.

We go up north on the 16th to close. I have telephoned Earl and Pike Bay. R. has agreed to look for his passport before we leave and not after; it has to be renewed before Norway, and he has known that since January.

Hannah comes at five. Ellen and Mark are driving up for the birthday, so it will be six at the table and one pie will not do.