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Roble - Nov. 14 - '96.
Saturday Morning.

My dearest Nannie -

A queer time to be
writing letters isn't it? But why not?
I have little preparing to do for Monday,
and to-morrow Theodora is coming
down to spend the afternoon and
I shall have no time then. This has
been a very quiet uneventful week
and has simply flown. All exiting
events were crowded into last Sunday
afternoon. After I dined with Mrs. Peck
in Palo Alto and read a few sonnets
with her, I came back to the Hall and
Helen Younger, Alice Colt, and I went
over to call upon Mrs. Stanford. She
is apt to be home on Sunday as she
is very fond of being here for service
in the Chapel. Our object was to invite
her to the Roble Thanksgiving dance
or at least to use her name as one
of the patronesses. After our cards had
been carried out by the [chimere?] boy
who came to the door, we were rushed
through a little ante-room into the