The snow is falling; the sky is striped white, pink and blue like a baby’s blanket; on the wind comes the high, indignant neighing of a cross horse. The horse is called Sam, we believe. Someone has put it in our field, and it is resenting its change of scene, or perhaps, the change in the weather. Not unreasonably, if I was being left out in this lot I would not be pleased. Our water system has packed up again; the patient Dr Biswell is leaping up & down the house with watering cans full of cold water — the hose solution applied with success on earlier occasions has failed us due to the fact that the outside water is now frozen. A plumber has been applied to, with what success we do not yet know.