dissatisfaction with the things of time and prospective eternity, and
exhorted me to cultivate the virtues of obedience and humility.

I well remember the despair I felt in those years, as I took in the
whole situation, over the constant cribbing and crippling of a child's
life. I suppose I found fit language in which to express my thoughts,
for Mary Dunn told me, years after, how our discussion roused my sister
Margaret, who was an attentive listener. I must have set forth our
wrongs in clear, unmistakable terms; for Margaret exclaimed one day, "I
tell you what to do. Hereafter let us act as we choose, without asking."
"Then," said I, "we shall be punished." "Suppose we are," said she, "we
shall have had our fun at any rate, and that is better than to mind the
everlasting 'no' and not have any fun at all." Her logic seemed
unanswerable, so together we gradually acted on her suggestions. Having
less imagination than I, she took a common-sense view of life and
suffered nothing from anticipation of troubles, while my sorrows were
intensified fourfold by innumerable apprehensions of possible
exigencies.

Our nursery, a large room over a back building, had three barred windows
reaching nearly to the floor. Two of these opened on a gently slanting
roof over a veranda. In our night robes, on warm summer evenings we
could, by dint of skillful twisting and compressing, get out between the
bars, and there, snugly braced against the house, we would sit and enjoy
the moon and stars and what sounds might reach us from the streets,
while the nurse, gossiping at the back door, imagined we were safely
asleep.

I have a confused memory of being often under punishment for what, in
those days, were called "tantrums." I suppose they were really