histories. But did mother listen? Not
at all. She would nod like a mandarin
while I talked, or go on turning the
leaves of her book, or writing her letter.
What I said was of no importance to
her.

Father was even less interested. He
frankly told me to keep still, and went
on with the accounts in which he was
so absurdly interested, or examined
"papers" -- stupid-looking things done
on legal cap, which he brought home
with him from the office. No one kissed
me when I started away in the morn-
ing; no one kissed me when I came home
at night. I went to bed unkissed. I
felt myself to be a lonely and misunder-
stood child -- perhaps even an adopted
one.

Why, I knew a little girl who, when
she went up to her room at night, found
the bedclothes turned back, and the
shade drawn, and a screen placed so as
to keep off drafts. And her mother
brushed her hair twenty minutes by the
clock each night, to make it glossy; and
then she sat by her bed and sang softly
till the girl fell asleep.