I had no need now to have father and
mother tell me to hurry up and finish
my chatter, for I kept all that hap-
pened to myself. I had a new "intimate
friend," and did not so much as men-
tion her. I wrote a poem and showed
it to my teacher, but not to my unin-
terested parents. And when I climbed
the stairs at night to my room, I swelled
with loneliness and anguish and resent-
ment, and the hot tears came to my eyes
as I heard father and mother laughing
and talking together and paying no at-
tention to my misery. I could hear
Toot, who used to be making all sorts
of little presents for me, whistling as
he brought in the wood and water, and
then "cleaned up" to go to see his
Tulula, with never a thought of me.
And I said to myself that the best thing
I could do was to grow up and get
away from a place where I was no
longer wanted.

No one noticed my sufferings further
than sometimes to say impatiently,
"What makes you act so strange,
child?" And to that, of course, I an-
swered nothing, for what I had to say