stretched himself on the moss, and
mother, who was reading Godey's La-
dies' Book, should presently both of
them be nodding. So, that being a well-
established fact -- I established it by
hanging over them and staring at their
eyelids -- it seemed a good time for me
to let the dance out of my toes. Still
careful of my fresh linen frock, and
remembering about the best shoes, I
went on, demurely, down the green al-
leys of the wood. Now I stepped on
patches of sunshine, now in pools of
shadow. I thought of how naughty I
was to run away like this, and of what
a mistake people made who said I was
a good, quiet, child. I knew that I
looked sad and prim, but I really hated
my sadness and primness and good-
ness, and longed to let out all the in-
teresting, wild, naughty thoughts there
were in me. I wanted to act as if I were
bewitched, and to tear up vines and
wind them about me, to shriek to the
echoes, and to scold back at the squir-
rels. I wanted to take off my clothes
and rush into the pond, and swim like
a fish, or wriggle like a pollywog. I
wanted to climb trees and drop from
them; and, most of all -- oh, with what