fretted from heat and teething and my
perfunctory care, I grew angry.

I knew mother was busy making cus-
tards and cakes for Aunt Cordelia, and
I longed to be in watching these pleas-
ing operations. I thought -- but what
does it matter what I thought? I was
bad! I was so bad that I was glad I
was bad. Perhaps it was nerves. May-
be I really had taken care of the baby
too long. But however that may be, for
the first time in my life I enjoyed the
consciousness of having a bad disposi-
tion -- or perhaps I ought to say that I
felt a fiendish satisfaction in the discov-
ery that I had one.

Along in the middle of the afternoon
three of the girls in the neighbourhood
came over to play. They had their
dolls, and they wanted to "keep house"
in the "new part" of our home. We
were living in a roomy and comfortable
"addition," which had, oddly enough,
been built before the building to which
it was finally to serve as an annex. That
is to say, it had been the addition be-
fore there was anything to add it to.
By this time, however, the new house