of my diary lying about or lost one somehow or other. When I came home
Inspee said: "you've lost _this_, haven't you? School notes I suppose?"
I didn't notice what it was for a moment, but then I saw by the look
of it and said: Yes, those are school notes. Hm-m-m, said Inspee, not
exactly that are they? You can thank your stars that I've not shown them
to Mother. Besides people who can't spell yet really ought not to keep
diaries. It's not suitable for children. I was in a wax. In the closet
I took a squint to see what mistakes I had made. There was only _wenn_
with one _n_ instead of double _n_ and _dass_ with short _ss's_, that's
all. I was jolly glad that there was nothing about _her_ on the page.
She'd underlined the _n_ and the short _ss's_ with red, just as if she
was a schoolmistress, infernal cheek! The best would be to have a book
with a lock to it, which one could alway keep locked, then no one could
read any of it and underline one's mistakes in red. I often write so
fast that it's easy to make a slip now and again. As if she never made a
mistake. The whole thing made me furious. But I can't say anything about
it because of Mother, at least on the way to school; but no, if I say
nothing at all then she always gets more waxy than ever. If I were to
say much about it Mother might remember those 5 pages I lost in the
country and I'd rather not thank you.

December 22nd. Aunt Dora came to-day. She's going to stay with us for a
time till Mother is quite well again. I didn't remember her at all, for
I was only four or five when she went away from Vienna. You dear little
black beetle she said to me and gave me a kiss. I didn't like the
_black_ much, but Hella says that suits me, that it's _piquant_.
_Piquant_ is what the officers always say of her cousin in Krems, Father
says she is a beauty, and she's dark like me. But I'd rather be fair,
fair with brown eyes or better still with violet eyes. Shall I grow up a
beauty? Oh I do hope I shall!