One day my mother took me on her knees and said to me, "You are a big
girl now, and you must learn to read and write." I was then seven years
old, and could neither read, write, nor count, as I had been five years
with the old nurse and two years ill. "You must go to school," continued
my mother, playing with my curly hair, "like a big girl." I did not know
what all this meant, and I asked what a school was.

"It's a place where there are many little girls," replied my mother.

"Are they ill?" I asked.

"Oh no! They are quite well, as you are now, and they play together, and
are very gay and happy."

I jumped about in delight, and gave free vent to my joy, but on seeing
tears in my mother's eyes I flung myself in her arms.

"But what about you, Mamma?" I asked. "You will be all alone, and you
won't have any little girl."

She bent down to me and said: "God has told me that He will send me some
flowers and a little baby."

My delight was more and more boisterous. "Then I shall have a little
brother!" I exclaimed, "or else a little sister. Oh no, I don't want
that; I don't like little sisters."

Mamma kissed me very affectionately, and then I was dressed, I remember,
in a blue corded velvet frock, of which I was very proud. Arrayed thus
in all my splendour, I waited impatiently for Aunt Rosine's carriage,