ep-mother's
home" I fell through the hole where the hay was tossed down to old
Jerry's manger. He was a serious-minded and kindly old horse, and did
nothing worse than snort a little over the change in his diet, from hay
to small girl. My severe bruises would have been borne with fortitude,
but when I arose--behold a wretched wandering hen had been in the manger
before me, and if one judged from the state of my clothing, the egg she
had left behind must have been the size of a melon at least! If that
seems an exaggeration, just break an egg in your pocket, if you don't
care to sit down on one, and see how far it will spread. Then, indeed, I
lifted my voice and wept!

Yes, those were two precious years, in which I learned to love
passionately the beauty of the world! The tender, mystic charm of dawn,
the pomp and splendor of the setting of the sun! Finding in the tiny
perfection of the velvety moss the minute repetition of the form and
branching beauty of the stately tree at whose root it grew! Seeing all
the beauty of the blue sky and its sailing clouds encompassed by a
quivering drop of dew upon a mullein leaf I dimly felt some faint
comprehension of the divine satisfaction when the Creator pronounced the
work of His hands, "Good!"

From the first my mother had been greatly distressed by the absence of
any school to which I might go, and also by her inability to earn money.
She had been wise enough not to leave Cleveland without sufficient means
to bring us back again--which proved most fortunate. For when quite
suddenly we heard of the published death of my father, we immediately
returned and she obtained employment, while I was sent to the public
school. But, oh, what a poor, meagre course of study I entered on.
Reading, writing, spelling, arithmetic, and geography--that was all! Only
one class in the grammar-school studied history. However, improvements
were being discussed, and I remember that three weeks before my final
withdrawal from school my mother had to buy me a book on physiology,
which was to be taught to the children, who had not even a bowing
acquaintance with grammar. But I hungered and thirsted for knowledge--I
craved it--longed for it. During the weary years of repression I had
fallen back upon imagination for amusement and comfort, and when I was
ten my "thinks," as I then called my waking dreams, almost surely took
one of these two forms. Since I had abandoned "thinks" about fairies
coming to gran