pted repression. That this struggle over the wheel of a
perambulator endowed her with a consciousness of her own personality, it
would be hard to assert positively, but it is significant that about
this age (two years and eight months) she no longer always spoke of
herself as Jenny, but sometimes took the first personal pronoun. Also,
about this age, she began to imagine that people were laughing at her,
and, being taken by her mother into a shop on one occasion, set up a
commotion of tears, because, she insisted, the ladies behind the counter
were laughing at her, when really the poor ladies were trying to be
particularly pleasant. When Jenny was three, another baby came to
Hagworth Street--dark-eyed, puny, and wan-looking. Jenny was put on the
bed beside her.

"This is May," said her mother.

"I love May," said Jenny.

"Very much, do you love her?"

"Jenny loves May. I love May. May is Jenny's dolly."

And from that moment, notwithstanding the temporary interruptions of
many passionate quarrels, Jenny made that dark-eyed little sister one of
the great facts in her life. This was well for May, because, as she grew
older, she grew into a hunchback.

Two more years went by of daily walks and insignificant adventures.
Jenny was five. Alfie and Edie were now stalwart scholars, who rushed
off in the mornings, the former armed, according to the season, with
chestnuts, pegtops or bags of marbles, the latter full of whispers and
giggles, always one of a bunch of other little girls distinguishable
only by dress. About this time Jenny came to the conclusion she did not
want to be a girl any longer. But the bedrock of sexual differences
puzzled her: obviously one vital quality of boyishness was the right to
wear breeches. Jenny took off her petticoats and stalked about the
kitchen.

"You rude thing!" said Ruby, shocked by the exhibition.

"I'm not a rude thing," Jenny declared; "I'm being a boy."

"And wherever is your petticoats?"

"I frowed 'em away," said Jenny. "I'm a boy."

"You're rude little girl."

"I'm not a girl. I won't be a girl. I want to be a boy." Jenny darted
for the street, encountering by the gate the outraged blushes of Edie
and her bunch of secretive companions.

"Did you ever?" said the ripest. "Look at Edie's sister."

Boys opposite began to "holler." Alfie appeared bent double in an effort
to secure a blood ally. He lost at once the marble and the respect of
his schoolfellows. His confusio