she's a frightful swot. Verbenowitsch is the best in our class, but
we can't any of us bear her, she's so frantically conceited and Berta
Franke says she's _not to be trusted_. Berta walks to school with her
cousin who's in the seventh; she's nearly 14, and is awfully pretty. She
didn't say what sort of a report she had, but I believe it was a very
bad one.

December 18th. To-day at supper Dora fainted because she found a little
chicken in her egg, not really a chicken yet, but one could make out
the wings and the head, just a sketch of a chicken Father said. Still,
I really can't see what there was to faint about. Afterwards she said it
had made her feel quite creepy. And she'll never be able to eat another
egg. At first Father was quite frightened and so was Mother, but then he
laughed and said: What a fuss about nothing! She had to go and lie down
at once and I stayed downstairs for a long time. When I came up to our
room she was reading, that is I saw the light through the crack in the
door; but when I opened the door it was all dark and when I asked: Ah so
you're still reading she didn't answer and she pretended to wake up when
I switched on the light and said: What's the matter? I can't stand such
humbug so I said: Shut up, you know quite well it's 9 o-clock. That's
all. On our way to school to-day we didn't Speak a word to one another.
Luckily after awhile we met a girl belonging to her class.

December 19th. I'm frightfully excited to know what I'm going to get for
Christmas. What I've wished for is: A set of white furs, boa, muff,
and velvet cap trimmed with the same fur, acme skates because mine are
always working loose, _German_ sagas, not Greek; no thank you, hair
ribbons, openwork stockings, and if possible a gold pin like the one
Hella got for a birthday present. But Father says that our Christ Child
would find that rather too expensive. Inspee wants a corset. But I don't
think she'll get one because it's unhealthy. The tablecloth for Father
is finished and is being trimmed, but Mother's book cover is not quite
ready yet. I'm giving Dora a little manicure case. Oh, and I'd nearly
forgotten what I want more than anything else, a lock-up box in which to
keep my diary. Dora wants some openwork stockings too and three books. A
frightful thing happened to me the other day. I left one of the pages
of my diary lying about or lost one somehow or other. When I came home
Inspee said: "you've lost _this_, haven't you