h in my future. I was
certainly going to be a great poet; I was certainly going to take care
of the family.

Thus mused I, in my arrogance. And my family? They were as bad as I.
My father had not lost a whit of his ambition for me. Since Graduation
Day, and the school-committeeman's speech, and half a column about me
in the paper, his ambition had soared even higher. He was going to
keep me at school till I was prepared for college. By that time, he
was sure, I would more than take care of myself. It never for a moment
entered his head to doubt the wisdom or justice of this course. And my
mother was just as loyal to my cause, and my brother, and my sister.

It is no wonder if I got along rapidly: I was helped, encouraged, and
upheld by every one. Even the baby cheered me on. When I asked her
whether she believed in higher education, she answered, without a
moment's hesitation, "Ducka-ducka-da!" Against her I remember only
that one day, when I read her a verse out of a most pathetic piece I
was composing, she laughed right out, a most disrespectful laugh; for
which I revenged myself by washing her face at the faucet, and rubbing
it red on the roller towel.

It was just like me, when it was debated whether I would be best
fitted for college at the High or the Latin School, to go in person to
Mr. Tetlow, who was principal of both schools, and so get the most
expert opinion on the subject. I never send a messenger, you may
remember, where I can go myself. It was vacation time, and I had to
find Mr. Tetlow at his home. Away out to the wilds of Roxbury I found
my way--perhaps half an hour's ride on the electric car from Dover
Street. I grew an inch taller and broader between the corner of Cedar
Street and Mr. Tetlow's house, such was the charm of the clean, green
suburb on a cramped waif from the slums. My faded calico dress, my
rusty straw sailor hat, the color of my skin and all bespoke the waif.
But never a bit daunted was I. I went up the steps to the porch, rang
the bell, and asked for the great man with as much assurance as if I
were a daily visitor on Cedar Street. I calmly awaited the appearance
of Mr. Tetlow in the reception room, and stated my errand without
trepidation.

And why not? I was a solemn little person for the moment, earnestly
seeking advice on a matter of great importance. That is what Mr.
Tetlow saw, to judge by the gravity with which he discussed my
business with me, and the courtesy with which h