e of my grown-up companions. I wish they could know that I
have truly repented. I wish they had known at the time that it was
the exuberance of my happiness that played tricks, and no wicked
desire to annoy kind friends. But I am sure that those who were
offended have long since forgotten or forgiven, and I need remember
nothing of those wonderful days other than that a new sun rose above a
new earth for me, and that my happiness was like unto the iridescent
dews.

CHAPTER XIX

A KINGDOM IN THE SLUMS

I did not always wait for the Natural History Club to guide me to
delectable lands. Some of the happiest days of that happy time I spent
with my sister in East Boston. We had a merry time at supper, Moses
making clever jokes, without cracking a smile himself; and the baby
romping in his high chair, eating what wasn't good for him. But the
best of the evening came later, when father and baby had gone to bed,
and the dishes were put away, and there was not a crumb left on the
red-and-white checked tablecloth. Frieda took out her sewing, and I
took a book; and the lamp was between us, shining on the table, on the
large brown roses on the wall, on the green and brown diamonds of the
oil cloth on the floor, on the baby's rattle on a shelf, and on the
shining stove in the corner. It was such a pleasant kitchen--such a
cosey, friendly room--that when Frieda and I were left alone I was
perfectly happy just to sit there. Frieda had a beautiful parlor, with
plush chairs and a velvet carpet and gilt picture frames; but we
preferred the homely, homelike kitchen.

I read aloud from Longfellow, or Whittier, or Tennyson; and it was as
great a treat to me as it was to Frieda. Her attention alone was
inspiring. Her delight, her eager questions doubled the meaning of the
lines I read. Poor Frieda had little enough time for reading, unless
she stole it from the sewing or the baking or the mending. But she was
hungry for books, and so grateful when I came to read to her that it
made me ashamed to remember all the beautiful things I had and did not
share with her.

It is true I shared what could be shared. I brought my friends to her.
At her wedding were some of the friends of whom I was most proud. Miss
Dillingham came, and Mr. Hurd; and the humbler guests stared in
admiration at our school-teachers and editors. But I had so many
delightful things that I could not bring to Frieda--my walks, my
dreams, my adventures of all sorts