as the only
style of commendation I ever knew her indulge in, and I always took it
as a compliment.

It would not do to tell all my childish life that winter. I should
never get through. For a child has as many experiences in her little
world as people of fifty years old have in theirs; and to her they are
not little experiences. It was not a small trial of mind and body to
spend the long mornings in the study over the curious matters Miss
Pinshon found for my attention; and after the long morning the shorter
afternoon session was un-mixed weariness. Yet I suffered most in the
morning; because then there was some life and energy within me which
rebelled against confinement, and panted to be free and in the open
air, looking after the very different work I could find or make for
myself. My feet longed for the turf; my fingers wanted to throw down
the slate pencil and gather up the reins. I had a good fire and a
pleasant room; but I wanted to be abroad in the open sunshine, to feel
the sweet breath of the air in my face, and see the grey moss wave in
the wind. That was what I had been used to all my life; a sweet wild
roaming about, to pick up whatever pleasure presented itself. I
suppose Miss Pinshon herself had never been used to it nor known it;
for she did not seem to guess at what was in my mind. But it made my
mornings hard to get through. By the afternoon the spirit was so
utterly gone out of me and everything, that I took it all in a
mechanical stupid way; and only my back's aching made me impatient for
the time to end.

I think I was fond of knowledge and fond of learning. I am sure of it,
for I love it dearly still. But there was no joy about it at
Magnolia. History, as I found it with my governess, was not in the
least like the history I had planned on my tray of sand, and pointed
out with red and black headed pins. There was life and stir in that,
and progress. Now there was nothing but a string of names and dates to
say to Miss Pinshon. And dates were hard to remember, and did not seem
to mean anything. But Miss Pinshon's favourite idea was mathematics.
It was not my favourite idea; so every day I wandered through a
wilderness of figures and signs which were a weariness to my mind and
furnished no food for it. Nothing was pleasant to me in my schoolroom,
excepting my writing lessons. They were welcomed as a relief from
other things.

When the studies for the day were done, the next thing was to prepare
f