orse,
attached by a rough harness to an improvised plough I had made of wood
to dig up the back garden. I loved dogs, and once my mother had me
photographed seated on a large painted wooden dog.

Another childish amusement was to put fantastic costumes on the cats and
pretend that they were actors or actresses. In time there were added to
the cats and dog a chameleon, a pair of small alligators, guinea-pigs,
rabbits, a bullfinch, and a robin with a broken wing. I was passionately
fond of flowers as well, and my own small garden was a source of pride
and pleasure.

The world of make-believe was becoming very real to me by this time. I
dramatized everything. I had the utmost confidence in my choice to
become a great singer, for at all times I was busy with music, either
alone or with my mother. It did not occur to me that I could possibly
fail in achieving my object, and yet I was so sincere and felt so
impelled to try to "touch the stars" that I do not believe it could be
called conceit. Young as I was, I felt that with my song I could soar to
another world and revel in poetry and music.

CHAPTER II

THE DRAMATIC IMPULSE

At five I was sent to school. Among my teachers in the Grove Street
School, Melrose, was Miss Alice Swett, who remains a dear, good friend
to this day. She was ever kind and sympathetic to me, and I always loved
her, although I was often rebellious and unmanageable. My own reckless
nature, impatient at restraint, could never endure the order and
confinement of the classroom.

The dynamic energy, which has suffered little curb in the passing of
years, was even then a characteristic to be reckoned with; displays of
lively temper were not infrequent, but the method of punishment at an
isolated desk in view of the entire class was far too enjoyable to serve
as a correction for my ebullient spirits and was abruptly discontinued.

Miss Swett was my teacher for several years. While her affection and
trust never wavered, I doubt if she ever quite understood the
harum-scarum girl in her charge.

[Illustration: MISS FARRAR AND MRS. LONG, HER FIRST SINGING TEACHER]

Only the other day, visiting me in my New York home and commenting
upon some unconventional act of mine, she sighed and said: "Geraldine,
where are you going to end?"

"Well, I may brush the gallows in the wild flight of my career," I
replied laughingly, "but I'll never be really hanged."

Those years at the Grove Street School, w