sing me, though,
because our Sally, who was big enough to have done it, was upstairs
crying and wouldn't come down. I liked Laddie too, because he was the
only one of our family who went to my mother and kissed her, said he
was glad, and offered to help her. Maybe the reason he went was
because he had an awful scare, but anyway he WENT, and that was enough
for me.

You see it was this way: no one wanted me; as there had been eleven of
us, every one felt that was enough. May was six years old and in
school, and my mother thought there never would be any more babies.
She had given away the cradle and divided the baby clothes among my big
married sisters and brothers, and was having a fine time and enjoying
herself the most she ever had in her life. The land was paid for long
ago; the house she had planned, builded as she wanted it; she had a big
team of matched grays and a carriage with side lamps and patent leather
trimmings; and sometimes there was money in the bank. I do not know
that there was very much, but any at all was a marvel, considering how
many of us there were to feed, clothe, and send to college. Mother was
forty-six and father was fifty; so they felt young enough yet to have a
fine time and enjoy life, and just when things were going best, I
announced that I was halfway over my journey to earth.

You can't blame my mother so much. She must have been tired of babies
and disliked to go back and begin all over after resting six years.
And you mustn't be too hard on my father if he was not just overjoyed.
He felt sure the cook would leave, and she did. He knew Sally would
object to a baby, when she wanted to begin having beaus, so he and
mother talked it over and sent her away for a long visit to Ohio with
father's people, and never told her. They intended to leave her there
until I was over the colic, at least. They knew the big married
brothers and sisters would object, and they did. They said it would be
embarrassing for their children to be the nieces and nephews of an aunt
or uncle younger than themselves. They said it so often and so
emphatically that father was provoked and mother cried. Shelley didn't
like it because she was going to school in Groveville, where Lucy, one
of our married sisters, lived, and she was afraid I would make so much
work she would have to give up her books and friends and remain at
home. There never was a baby born who was any less wanted than I was.
I knew as m