My mother threatened her with complaining to old master in my behalf; for the latter, though harsh and cruel himself, at times, did not sanction the meanness, injustice, partiality and oppressions enacted by Aunt Katy in the kitchen.

That night I learned the fact, that I was, not only a child, but _somebody's_ child.

The "sweet cake" my mother gave me was in the shape of a heart, with a rich, dark ring glazed upon the edge of it.

I was victorious, and well off for the moment; prouder, on my mother's knee, than a king upon his throne.

But my triumph was short.