I looked over my small stores also, and my papers, which consisted of father's letters.

As I was sorting them the thought struck me of writing to Veronica, and I arranged my portfolio, pulled the table nearer the fire, and began, "Dear Veronica." After writing this a few times I gave it up, cut off the "Dear Veronicas," and made lamplighters of the paper.
Ben Somers called at noon, to inquire the reason of my absence from school, and left a book for me.

It was the poems he had spoken of.
I lighted on "Fatima," read it and copied it.

In the afternoon Alice came up with the baby.
"Let me braid your hair," she said, "in a different fashion." I assented; the baby was bestowed on a rug, and a chair was put before the glass, that I might witness the operation.
"What magnificent hair!" she said, as she unrolled it.

"It is a yard long." "It is a regular mane, isn't it ?" She began combing it; the baby crawled under the bed, and coming out with the handkerchief in its hand, crept up to her, trying to make her take it.