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our old home； I had heard a neighbor condoling with my mother because there were so many of us； and her emphatic reply had been a great relief to my mind：
〃There is isn't one more than I want。 I could not spare a single one of my children。〃
But her difficulties were increasing； and I thought it would be a pleasure to feel that I was not a trouble or burden or expense to anybody。 So I went to my first day's work in the mill with a light heart。 The novelty of it made it seem easy； and it really was not hard； just to change the bobbins on the spinning…frames every three quarters of an hour or so； with half a dozen othe
little girls who were doing the same thing。 When I came back at night； the family began to pity me for my long； tiresome day's work； but I laughed and said；
〃Why； it is nothing but fun。 It is just like play。〃
And for a little while it was only a new amusement； I liked it better than going to school and 〃making believe〃 I was learning when I was not。 And there was a great deal of play mixed with it。 We were not occupied more than half the time。 The intervals were spent frolicking around around the spinning…frames； teasing and talking to the older girls； or entertaining ourselves with the games and stories in a corner； or exploring with the overseer's permission； the mysteries of the the carding…room； the dressing… room and the weaving…room。
I never cared much for machinery。 The buzzing and hissing and whizzing of pulleys and rollers and spindles and flyers around me often grew tiresome。 I could not see into their complications； or feel interested in them。 But in a room below us we were sometimes allowed to peer in through a sort of blind door at the great water…wheel that carried the works of the whole mill。 It was so huge that we could only watch a few of its spokes at a time； and part of its dripping rim； moving with a slow； measured strength through the darkness that shut it in。 It impressed me with something of the awe which comes to us in thinking of the great Power which keeps the mechanism of the universe in motion。 Even now； the remembrance of its large； mysterious movement； in which every little motion of every noisy little wheel was involved； brings back to me a verse from one of my favorite hymns：
〃Our lives through various scenes are drawn； And vexed by trifling cares； While Thine eternal thought moves on Thy undisturbed affairs。〃
There were compensations for being shut in to daily toil so early。 The mill itself had its lessons for us。 But it was not； and could not be； the right sort of life for a child； and we were happy in the knowledge that； at the longest； our employment was only to be temporary。
When I took my next three months at the grammar school； every… thing there was changed； and I too was changed。 The teachers were kind； and thorough in their instruction； and my mind seemed to have been ploughed up during that year of work； so that knowledge took root in it easily。 It was a great delight to me to study； and at the end of the three months the master told me that I was prepared for the high school。
But alas！ I could not go。 The little money I could earnone dollar a week； besides the price of my boardwas needed in the family； and I must return to the mill。 It was a severe dis… appointment to me； though I did not say so at home。 I did not at all accept the conclusion of a neighbor whom I heard talking about it with my mother。 His daughter was going to the high school； and my mother was telling him how sorry she was that I could not。
〃Oh；〃 he said； in a soothing tone； 〃my girl hasn't got any such head…piece as yours has。 Your girl doesn't need to go。〃
Of course I knew that whatever sort of a 〃head…piece〃 I had； I did need and want just that very opportunity to study。 I think the solution was then formed； inwardly； that I would go to school again； some time； whatever happened。 I went back to my work； but now without enthusiasm。 I had looked through an open door that I was not willing to see shut upon me。
I began to reflect upon life rather seriously for a girl of twelve or thirteen。 What was I here for？ What could I make of myself？ Must I submit to be carried along with the current； and do just what everybody else did？ No： I knew I should not do that； for there was a certain Myself who was always starting up with her own original plan or aspiration before me； and who was quite indifferent as to what people； generally thought。 Well； I would find out what this Myself was good for； and that she should be！ It was but the presumption of extreme youth。 How gladly would I know now； after these long years； just why I was sent into the world； and whether I have in any degree fulfilled the purpose of my being！
In the older times it was seldom said to little girls； as it always has been said to boys； that they ought to have some definite plan； while they were children； what to be and do when they were grown up。 There was usually but one path open before them； to become good wives and housekeepers。 And the ambition of most girls was to follow their mothers' footsteps in this direction； a natural and laudable ambition。 But girls； as well as boys； must often have been conscious of their own peculiar capabilities；must have desired to cultivate and make use of their individual powers。 When I was growing up； they had already begun to be encouraged to do so。 We were often told that it was our duty to develop any talent we might possess； or at least to learn how to do some one thing which the world needed； or which would make it a pleasanter world。
When I thought what I should best like to do； my first dream almost a baby's dreamabout it was that it would be a fine thing to be a schoolteacher； like Aunt Hannah。 Afterward； when I heard that there were artists； I wished I could some time be one。 A slate and pencil； to draw pictures； was my first request whenever a day's ailment kept me at home from school； and I rather enjoyed being a little ill； for the sake of amusing myself in that way。 The wish grew up with me； but there were no good drawing… teachers in those days； and if there had been； the cost of instruction would have been beyond the family means。 My sister Emilie； however； who saw my taste and shared it herself； did her best to assist me； furnishing me with pencil and paper and paint…box。
If I could only make a rose bloom on paper； I thought I should be happy！ or if I could at last succeed in drawing the outline of winter…stripped boughs as I saw them against the sky； it seemed to me that I should be willing to spend years in trying。 I did try a little； and very often。 Jack Frost was my most inspiring teacher。 His sketches on the bedroom window…pane in cold mornings were my ideal studies of Swiss scenery； crags and peaks and chalets and fir…trees；and graceful tracery of ferns； like those that grew in the woods where we went huckleberrying； all blended together by his touch of enchantment。 I wondered whether human fingers ever succeeded in imitating that lovely work。
The taste has followed me all my life through； but I could never indulge it except as a recreation。 I was not to be an artist； and I am rather glad that I was hindered； for I had even stronger in… clinations in other directions； and art； really noble art； requires the entire devotion of a lifetime。
I seldom thought seriously of becoming an author； although it seemed to me that anybody who had written a book would have a right to feel very proud。 But I believed that a person must be exceedingly wise before presuming to attempt it： although now and then I thought I could feel ideas growing in my mind that it might be worth while to put into a book；if I lived and studied until I was forty or fifty years old。
I wrote my little verses； to be sure； but that was nothing； they just grew。 They were the same as breathing or singing。 I could not help writing them； and I thought and dreamed a great many that were ever put on paper。 They seemed to fly into my mind and away again； like birds with a carol through the air。 It seemed strange to me that people should notice them； or should think my writing verses anything peculiar； for I supposed that they were in everybody's mind； just as they were in mine； and that anybody could write them who chose。
One day I heard a relative say to my mother；
〃Keep what she writes till she grows up； and perhaps she will get money for it。 I have heard of somebody who earned a thousand dollars by writing poetry。〃
It sounded so absurd to me。 Money for writing verses！ One dollar would be as ridiculous as a thousand。 I should as soon have thought of being paid for thinking！ My mother； fortunately； was sensible enough never to flatter me or let me be flattered about my scribbling。 It never was allowed to hinder any work I had to do。 I crept away into a corner to write what came into my head； just as I ran away to play； and I looked upon it only as my most agreeable amusement； never thinking of preserving anything which did not of itself stay in my memory。 This too was well； for the time did lot come when I could afford to look upon verse… writing as an occupation。 Through my life； it has only been permitted to me as an aside from other more pressing employments。 Whether I shoul