days a halfpenny was a fortune, and in
order to gain it I had not far to stoop, for I was so tiny there
was not much distance between me and the ground; but my pride was
up in arms, and holding myself very erect, I said, "No, thank you,
Mamma, I would rather go without it."

Another time we were going into the country to see some friends.
Mamma told Marie to put on my prettiest frock, but not to let me
have bare arms. I did not say a word, and appeared as indifferent
as children of that age should be, but I said to myself, "I should
have looked much prettier with bare arms."

With such a disposition I feel sure that had I been brought up by
careless parents I should have become very wicked, and perhaps
have lost my soul. But Jesus watched over His little Spouse, and
turned even her faults to advantage, for, being checked early in
life, they became a means of leading her towards perfection. For
instance, as I had great self-love and an innate love of good as
well, it was enough to tell me once: "You must not do that," and I
never wanted to do it again. Having only good example before my
eyes, I naturally wished to follow it, and I see with pleasure in
my Mother's letters that as I grew older I began to be a greater
comfort. This is what she writes in 1876: "Even Therese is anxious
to make sacrifices. Marie has given her little sisters a string of
beads on purpose to count their acts of self-denial. They have
really spiritual, but very amusing, conversations together. Celine
said the other day: 'How can God be in such a tiny Host?' Therese
answered: 'That is not strange, because God is Almighty!' 'And
what does Almighty mean?' 'It means that He can do whatever He
likes.'

"But it is more amusing still to see Therese put her hand in her
pocket, time after time, to pull a bead along the string, whenever
she makes a little sacrifice. The children are inseparable, and
are quite sufficient company for one another. Nurse has given
Therese two bantams, and every day after dinner she and Celine sit
by the fire and play with them.

"One morning Therese got out of her cot and climbed into Celine's.
The nurse went to fetch her to be dressed, and, when at last she
found her, the little thing said, hugging her sister very hard:
'Oh, Louise! leave me here, don't you see that we are like the
little white bantams, we can't be separated from one another.'"

It is quite true that I could not be separated from Celine; I
would rathe