xchange?

In good sooth, this notion of mine (that I can smile at now) showeth one
thing, to wit, the deal of note that childre be apt to take of little
matters that should seem nought to their elders. I can ne'er conceive
the light and careless fashion wherein some women go about to breed up a
child. To me the training of a human soul for the life immortal seems
the most terrible piece of responsibility in the whole world.

And now there is one story left that I must finish, and it is of the
other that hath got Home.

It was five years gone, and a short season after _Helen's_ marriage.
_Mother_ was something diseased, as I think, touching me, for she said I
was pale, and had lost mine appetite (and my sleep belike, though she
wist it not).

'Twas thought that the winters at home were somewhat too severe for mine
health, and 'twas settled that for the winter then coming, I should
tarry with Aunt _Joyce_. It was easy to compass the matter, for at that
time was _Wat_ of a journey to _London_ on his occasions, and he brought
me, early in _October_, as far as _Minster Lovel_. As for getting back,
that was left to see to when time should be convenient. _Father_ gave
me his blessing, and three nobles spending money, and bade me bring back
home a pair of rosier cheeks, saying he should not grudge to pay the
bill: and _Mother_ shed some tears o'er me, and packed up for me much
good gear of her own spinning and knitting, and all bade me farewell
right lovingly. I o'erheard Cousin _Bess_ say to _Mother_ that the sun
should scant seem to shine till I came back: the which dear _Mother_ did
heartily echo, saying she wist not at all what had come o'er me, but it
was her good hope that a southward winter should make me as an other
maid.

Well! I could have told her what she wist not, for I was then but new
come out of the discovering that what women commonly reckon the flower
of a woman's life was not for me, and that I must be content to crown
mine head with the common herb of the field. But I held my peace, and
none wist it but Aunt _Joyce_: for in her presence had I not been a day
when I found that her eyes had read me through. As we sat by the fire
at even, our two selves, quoth she all suddenly, without an other word
afore it--

"There be alway some dark valleys in a woman's life, _Edith_."

"I reckon so, _Aunt_," said I, essaying to speak lightly.

"Ay, and each one is apt to think she hath no company. But the