by in a magazine, though she gets into little tempers
sometimes. So she said, "Yes," and a fort-night later we all three
sailed on a huge German steamer for Cherbourg. "At least, that's what we
did in the 'dream,'" I reminded myself, when I had got so far in my
thoughts, lying in the monastery bed. And by that time the light was so
clear in the tiny white room, that there was no longer any doubt about
it, I really was awake. I was dear little thirteen-year-old Beechy
Kidder, who wasn't telling fibs about her age, because she _was_
thirteen, and was it anybody's business if she were something more
besides?

VIII

A CHAPTER OF PLAYING DOLLS

I looked at my bracelet-watch, which I had tucked under my pillow last
night. It wasn't quite six o'clock, and we hadn't gone to bed till after
one; but I knew I couldn't sleep any more, and life seemed so
interesting that I thought I might as well get up to see what would come
next.

The water-pitcher didn't hold much more than a quart, but I took the
best bath I could, dressed, and decided to find out what the monastery
grounds were like. We were not to be called till half-past seven, and it
was arranged that we should start at nine, so there was an hour and a
half to spare. I wondered whether I should wake Maida, and get her to go
with me, but somehow I wasn't in the mood for Maida. I was afraid that,
being in a monastery, she would be thinking of her precious Sisterhood
and wanting to hurry back as fast as she could. She does mean to join
when her year is up, I know, which is so silly of her, when the world's
such a nice place; and it nearly gives me nervous prostration to hear
her talk about it. Not that she often does; but it's bad enough to see
it in her eyes.

Maida is a perfect dear, much too good for us, and she always knows the
proper etiquetical thing to do when Mamma and I are wobbly; but she is
such an edelweiss that I'm always being tempted to claw her down from
her high white crags and then regretting it afterwards. Mamma gets cross
with her too, when she's particularly exalted, but we both love her
dearly; and we ought to, for she's always doing something sweet for us.
Only she's a great deal too humble. I suppose it's the thing to be like
that in a Sisterhood, but Mamma and I _aren't_ a Sisterhood, and the
sooner Maida realizes that there's such a place as the world, the better
it will be for her.

So I didn't wake Maida, but went tiptoeing out into t