18th.—­Headache—­Nannie sick; held her in my arms two or three hours; had a great fuss with her about taking her medicine, but at last out came my word must, and the little witch knew it meant all it said and down went the oil in a jiffy, while I stood by laughing at myself for my pretension of dignity.  The poor child couldn’t go to sleep till she had thanked me over and over for making her mind and for taking care of her, and wouldn’t let go my hand, so I had to sit up until very late—­and then I was sick and sad and restless, for I couldn’t have my room to myself and the day didn’t seem finished without it.

It is a perfect mystery to me how folks get along with so little praying.  Their hearts must be better than mine, or something.  What is it?  But if God sees that the desire of my whole heart is to-night—­has been all day—­towards Himself, will He not know this as prayer, answer it as such?  Yes, prayer is certainly something more than bending of the knees and earnest words, and I do believe that goodness and mercy will descend upon me, though with my lips I ask not.

24th.—­Had a long talk with Mr. Persico about my style of governing.  He seemed interested in what I had to say about appeals to the conscience, but said my youthful enthusiasm would get cooled down when I knew more of the world.  I told him, very pertly, that I hoped I should never know the world then.  He laughed and asked, “You expect to make out of these stupid children such characters, such hearts as yours?” “No—­but better ones.”  He shook his head and said I had put him into good humor.  I don’t know what he meant.  I’ve been acting like Sancho to-day—­rushing up stairs two at a time, frisking about, catching up Miss J——­ in all her maiden dignity and tossing her right into the midst of our bed.  Who’s going to be “schoolma’am” out of school?  Not I!  I mean to be just as funny as I please, and what’s more I’ll make Miss ——­ funny, too,—­that I will!  She’d have so much more health—­Christian health, I mean—­if she would leave off trying to get to heaven in such a dreadful bad “way.”  I can’t think religion makes such a long, gloomy face.  It must be that she is wrong, or else I am.  I wonder which?  Why it’s all sunshine to me—­and all clouds to her!  Poor Miss ——­, you might be so happy!

April 9th.—­Holiday.  We all took a long walk, which I enjoyed highly.  I was in a half moralising mood all the way, wanted to be by myself very much.  We talked more than usual about home and I grew so sad.  Oh, I wonder if anybody loves me as I love!  I wonder!  I long for mother, and if I could just see her and know that she is happy and that she will be well again!  It is really a curious question with me, whether provided I ever fall in love (for I’ll fall in love, else not go in at all) I shall leave off loving mother best of anybody in the world?  I suppose I shall be in love sometime or other, but that’s nothing to do with me now nor I with it.  I’ve got my hands full to take care of my naughty little self.