annefrank.txt

FIRST YEAR
AGE ELEVEN TO TWELVE


FIRST YEAR


July 12, 19 . . . Hella and I are writing a diary.
We both agreed that when we went to the high school
we would write a diary every day. Dora keeps a
diary too, but she gets furious if I look at it. I call
Helene "Hella," and she calls me "Rita;" Helene and
Grete are so vulgar. Dora has taken to calling herself
"Thea," but I go on calling her "Dora." She says
that little children (she means me and Hella) ought
not to keep a diary. She says they will write such a
lot of nonsense. No more than in hers and Lizzi's.

July 13th. Really we were not to begin writing
until after the holidays, but since we are both going
away, we are beginning now. Then we shall know
what we have been doing in the holidays.

The day before yesterday we had an entrance
examination, it was very easy, in dictation I made
only 1 mistake--writing _ihn_ without _h_. The mistress
said that didn't matter, I had only made a slip. That
is quite true, for I know well enough that _ihn_ has
an _h_ in it. We were both dressed in white with rose-
coloured ribbons, and everyone believed we were
sisters or at least cousins. It would be very nice to
have a cousin. But it's still nicer to have a friend,
for we can tell one another everything.

July 14th. The mistress was very kind. Because
of her Hella and I are really sorry that we are not
going to a middle school. Then every day before
lessons began we could have had a talk with her in
the class-room. But we're awfully pleased because
of the other girls. One is more important when one
goes to the high school instead of only to the middle
school. That is why the girls are in such a rage.
"They are bursting with pride" (that's what my
sister says of me and Hella, but it is not true). "Our
two students" said the mistress when we came away.
She told us to write to her from the country. I shall.

July 15th. Lizzi, Hella's sister, is not so horrid
as Dora, she is always so nice! To-day she gave
each of us at least ten chocolate-creams. It's true
Hella often says to me: "You don't know her, what
a beast she can be. _Your_ sister is generally very
nice to me." Certainly it is very funny the way in
which she always speaks of us as "the little ones"
or "the children," as if she had never been a child
herself, and indeed a much littler one than we are.
Besides we're just the same as she is now. She is in
the fourth class and we are in the first.

To-morrow we are going to Kaltenbach in Tyrol.
I'm frightfully excited. Hella went away to-day to
Hungary to her uncle and aunt with her mother and
Lizzi. Her father is at manoeuvres.

July 19th. It's awfully hard to write every day
in the holidays. Everything is so new and one has
no time to write. We are living in a big house in
the forest. Dora bagged the front veranda straight
off for her own writing. At the back of the house
there are such swarms of horrid little flies; everything
is black with flies. I do hate flies and such
things. I'm not going to put up with being driven
out of the front veranda. I won't have it. Besides,
Father said: "Don't quarrel, children!" (_Children_
to _her_ too! !) He's quite right. She puts on such
airs because she'll be fourteen in October. "The
verandas are common property," said Father.
Father's always so just. He never lets Dora lord
it over me, but Mother often makes a favourite of
Dora. I'm writing to Hella to-day. She's not written
to me yet.

July 21st. Hella has written to me, 4 pages, and
such a jolly letter. I don't know what I should do
without her! Perhaps she will come here in August
or perhaps I shall go to stay with her. I think I
would rather go to stay with her. I like paying long
visits. Father said: "We'll see," and that means
he'll let me go. When Father and Mother say We'll
see it really means Yes; but they won't say "yes"
so that if it does not come off one can't say that they
haven't kept their word. Father really lets me do
anything I like, but not Mother. Still, if I practice
my piano regularly perhaps she'll let me go. I must
go for a walk.

July 22nd. Hella wrote that I positively must
write every day, for one must keep a promise and we
swore to write every day. I. . . .

July 23rd. It's awful. One has no time. Yesterday
when I wanted to write the room had to be cleaned
and D. was in the arbour. Before that I had not
written a _single_ word and in the front veranda all
my pages blew away. We write on loose pages. Hella
thinks it's better because then one does not have to
tear anything out. But we have promised one another
to throw nothing away and not to tear anything up.
Why should we? One can tell a friend everything.
A pretty friend if one couldn't. Yesterday when I
wanted to go into the arbour Dora glared at me
savagely, saying What do you want? As if the
arbour belonged to her, just as she wanted to bag
the front veranda all for herself. She's too sickening.

Yesterday afternoon we were on the Kolber-Kogel.
It was lovely. Father was awfully jolly and we
pelted one another with pine-cones. It was jolly.
I threw one at Dora and it hit her on her padded bust.
She let out such a yell and I said out loud You couldn't
feel it _there_. As she went by she said Pig! It doesn't
matter, for I know she understood me and that what
I said was true. I should like to know what _she_ writes
about every day to Erika and what she writes
in her diary. Mother was out of sorts and stayed at
home.

July 24th. To-day is Sunday. I do love Sundays.
Father says: You children have Sundays every day.
That's quite true in the holidays, but not at other
times. The peasants and their wives and children
are all very gay, wearing Tyrolese dresses, just like
those I have seen in the theatre. We are wearing
our white dresses to-day, and I have made a great
cherrystain upon mine, not on purpose, but because
I sat down upon some fallen cherries. So this afternoon
when we go out walking I must wear my pink
dress. All the better, for I don't care to be dressed
exactly the same as Dora. I don't see why everyone
should know that we are sisters. Let people think we
are cousins. She does not like it either; I wish I
knew why.

Oswald is coming in a week, and I am awfully
pleased. He is older than Dora, but I can always get
on with him. Hella writes that she finds it dull without
me; so do I.

July 25th. I wrote to Fraulein Pruckl to-day.
She is staying at Achensee. I should like to see her.
Every afternoon we bathe and then go for a walk.
But to-day it has been raining all day. Such a bore.
I forgot to bring my paint-box and I'm not allowed
to read all day. Mother says, if you gobble all your
books up now you'll have nothing left to read. That's
quite true, but I can't even go and swing.

Afternoon. I must write some more. I've had a
frightful row with Dora. She says I've been fiddling
with her things. It's all because she's so untidy.
As if _her_ things could interest me. Yesterday she
left her letter to Erika lying about on the table, and
all I read was: He's as handsome as a Greek god.
I don't know who "he" was for she came in at that
moment. It's probably Krail Rudi, with whom she
is everlastingly playing tennis and carries on like
anything. As for handsome--well, there's no accounting
for tastes.

July 26th. It's a good thing I brought my dolls'
portmanteau. Mother said: You'll be glad to have
it on rainy days. Of course I'm much too old to play
with dolls, but even though I'm 11 I can make dolls'
clothes still. One learns something while one is doing
it, and when I've finished something I do enjoy it so.
Mother cut me out some things and I was tacking
them together. Then Dora came into the room and
said Hullo, the child is sewing things for her dolls.
What cheek, as if she had never played with dolls.
Besides, I don't really play with dolls any longer.
When she sat down beside me I sewed so vigorously
that I made a great scratch on her hand, and said:
Oh, I'm so sorry, but you came too close. I hope
she'll know why I really did it. Of course she'll
go and sneak to Mother. Let her. What right has
she to call me child. She's got a fine red scratch anyhow,
and on her right hand where everyone can see.

July 27th. There's such a lot of fruit here. I
eat raspberries and gooseberries all day and Mother
says that is why I have no appetite for dinner. But
Dr. Klein always says Fruit is so wholesome. But
why should it be unwholesome all at once? Hella
always says that when one likes anything awfully
much one is always scolded about it until one gets
perfectly sick of it. Hella often gets in such a temper
with her mother, and then her mother says: We
make such sacrifices for our children and they reward
us with ingratitude. I should like to know what
sacrifices they make. I think it's the children who
make the sacrifices. When I want to eat gooseberries
and am not allowed to, the sacrifice is _mine_ not
_Mother's_. I've written all this to Hella. Fraulein
Pruckl has written to me. The address on her letter
to me was splendid, "Fraulein Grete Lainer,
Lyzealschulerin." Of course Dora had to know better than
anyone else, and said that in the higher classes from
the fourth upwards (because she is in the fourth)
they write "Lyzeistin." She said: "Anyhow, in the
holidays, before a girl has attended the first class
she's not a Lyzealschulerin at all." Then Father
chipped in, saying that _we_ (_I_ didn't begin it) really
must stop this eternal wrangling; he really could
not stand it. He's quite right, but what he said
won't do any good, for Dora will go on just the same.
Fraulein Pruckl wrote that she was _delighted_ that I
had written. As soon as I have time she wants me
to write to her again. Great Scott, I've always time
for _her_. I shall write to her again this evening after
supper, so as not to keep her waiting.

July 29th. I simply could not write yesterday.
The Warths have arrived, and I had to spend the
whole day with Erna and Liesel, although it rained
all day. We had a ripping time. They know a lot
of round games and we played for sweets. I won
47, and I gave five of them to Dora. Robert is already
more than a head taller than we are, I mean than
Liesel and me; I think he is fifteen. He says Fraulein
Grete and carried my cloak which Mother sent me because
of the rain and he saw me home after supper.

To-morrow is my birthday and everyone has been
invited and Mother has made strawberry cream and
waffles. How spiffing.

July 30th. To-day is my birthday. Father gave
me a splendid parasol with a flowered border and
painting materials and Mother gave me a huge postcard
album for 800 cards and stories for school girls,
and Dora gave me a beautiful box of notepaper and
Mother had made a chocolate-cream cake for dinner
to-day as well as the strawberry cream. The first
thing in the morning the Warths sent me three birthday
cards. And Robert had written on his: With
deepest _respect your faithful R_. It is glorious to have
a birthday, everyone is so kind, even Dora. Oswald
sent me a wooden paper-knife, the handle is a dragon
and the blade shoots out of its mouth instead of flame;
or perhaps the blade is its tongue, one can't be quite
sure. It has not rained yet on my birthday. Father
says I was born under a lucky star. That suits me
all right, tip top.

July 31st. Yesterday was heavenly. We laughed
till our sides ached over Consequences. I was always
being coupled with Robert and oh the things we did
together, not really of course but only in writing:
kissed, hugged, lost in the forest, bathed together;
but I say, I wouldn't do _that!_ quarrelled. That
won't happen, it's quite impossible! Then we drank
my health clinking glasses five times and Robert
wanted to drink it in wine but Dora said that would
never do! The real trouble was this. She always
gets furious if she has to play second fiddle to me
and yesterday I was certainly first fiddle.

Now I must write a word about to-day. We've
had a splendid time. We were in Tiefengraben with
the Warths where there are such a lot of wild strawberries.
Robert picked all the best of them for me,
to the great annoyance of Dora who had to pick
them for herself. Really I would rather pick them for
myself, but when some one else picks them for one
for _love_ (that's what Robert said) then one is quite
glad to have them picked for one. Besides, I did
pick some myself and gave most of them to Father
and some to Mother. At afternoon tea which we
had in Flischberg I had to sit beside Erna instead
of Robert. Erna is rather dull. Mother says she is
_anemic_; that sounds frightfully interesting, but I
don't quite know what it means. Dora is always
saying that she is anemic, but of course that is not
true. And Father always says "Don't talk such stuff,
you're as fit as a fiddle." That puts her in such a
wax. Last year Lizzi was really anemic, so the doctor
said, she was always having palpitation and had to
take iron and drink Burgundy. I think that's where
Dora got the idea.

August 1st. Hella is rather cross with me because
I wrote and told her that I had spent the whole day
with the W's. Still, she is really my only friend or
I should not have written and told her. Every year
in the country she has another friend too, but that
doesn't put me out. I can't understand why she
doesn't like Robert; she doesn't know anything about
him except what I have written and certainly that
was nothing but good. Of course she does know him
for he is a cousin of the Sernigs and she met him once
there. But one does not get to know a person from
seeing them once. Anyhow she does not know him
the way I do. Yesterday I was with the Warths
all day. We played Place for the King and Robert
caught me and I had to give him a kiss. And Erna
said, that doesn't count, for I had let myself be caught.
But Robert got savage and said: Erna is a perfect
nuisance, she spoils everyone's pleasure. He's quite
right, but there's some one else just as bad. But I
do hope Erna has not told Dora about the kiss. If
she has everyone will know and I shouldn't like that.
I lay in wait for Erna with the sweets which Aunt
Dora sent us. Robert and Liesel and I ate the rest.
They were so good and nearly all large ones. At
first Robert wanted to take quite a little one, but
I said he must only have a big one. After that he
always picked out the big ones. When I came home
in the evening with the empty box Father laughed
and said: There's nothing mean about our Gretel.
Besides, Mother still has a great box full; I have no
idea whether Dora still has a lot, but I expect so.

August 2nd. Oswald arrived this afternoon at
5. He's a great swell now; he's begun to grow a
moustache. In the evening Father took him to the
hotel to introduce him to some friends. He said it
would be an awful bore, but he will certainly make
a good impression especially in his new tourist getup
and leather breeches. Grandmama and Grandpapa
sent love to all. I've never seen them. They have
sent a lot of cakes and sweets and Oswald grumbled
no end because he had to bring them. Oswald is
always smoking cigarettes and Father said to him:
Come along old chap, we'll go to the inn and have a
drink on the strength of your good report. It seems
to me rather funny; no one wants to drink anything
when Dora and I have a good report, at most they
give us a present. Oswald has only Twos and Threes
and very few Ones and in Greek nothing but Satis-
factory, but I have nothing but Ones. He said something
to Father in Latin and Father laughed heartily
and said something I could not understand. I don't
think it was Latin, but it may have been Magyar or
English. Father knows nearly all languages, even
Czech, but thank goodness he doesn't talk them unless
he wants to tease us. Like that time at the station
when Dora and I were so ashamed. Czech is horrid,
Mother says so too. When Robert pretends to speak
Czech it's screamingly funny.

August 3rd. I got a chill bathing the other day
so now I am not allowed to bathe for a few days.
Robert keeps me company. We are quite alone and
he tells me all sorts of tales. He swings me so high
that I positively yell. To-day he made me really
angry, for he said: Oswald is a regular noodle. I
said, that's not true, boys can never stand one another.
Besides, it is not true that he lisps. Anyhow I
like Oswald much better than Dora who always says
"the children" when she is talking of me and of Hella
and even of Robert. Then he said: Dora is just as
big a goose as Erna. He's quite right there. Robert
says he is never going to smoke, that it is so vulgar,
that real gentlemen never smoke. But what about
Father, I should like to know? He says, too, that he
will never grow a beard but will shave every day and
his wife will have to put everything straight to him.
But a beard suits Father and I can't imagine him
without a beard. I know I won't marry a man without
a beard.

August 5th. We go to the tennis ground every
day. When we set off yesterday, Robert and I and
Liesel and Erna and Rene, Dora called after us:
The bridal pair in spee. She had picked up the
phrase from Oswald. I think it means in a hundred
years. _She_ can wait a hundred years if she likes, we
shan't. Mother scolded her like anything and said
she mustn't say such stupid things. A good job too;
in spee, in spee. Now we always talk of her as Inspee,
but no one knows who we mean.

August 6th. Hella can't come here, for she is going
to Klausenburg with her mother to stay with her
other uncle who is district judge there or whatever
they call a district judge in Hungary. Whenever I
think of a district judge I think of District Judge T.,
such a hideous man. What a nose and his wife is so
lovely; but her parents forced her into the marriage.
I would not let anyone force me into such a marriage,
I would much sooner not marry at all, besides she's
awfully unhappy.

August 7th. There has been such a fearful row
about Dora. Oswald told Father that she flirted
so at the tennis court and he could not stand it.
Father was in a towering rage and now we mayn't
play tennis any more. What upset her more than
anything was that Father said in front of me: This
little chit of 14 is already encouraging people to make
love to her. Her eyes were quite red and swollen
and she couldn't eat anything at supper because she
had such a _headache!!_ We know all about her headaches.
But I really can't see why I shouldn't go and
play tennis.

August 8th. Oswald says that it wasn't the
student's fault at all but only Dora's. I can quite
believe that when I think of that time on the Southern
Railway. Still, they won't let me play tennis any
more, though I begged and begged Mother to ask
Father to let me. She said it would do no good for
Father was very angry and I mustn't spend whole
days with the Warths any more. Whole days! I
should like to know when I was a whole day there.
When I went there naturally I had to stay to dinner
at least. What have I got to do with Dora's love
affairs? It's really too absurd. But grown-ups are
always like that. When one person has done anything
the others have to pay for it too.

August 9th. Thank goodness, I can play tennis
once more; I begged and begged until Father let me
go. Dora declares that nothing will induce her to ask!
That's the old story of the fox and the grapes. She
has been playing the invalid lately, won't bathe, and
stays at home when she can instead of going for
walks. I should like to know what's the matter with
her. What I can't make out is why Father lets her
do it. As for Mother, she always spoils Dora; Dora
is Mother's favourite, especially when Oswald is not
on hand. I can understand her making a favourite
of Oswald, but not of Dora. Father always says
that parents have no favourites, but treat all their
children alike. That's true enough as far as Father
is concerned, although Dora declares that Father
makes a favourite of me; but that's only her fancy.
At Christmas and other times we always get the same
sort of presents, and that's the real test. Rosa Plank
always gets at least three times as much as the rest
of the family, that's what it is to be a favourite.

August 12th. I can't write every day for I spend
most of my time with the Warths. Oswald can't
stand Robert, he says he is a cad and a greenhorn.
What vulgar phrases. For three days I haven't
spoken to Oswald except when I really had to. When
I told Erna and Liesel about it, they said that brothers
were always rude to their sisters. I said, I should
like to know why. Besides, Robert is generally very
nice to his sisters. They said, Yes before you, because
he's on his best behaviour with you. Yesterday we
laughed like anything when he told us what fun the
boys make of their masters. That story about the
cigarette ends was screamingly funny. They have a
society called T. Au. M., that is in Latin Be Silent
or Die in initial letters. No one may betray the
society's secrets, and when they make a new member
he has to strip off all his clothes and lie down naked
and every one spits on his chest and rubs it and says:
Be One of Us, but all in Latin. Then he has to go
to the eldest and biggest who gives him two or three
cuts with a cane and he has to swear that he will
never betray anyone. Then everyone smokes a cigar
and touches him with the lighted end on the arm
or somewhere and says: Every act of treachery will
burn you like that. And then the eldest, who has
a special name which I can't remember, tattoos on
him the word Taum, that is Be Silent or Die, and a
heart with the name of a girl. Robert says that if
he had known me sooner he would have chosen
"Gretchen." I asked him what name he had tattooed
on him, but he said he was not allowed to tell. I
shall tell Oswald to look when they are bathing and
to tell me. In this society they abuse the masters
frightfully and the one who thinks of the best tricks
to play on them is elected to the Rohon; to be a
Rohon is a great distinction and the others must always
carry out his orders. He said there was a lot
more which he couldn't tell me because it's too
tremendous. Then I had to swear that I would never
tell anyone about the society and he wanted me to take
the oath upon my knees, but I wouldn't do that and
he nearly forced me to my knees. In the end I had
to give him my hand on it and a kiss. I didn't mind
giving him that, for a kiss is nothing, but nothing
would induce me to kneel down. Still, I was in an
awful fright, for we were quite alone in the garden
and he took me by the throat and tried to force me
to my knees. All that about the _society_ he told me
when we were quite alone for he said: I can't have
your name tattooed on me because it's against our
laws to have two names but now that you have sworn
I can let you know what I really am and think in
secret.

I couldn't sleep all night for I kept on dreaming
of the society, wondering whether there are such
societies in the high school and whether Dora is in
a society and has a name tattooed on her. But it
would be horrible to have to strip naked before all
one's schoolfellows. Perhaps in the societies of the
high-school girls that part is left out. But I shouldn't
like to say for sure whether I'd have Robert's name
tattooed on me.

August 15th. Yesterday Robert told me that there
are some schoolboy societies where they do very improper
things, but that never happened in their society.
But he didn't say what. I said, the stripping naked
seems to me awful; but he said, Oh, that's nothing,
that must happen if we're to trust one another, it's
all right as long as there's nothing improper. I wish
I knew what. I wish I knew whether Oswald knows
about it, and whether he is in such a society or in
a proper one and whether Father was in one. If I
could only find out. But I can't ask, for if I did
I should betray Robert. When he sees me he always
presses my left wrist without letting anyone see. He
said that is the warning to me to be silent. But he
needn't do that really, for I never would betray him
whatever happened. He said: The pain is to bind
you to me. When he says that his eyes grow dark,
quite black, although his eyes are really grey and they
get very large. Especially in the evening when we
say goodbye, it frightens me. I'm always dreaming
of him.

August 18th. Yesterday evening we had illuminations
in honour of the emperor's birthday. We didn't
get home until half past twelve. At first we went
to a concert in the park and to the illuminations.
They fired salutes from the hills and there were beacons
flaring on the hill-tops; it was rather creepy although
it was wonderful. My teeth chattered once or
twice, I don't know whether I was afraid something
would happen or why it was. Then R. came and
talked such a lot. He is set on going into the army.
For that he needn't learn so much, and what he's learning
now is of no use to him. He says that doesn't
matter, that knowledge will give him a great pull. I
don't think he looks stupid, though Oswald says so to
make me angry. All at once we found ourselves quite
away from the others and so we sat on a bench to wait
for them. Then I asked R. once more about the other
societies, the ones in which they do such improper
things. But he wouldn't tell me for he said he would
not rob me of my innocence. I thought that very
stupid, and I said that perhaps he didn't know himself
and it was all put on. All that happened, he said,
was that anyone who joined the society was tickled
until he couldn't stand it any longer. And once one
of them got St. Vitus's dance, that is frightful
convulsions and they were afraid that everything would
come out. And since then in their society no more
tickling had been allowed. Shall I tickle you a little?
I don't understand you, I said, and anyhow you
daren't.

He gave a great laugh and suddenly he seized me
and tickled me under the arm. It made me want to
laugh frightfully, but I stifled it for there were still
lots of people going by. So he gave that up and
tickled my hand. I liked it at first, but then I got
angry and dragged my hand away. Just then Inspee
went by with two other girls and directly they had
passed us we followed close behind as if we had been
walking like that all the time. It saved me a wigging
from Mother, for she always wants us all to keep together.
As we went along R. said: Look out, Gretel,
I'm going to tickle you some day until you scream.--
How absurd, I won't have it, it takes two to do that.

By the way, in the raffle I won a vase with 2
turtledoves and a bag of sweets and R. won a knife, fork
and spoon. That annoyed him frightfully. Inspee
won a fountain pen, just what I want, and a mirror
which makes one look a perfect fright. A good job
too, for she fancies herself such a lot.

August 29th. O dear, such an awful thing has
happened. I have lost pages 30 to 34 from my diary.
I must have left them in the garden, or else on the
Louisenhohe. It's positively fiendish. If anyone was
to find them. And I don't know exactly what there
was on those pages. I was born to ill luck. If I
hadn't promised Hella to write my diary every day
I should like to give up the whole thing. Fancy if
Mother were to get hold of it, or even Father. And
it's raining so fearfully to-day that I can't even go
into the garden and still less on the Louisenhohe above
all not alone. I must have lost it the day before yesterday,
for I didn't write anything yesterday or the
day before. It would be dreadful if anyone were to
find it. I am so much upset that I couldn't eat anything
at dinner, although we had my favourite
chocolate cream cake. And I'm so unhappy for Father
was quite anxious and Mother too and they both
asked what was the matter with me and I nearly
burst out crying before everyone. We had dinner in
the hotel to-day because Resi had gone away for 2
days. But I couldn't cry in the room before Father
and Mother for that would have given the show away.
My only hope is that no one will recognise my writing,
for Hella and I use upright writing for our diary,
first of all so that no one may recognise our writing
and secondly because upright writing doesn't use up
so much paper as ordinary writing. I do hope it
will be fine to-morrow so that I can hunt in the garden
very early. I have been utterly in the dumps all day
so that I didn't even get cross when Inspee said:
"Have you been quarrelling with your future husband?"

August 30th. It's not in the garden. I begged
Mother to let us go to Louisenhutte this afternoon.
Mother was awfully nice and asked what I was so
worried about, and whether anything had happened.
Then I couldn't keep it in any longer and burst out
crying. Mother said I must have lost something,
and this gave me an awful fright. Mother thought
it was Hella's letter, the one which came on Tuesday,
so I said: No, much worse than that, my diary.
Mother said: Oh well, that's not such a terrible loss,
and will be of no interest to anyone. Oh yes, I said,
for there are all sorts of things written in it about
R. and his society. Look here, Gretel, said Mother,
I don't like this way you talk about R.; I really don't
like you to spend all your time with the Warths;
they're really not our sort and R. is not a fit
companion for you; now that you are going to the high
school you are not a little girl any longer. Promise
me that you'll not be eternally with the Warths.--All
right, Mother, I will break it off gradually so that
nobody will notice. She burst out laughing and kissed
me on both cheeks and promised me to say nothing
to Inspee about the diary for she needn't know everything.
Mother is such a dear. Still 3 hours and
perhaps the pages are still there.

Evening. Thank goodness! In front of the shelter
I found 2 pages all pulped by the rain and the writing
all run and one page was in the footpath quite torn.
Someone must have trodden on it with the heel of
his boot and 2 pages had been rolled into a spill and
partly burned. So no one had read anything. I am
so happy. And at supper Father said: I say, why
are your eyes shining with delight? Have you won
the big prize in the lottery? and I pressed Mother's
foot with mine to remind her not to give me away
and Father laughed like anything and said: Seems
to me there's a conspiracy against me in my own
house. And I said in a great hurry: Luckily we're
not in our own house but in a hotel, and everyone
laughed and now thank goodness it's all over. Live
and learn. I won't let that happen again.

August 31st. Really I'm not so much with the W's
and with R. I think he's offended. This afternoon,
when I went there to tea, he seized me by the wrist
and said: Your father is right, you're a witch. "You
need a castigation." How rude of him. Besides, I
didn't know what castigation meant. I asked Father
and he told me and asked where I had picked up the
word. I said I had passed 2 gentlemen and had heard
one of them use it. What I really thought was that
castigation meant tickling. But it is really horrid to
have no one to talk to. Most of the people have gone
already and we have only a week longer. About that
castigation business. I don't like fibbing to Father,
but I really had to. I couldn't say that R. wanted to
give me a castigation when I didn't know what it
meant. Dora tells a lot more lies than I do and I
always love catching her in a lie for her lies are so
obvious. I'm never caught. It only happened once
when Frau Oberst von Stary was there. Father
noticed that time, for he said: You little rogue, you
tarradiddler!

September 3rd. Such a horrid thing has happened.
I shall never speak to R. again. Oswald is quite
right in calling him a cad. If I had really fallen out
of the swing I might have broken my leg 4 days before
we have to start from home. I can't make out how
it all happened. It was frightful cheek of him to
tickle me as he did, and I gave him such a kick. I
think it was on his nose or his mouth. Then he
actually dared to say: After all I'm well paid out,
for what can one expect when one keeps company
with such young monkeys, with such babies. Fine
talk from him when he's not 14 himself yet. It was
all humbug about his being 15 and he seems to be
one of the idlest boys in the school, never anything
but Satisfactory in his reports, and he's not in the
fifth yet, but only in the fourth. Anyhow, we've
settled our accounts. Cheeky devil. I shall never
tell anyone about it, it will be my first and I hope
my last secret from Hella.

September 6th. We are going home to-morrow.
The last few days have been awfully dull. I saw
R. once or twice but I always looked the other way.
Father asked what was wrong between me and the
Warths and R., so that our great friendship had been
broken off. Of course I had to fib, for it was absolutely
_impossible_ to tell the truth. I said that R. found
fault with everything I did, my writing, my reading
aloud. (That's quite true, he did that once) and
Father said: Well, well, you'll make it up when you
say goodbye to-morrow. Father makes a great mistake.
I'll never speak a word to him again.

For her birthday, although it's not come yet, Dora
is to have a navy blue silk dustcloak. I don't think
the colour suits her, and anyhow she's much too thin
to wear a dustcloak.

September 14th. Hella came back the day before
yesterday. She looks splendid and she says I do
too. I'm so glad that she's back. After all I told her
about R. She was very angry and said I ought to
have given him 2 more; one for the tickling and
one for the "baby" and one for the "young monkey."
If we should happen to meet him, shan't we just glare
at him.

September 17th. Inspee has really got the silk
dustcloak but I think the tartan hood looks rather
silly. Still, I didn't say so, but only that the cloak
fitted beautifully. She has tried it on at least five
times already. I don't know whether Father really
wants to treat her as a grown-up lady or whether
he is making fun of her. I believe he's only making
fun. She doesn't really look like a grown-up lady.
How could she when she's not 14 yet? Yesterday
afternoon such a lot of girls were invited, and of
course Hella was invited on my account and we had
a grand talk. But most of them bragged frightfully
about the country where they _said_ they had been. We
were 9 girls. But Hella is the only one I care about.

September 21st. School begins to-morrow. By the
way, we have agreed to call it Liz [Lyzeum = High
School] and not School. I'm frightfully curious.

September 22nd, 19--. School began to-day. Hella
came to fetch me and we went along together. Inspee
peached on us to Mother, saying we ran on in front
of her. We don't want her as governess. There
are 34 of us in the class. Our teachers are a Frau
Doktor, 2 mistresses, one professor, and I think a
drawing mistress as well. The Frau Doktor teaches
German and writing. She put us together on the
3rd bench. Then she made a speech, then she told
us what books to get, but we are not to buy them
till Monday. We have 3 intervals, one long and 2
short. The long one is for games, the short ones
to go out. I usen't to go out at the elementary school
and now I don't need to. Mother always says that
it's only a bad habit. Most of the girls went out,
and even asked to leave the room during lesson time.
To-day we hadn't any proper lessons. They are to
begin to-morrow, but we don't know what. Then
we came home.

September 23rd. To-day we had the mistress who
teaches geography and history, she has no degree.
Inspee says that she had her last year, but she could
not stand her, she's so ugly. Father was angry and
said to Inspee: You silly goose, don't fill her head
with such stuff. Show what you are worth as elder
sister. One can learn something from every mistress
and every master if one likes. But I can't say, we're
really fond of Fraulein Vischer and I don't much
care for geography and history. Besides I'm not
learning for her but for myself. Frau Dr. Mallburg
is awfully nice and pretty. We shall always write
Frau Dr. M. for short. When she laughs she has
two dimples and a gold stopping. She is new at the
school. I don't know if we are to have singing too.
In French we have Madame Arnau, she is beautifully
dressed, black lace. Hella has a lovely pen and
pencil case; it's quite soft, we must have it soft so
that it shan't make a row when it falls down during
lesson time. I think it cost 7 crowns or 1.70 crowns,
I don't know exactly. To-day lessons went on until
12, first German, then arithmetic, then religion for
Catholics, and then we came away. Hella waited
for me, for the Herr Pastor did not come.

September 24th. We thought the book shops would
be open to-day but we were wrong. Hella's mother
said, that's what happens when the chicks think
themselves wiser than the hens. In the afternoon
Hella came to our house and Inspee had been invited
by the Fs. I don't go there, for it's so dull, they
play the piano all day. I have enough piano at my
lessons. My music lessons will begin when the school
time-table has been fixed up. Perhaps on October 1st,
then I must write to Frau B., she told me to write
myself. She tells all her pupils to do that. I would
rather have had Hella's music mistress. But she
has no time to spare and I think she charges more.
At least she wouldn't always be holding me up
"Fraulein Dora" as a model. We are not all so
musical as Fraulein Dora. In the evening Inspee
was reading a great fat book until 10 or 12 o clock
and she simply howled over it. She said she had
not, but I heard her and she could hardly speak.
She says she had a cold, liar.

September 25th. To-day they gave us the professors'
time-table, but it won't work until the professors
from the Gymnasium know exactly when they can
come. Our Frau Doktor might be teaching in a
Gymnasium, but since there is only one here she
teaches in our school. To-morrow we are going to
have a viva voce composition: Our Holidays. We
may write 8 or 10 sentences at home before we come,
but we must not look at what we have written in
class. I've written mine already. But I've not said
anything about Robert. He's not worth thinking
about anyhow. I did not even tell Hella everything.

September 25th. We had the viva voce composition
and Frau Doktor said, very good, what is your name?
Grete Lainer I said and she said: And is that your
chum next you? Now she must tell us how she spent
her holidays. Hella did hers very well too and Frau
Doktor said again, very good. Then the bell rang.
In the long interval Frau Doktor played dodge with
us. It was great fun. I was it six times. In the
little intervals we were quite alone for the staff has
such a lot to do drawing up the time-table. A pupil-
teacher from the F. high school is in our class. She
sits on the last bench for she is very tall. As tall as
Frau Doktor.

September 26th. To-day we had Professor Riegel
for the first time in natural history. He wears eye-
glasses and never looks any of us in the face. And
in French Madame A. said that my accent was the
best. We've got an awful lot on and I don't know
whether I shall be able to write every day. The
younger girls say Professor Igel instead of Riegel
and the Weinmann girl said Nikel.

September 30th. I've had simply no time to write.
Hella hasn't written anything since the 24th. But
I must write to-day for I met Robert in Schottengasse.
Good morning, Miss, you needn't be so stuck
up, he said as he went by. And when I turned round
he had already passed, or I would have given him a
piece of my mind. I must go to supper

October 1st. I can't write, Oswald has come from
S., he has sprained his ankle, but I'm not so sure
because he can get about. He is awfully pale and
doesn't say a word about the pain.

October 4th. To-day is a holiday, the emperor's
birthday. Yesterday Resi told me something horrid.
Oswald can't go back to S. He has been up to something,
I wish I knew what, perhaps something in the
closet. He always stays there such a long time, I
noticed that when I was in the country. Or perhaps
it may have been something in his society. Inspee
pretends she knows what it is but of course it isn't
true, for she doesn't know any more than I do.
Father is furious and Mother's eyes are all red with
crying. At dinner nobody says a word. If I could
only find out what he's done. Father was shouting
at him yesterday and both Dora and I heard what he
said: You young scamp (then there was something
we couldn't understand) and then he said, you attend
to your school books and leave the girls and the
married women alone you pitiful scoundrel. And Dora
said. Ah, now I understand and I said: Please tell
me, he is my brother as well as yours. But she said:
"You wouldn't understand. It's not suitable for such
young ears." Fancy that, it's suitable for her ears,
but not mine though she's not quite three years older
than I am, but because she no longer wears a short
skirt she gives herself the airs of a grown-up _lady_.
Such airs, and then she sneaks a great spoonful of
jam so that her mouth is stuffed with it and she can't
speak. Whenever I see her do this, I make a point
of speaking to her so that she has to answer. She
does get in such a wax.

October 9th. I know all about it now. . . That's
how babies come. And _that_ is what Robert really
meant. Not for me, thank you, I simply won't marry.
For if one marries one has to do it; it hurts frightfully
and yet one has to. What a good thing that I know
it in time. But I wish I knew exactly how, Hella
says she doesn't know exactly herself. But perhaps
her cousin who knows everything about it will tell
her. It lasts nine months till the baby comes and
then a lot of women die. It's horrible. Hella has
known it for a long time but she didn't like to tell me.
A girl told her last summer in the country. She
wanted to talk about it to Lizzi her sister, really she
only wanted to ask if it was all true and Lizzi ran
off to her mother to tell her what Hella had said
And her mother said; "These children are awful,
a corrupt generation, don't you dare to repeat it to
any other girl, to Grete Lainer, for instance," and
she gave her a box on the ear. As if she could help
it! That is why she didn't write to me for such a
long time. Poor thing, poor thing, but now she can
tell me all about it and we won't betray one another.
And that deceitful cat Inspee has known all about
it for ages and has never told me. But I don't understand
why that time at the swing Robert said: You
little fool, you wont get a baby simply from that.
Perhaps Hella knows. When I go to the gymnastic
lesson to-morrow I shall talk to her first and ask her
about it. My goodness how curious I am to know.

October 10th. I'm in a great funk, I missed my
gymnastic lesson yesterday. I was upstairs at Hella's
and without meaning it I was so late I did not dare
to go. And Hella said I had better stay with her
that we would say that our sum was so difficult that
we had not got it finished in time. Luckily we really
had a sum to do. But I said nothing about it at
home, for to-morrow Oswald is going to G. to Herr
S's. I thought that I knew all about it but only now
has Hella really told me everything. It's a horrible
business this . . . I really can't write it. She
says that of course Inspee has it already, had it
when I wrote that Inspee wouldn't bathe, did not
want to bathe; really she had it. Whatever happens
one must always be anxious about it. _Streams of
blood_ says Hella. But then everything gets all bl . . .
That's why in the country Inspee always switched
off the light before she was quite undressed, so that
I couldn't see. Ugh! Catch me looking! It begins
at 14 and goes on for 20 years or more. Hella says
that Berta Franke in our class knows all about it.
In the arithmetic lesson she wrote a note: Do you
know what being un . . . is? Hella wrote back,
of course I've known it for a long time. Berta waited
for her after class when the Catholics were having
their religion lesson and they went home together.
I remember quite well that I was very angry, for
they're not chums. On Tuesday Berta came with
us, for Hella had sent her a note in class saying that
I knew _everything_ and she needn't bother about me.
Inspee suspects something, she's always spying about
and sneering, perhaps she thinks that she's the only
person who ought to know anything.

October 16th. To-morrow is Father's and Dora's
birthday. Every year it annoys me that Dora should
have her birthday on the same day as Father; What
annoys me most of all is that she is so cocky about
it, for, as Father always says, it's a mere chance.
Besides, I don't think he really likes it. Everyone
wants to have their own birthday on their own day,
not to share it with someone else. And it's always
nasty to be stuck up about a thing like that. Besides,
it's not going to be a real birthday because of the
row about Oswald. Father is still furious and had
to stay away from the office for 2 days because he
had to go to G. to see about Oswald going there.

October 17th. It was much jollier to-day than I
had expected. All the Bruckners came, so of course
there was not much said about Oswald only that he
has sprained his ankle, (I know quite well now that
that's not true) and that he is probably going to G.
Colonel B. said: The best thing for a boy is to send
him to a military academy, that keeps him in order.
In the evening Oswald said: That was awful rot
what Hella's father said, for you can be expelled
from a military academy just as easily as from the
Gymnasium. That's what happened to Edgar Groller.
Oswald gave himself away and Dora promptly said:
Ah, so you have been expelled, and we believed you
had sprained your ankle. Then he got in an awful
wax and said: O you wretched flappers, I've gone
and blabbed it all now, and he went away slamming
the door, for Mother wasn't there

October 19th. If we could only find out what
Oswald really did. It must have been something
with a girl. But we can't think what Father meant
about a married woman. Perhaps a married woman
complained of him to the head master or to the school
committee and that's how it all came out. I feel
awfully sorry for him, for I think how I should have
felt myself if everything had come out about Robert
and me. Of course I don't care now. But in the
summer it would have been awful. Oswald hardly
says a word, except that he has talks with Mother
sometimes. He always pretends that he wants to
read, but it's absurd, for with such a love trouble
one can't really read. I have not told Berta Franke
all about it, but only that my brother has had an
unhappy love affair and that is why he is back in
Vienna. Then she told us that this summer a cousin
of hers shot himself because of her. They said in the
newspapers that it was because of an actress, but
really it was because of her. She is 14 already.

October 20th. We spend most of our time now
with Berta Franke. She says she has had a tremendous
lot of experience, but she can't tell us yet because
we are not intimate enough. By and by she says.
Perhaps she is afraid we shall give her away. She
wants to marry when she is 16 at latest. That's in
2 years. Of course she won't have finished school
by then, but she will have left the third class. She
has three admirers, but she has not yet made up her
mind which to choose. Hella says I mustn't believe
all this, that the story about the three admirers at
once is certainly a cram.

October 21st. Berta Franke says that when one
is dark under the eyes one has it and that when one
gets a baby then one doesn't have it any more until
one gets another. She told us too how one gets it,
but I didn't really believe what she said, for I thought
she did not know herself exactly. Then she got very
cross and said: "All right, I won't tell you any more.
If I don't know myself." But I can't believe what
she said about husband and wife. She said it must
happen every night, for if not they don't have a
baby; if they miss a single night they don't have a
baby. That's why they have their beds so close
together. People call them _marriage beds!!!_ And
it hurts so frightfully that one can hardly bear it.
But one has to for a husband can make his wife do
it. I should like to know how he can make her.
But I didn't dare to ask for I was afraid she would
think I was making fun of her. Men have it too,
but very seldom. We see a lot of Berta Franke now,
she is an awfully nice girl, perhaps Mother will let
me invite her here next Sunday.

October 23rd. Father took Oswald away to-day.
Mother cried such a lot. When Oswald was leaving
I whispered to him: I know what's the matter with
you. But he did not understand me for he said:
Silly duffer. Perhaps he only said that because of
Father who was looking on with a fearful scowl.

October 27th. Everything seems to have gone
wrong. Yesterday I got unsatisfactory in history, and
in arithmetic to-day I couldn't get a single sum right.
I'm frightfully worried about missing that gymnastic
lesson. It will be all right if Mother gives me the
money to-morrow, for if she goes herself she will
certainly find out about it.

October 28th. To-day the head mistress was present
at our French lesson and said awfully nice things
about me. She said I was good enough in French
to be in the Third and then she asked me whether
I was as good in the other subjects. I didn't want
to say either Yes or No, and all the other girls said
Yes, she's good at everything. The head patted me
on the shoulder and said: I'm glad to hear that.
When she had gone I cried like anything and Madame
Arnau asked: Why, what's the matter? and the other
girls said: In arithmetic she had Unsatisfactory but
she can really do her sums awfully well. Then
Madame said: "You'll soon wipe off that Unsatisfactory."

October 30th. To-day I had a frightful bother
with Fraulein Vischer in the history lesson. Yesterday
when I got into the tram with Mother there was
Fraulein V. I looked the other way so that Mother
shouldn't see her and so that she should not tell
Mother about me. When she came in to-day she said:
Lainer, do you know the rules? I knew directly what
she meant and said "I did bow to you in the tram
but you didn't see me." "That's a fine thing to do,
first you do wrong and then try to excuse yourself by
telling a lie. Sit down!" I felt awful for all the
girls looked at me. In the 11 interval Berta Franke
said to me: Don't worry, she's got her knife into you
and will always find something to complain of. She
must have spoken to Frau Doktor M., for in the German
lesson the subject for viva voce composition was
Good Manners. And all the girls looked at me again.
She didn't say anything more. She's a perfect angel,
my darling E. M., her name is Elisabeth; but she
does not keep her name-day because she's a Protestant;
that's an awful shame because November 19th is coming
soon.

October 31st. I've been so lucky. Nothing's come
out about the gymnastic lesson though Mother was
there herself. And in mental arithmetic to-day I
got a One. Fraulein Steiner is awfully nice too and
she said: Why, L. what was the matter with you
in your sums the other day, for you're so good at
arithmetic? I didn't know what to do so I said:
Oh I had such a headache the other day. Then Berta
Franke nearly burst out laughing, it was horrid of
her; I don't think she's quite to be trusted; I think
she's rather a sneak. When the lesson was over she
said she had laughed because "headache" means
something quite different.

November 1st. To-day we began to work at the
tablecloth for Father's Christmas present. Of course
Inspee bagged the right side because that's easier to
work at and I had to take the left side and then one
has the whole caboodle on one's hand. For Mother
I'm making an embroidered leather book cover,
embroidered with silk and with a painted design; I
can do the painting part at school in Fraulein H.'s
lesson, she's awfully nice too. But I like Frau Doktor
M. best of all. I'm _not_ going to invite Berta Franke
because of the way she laughed yesterday, and besides
Mother doesn't like having strange girls to the house.
November 2nd. I don't know all about things yet.
Hella knows a lot more. We said we were going
to go over our natural history lesson together and we
went in to the drawing-room, and there she told me a
lot more. Then Mali, our new servant, came in,
and she told us something horrid. Resi is in a hospital
because she's ill. Mali told us that all the Jews
when they are quite little have to go through a very
dangerous operation; it hurts frightfully and that's
why they are so cruel. It's done so that they can have
more children; but only little boys, not little girls.
It's horrid, and I should not like to marry a Jew.
Then we asked Mali whether it is true that it hurts
so frightfully and she laughed and said: It can't be
so bad as all that, for if it were you wouldn't find
everyone doing it. Then Hella asked her: But have
you done it already, you haven't got a husband? She
said: Go on, Miss! One mustn't ask such questions
it's not ladylike. We were in an awful funk, and
begged her not to tell Mother. She promised not to.

November 5th. Everything has come out through
that stupid waist band. Yesterday when I was tidying
my drawers Mali came in to make the beds and
saw my fringed waistband. "I say, she said, that is
pretty!" You can have it if you like, I said, for
I've given up wearing it. At dinner yesterday I
noticed that Mother was looking at Mali and I
blushed all over. After dinner Mother said, Gretel,
did you give Mali that waistband? Yes, I said, she
asked me for it. She came in at that moment to clear
away and said: "No, I never asked for it, Fraulein
Grete gave it to me herself." I don't know what
happened after that, I'd gone back to my room when
Mother came in and said: A fine lot of satisfaction
one gets out of one's children. Mali has told me the
sort of things you and Hella talk about. I ran
straight off to the kitchen and said to Mali: How
could you tell such tales of us? It was you who
chipped in when we were talking. It was frightfully
mean of you. In the evening _she_ must needs go and
complain of me to Father and he scolded me like anything
and said: You're a fine lot, you children, I
must say. You are not to see so much of Hella now,
do you understand?

November 6th. A fine thing this, that I'm a silly
fool now. When I gave Hella a nudge so that she
should not go on talking before Mali, she laughed
and said: What does it matter, Mali knows all about
it, probably a great deal more than we do. It was
only after that that Mali told us about the Jews.
Now, if you please, I am a silly fool. All right, now
that I know what I am, a silly fool. And that's what
one's best friend calls one!

November 7th. Hella and I are very stand-offish.
We walk together, but we only talk of everyday
things, school and lessons, nothing else. We went
skating to-day for the first time and we shall go
whenever we have time, which is not very often.
Mother is working at the table cloth. It's very hard
work but she has not got as much to do as we have.

November 8th. There was such a lovely young lady
skating to-day, and she skates so beautifully, inside
and outside edge and figures of 8. I skated along
behind her. When she went to the cloak room there
was such a lovely scent. I wonder if she is going to
be married soon and whether _she_ knows all about
everything. She is so lovely and she pushes back the
hair from her forehead so prettily. I wish I were as
pretty as she is. But I am dark and she is fair. I
wish I could find out her name and where she lives.
I must go skating again to-morrow; do my lessons
in the evening.

November 9th. I'm so upset; _she_ didn't come to
skate. I'm afraid she may be ill.

November 10th. She didn't come to-day either. I
waited two hours, but it was no good.

November 11th. She came to-day, at last! Oh
how pretty she is.

November 12th. She has spoken to me. I was
standing near the entrance gate and suddenly I heard
some one laughing behind me and I knew directly:
That is _she!_ So it was. She came up and said:
Shall we skate together? Please, if I may, said I,
and we went off together crossing arms. My heart
was beating furiously, and I wanted to say something,
but couldn't think of anything sensible to say. When
we came back to the entrance a gentleman stood there
and took off his hat and she bowed, and she said to
me: Till next time. I said quickly: When? Tomorrow?
Perhaps, she called back. . . . Only
perhaps, perhaps, oh I wish it were to-morrow already.

November 13th. Inspee declares that her name is
Anastasia Klastoschek. I'm sure it can't be true that
she has such a name, she might be called Eugenie or
Seraphine or Laura, but Anastasia, impossible. Why
are there such horrid names? Fancy if she is really
called that. Klastoschek, too, a Czech name, and she
is supposed to come from Moravia and to be 26 already;
26, absurd, she's 18 at most. I'm sure she's
not so much as 18. Dora says she lives in Phorusgasse,
and that she doesn't think her particularly pretty. Of
course that's rank jealousy; Dora thinks no one pretty
except herself.

November 14th. I asked the woman at the pay box,
her name really is Anastasia Klastoschek and she
lives in the Phorusgasse; but the woman didn't know
how old she is. She would not tell me at first but
asked why I wanted to know and who had sent me
to enquire. She wouldn't look into the book until
I told her that it was _only for myself_ that I wanted
to know. Then she looked, for I knew the number
of the cloak room locker: 36, a lovely number, I like
it so much. I don't really know why, but when I
hear anyone say that number it sounds to me like a
squirrel jumping about in the wood.

November 20th. It's really impossible to write
every day. Mother is ill in bed and the doctor comes
every day, but I don't really know what's the matter
with her. I'm not sure whether the doctor knows
exactly. When Mother is ill everything at home is
so uncomfortable and she always says: Whatever
you do don't get ill, for it's such a nuisance. But
I don't mind being ill; indeed I rather like being ill,
for then everyone's so nice, when Father comes home
he comes and sits by my bed and even _Dora_ is rather
nice and does things for me; that is she _has_ to.
Besides, when she had diptheria two years ago I did
everything I could for her, she nearly died, her
temperature went up to 107 and Mother was sick with
crying. Father never cries. It must look funny when
a man cries. When there was all that row about
Oswald he cried, I think Father had given him a
box on the ear. He said he hadn't but I think he
had; certainly he cried, though he said he didn't.
After all, why shouldn't he for he's not really grown
up yet. I cry myself when I get frightfully annoyed.
Still I shouldn't cry for a box on the ear.

November 21st. In the religion lesson to-day Lisel
Schrotter who is the Herr Catechist's favourite, no
we've got to call him Herr Professor, as she is the
Herr Professor's favourite, well she went to him with
the Bible and asked him what _with child_ meant.
That's what they say of Mary in the Bible. The
Schrotter girl does not know anything yet and the
other girls egged her on till she went and asked. The
Herr Professor got quite red and said: If you don't
know yet it does not matter. We shall come to that
later, we're still in the Old Testament. I was so
glad that Hella does not sit next me in the religion
lesson, because she's a Protestant; we should certainly
have both burst out laughing. Some of the girls
giggled frightfully and the Herr Professor said to
Lisel: You're a good girl, don't bother about the
others. But Lisel positively howled. I would not
have asked, even if I hadn't really known. _With
child_ is a stupid word anyhow, it doesn't mean anything
really; only if one knows.

November 22nd. When I was coming away from
the religion lesson with Berta Franke the other day,
of course we began talking about _it_. She says that's
why people marry, only because of _it_. I said I could
not believe that people marry only for _that_. Lots
of people marry and then have no children. That's
all right said Berta, but it's quite true what I tell
you. Then she told me a lot more but I really can't
write it all down. It is too horrid, but I shan't forget.
When I was sitting on Mother's bed to-day I suddenly
realised that Father's bed is really quite close to
Mother's. I had never thought about it before. But
it's not really necessary now for we are all quite big.
Still I suppose they've just left things as they were.
Well dear, said Mother, what are you looking round
so for? Of course I didn't let on, but said: I was
only looking round and thinking that if your bed was
where the washstand is you could see to read better
when you are lying in bed. That would not do because
the wall's all wrong said Mother. I said nothing
more and she didn't either. I like much better
to sleep on a sofa than in a bed, because I like to
snuggle up against the back. I'm so glad Mother
didn't notice anything. One has to be so frightfully
careful not to give oneself away when one knows
everything.

November 25th. I have just been reading a lovely
story; it is called _A True Heart_ and is about a girl
whose betrothed has had to leave her because he has
shot a man who was spying on him. But Rosa remains
true to him till he comes back after 10 years
and then they marry. It's simply splendid and
frightfully sad at first. I do love these library books,
but when we were at the elementary school I knew
all the books they had and the mistress never knew
what to give me and Hella. In the high school we
get only one book a month, for the Frau Doktor
says we have plenty of work to do, and that when
we are not at work we ought to be out in the fresh
air. I can't manage to go skating every day. I do
love the Gold Fairy, that is my name for _her_, for
I hate her real name. Inspee declares that they call
her Stasi for short, but I don't believe that; most
likely they call her Anna, but that's so common.
Thank goodness Hella always calls me Rita, so at
school I'm known as Rita. It's only at home that
they will call me Gretl. The other day I said to
Inspee: If you want me to call you Thea you must
call me Rita; and anyhow I won't let you call me
Gretl, that's what they call a little girl or a peasant
girl. She said: I don't care tuppence what _you_ call
me. All right, then, she shall be Dora till the end
of time.

November 27th. Father has been made Appeal
Court Judge. He is awfully glad and so is Mother.
The news came yesterday evening. Now he can
become President of the Supreme Court, not directly,
but in a few years. We shall probably move to a
larger house in May. Inspee said to Mother that
she hoped she would have her _own_ room where she
would not be _disturbed_. How absurd, who disturbs
her, I suppose I do? Much more like she disturbs
me, always watching while I'm writing my diary.
Hella always says: "There really ought not to be
any elder sisters; she's jolly well right. It's a pity
we can't alter things. Mother says we are really too
big to keep St. Nicholas, but I don't see why one
should ever be too big for that. Last year Inspee
got something from St. Nicholas when she was 13
and I'm not 12 yet. All we get are chocolates and
sweets and dates and that sort of thing, not proper
presents. The girls want to give the Frau Doktor
a great Krampus[1] to leave it on her desk. I think
that's silly. It's not a proper present for a teacher
one is really fond of, one doesn't want to waste sweets
on a teacher one doesn't like, and to give an empty
Krampus would be rude. Mother is really right and
a Krampus is only suitable for children.


[1] Krampus=Ruprechtsknecht, i.e. a little Demon, who serves
St. Nicholas, and is a bogey man to carry off naughty children
An image of this Demon filled with sweets, is given as a present
on the feast of St. Nicholas which inaugurates the Christmas
season.--Translators' Note.


December 1st. We are giving everyone of the staff
a Krampus, each of us is to subscribe a crown, I hope
Father will give me the crown extra. Perhaps he'll
give us more pocket money now, at least another
crown, that would be splendid. We are going to give
big Krampuses to the ones we like best, and: small
ones to those we are not so fond of. We're afraid to
give one to Professor J. But if he doesn't get one
perhaps he'll be offended.

December 2nd. To-day we went to buy Krampuses
for the staff. The one for Frau Doktor M. is the
finest. When you open it the first thing you see is
little books with Schiller, Goethe, and Fairy Tales
written on the backs, and then underneath these
are the sweets. That's exactly suited for her, for the
Frau Doktor teaches German and in the Fourth in
German they are reading these poets. Last month in
the Fourth they had a Schiller festival and Frau Doktor
made a splendid speech and some of the girls
gave recitations. Besides Hella has shown me an
awful poem by Schiller. There you can read: if
only I could catch her in the bath, she would cry for
mercy, for I would soon show the girl that I am a
man. And then in another place: "To my mate
in God's likeness I can show _that_ which is the source
of life." But you can only find that in the _large_
editions of Schiller. I believe we've got some books
of that sort in our bookcase, for when Inspee was
rummaging there the other day Mother called from
the next room: "Dora, what are you hunting for
in the bookcase? I can tell you where it is." And
she said: Oh, it's nothing, I was just looking for
something, and shut the door quickly.

December 4th. The girls are so tiresome and have
made such a muddle about the Krampuses for the
staff. The money didn't come out right and Keller
said that Markus had taken some but Markus said
not taken only kept. Of course Markus complained
to Frau Doktor and her father went to the head
and complained too. Frau Doktor said we know quite
well that collections are not allowed and that we
must not give any one a Krampus. Now Keller has
the five Krampuses and we don't know what to do
about it. Mother says that sort of thing never turns
out well but always ends in a quarrel.

December 5th. We are in such a funk: Hella
and I and Edith Bergler have taken the Krampus
which we bought for Frau Doktor M. and put it on
her doorstep. Edith Bergler knew where she lived for
she comes by there every day on her way to school.
I wonder if she'll guess where the Krampus comes
from. I did not know that Edith Bergler was such
a nice girl, I always thought she must be deceitful
because she wears spectacles. But now I'm quite
certain she is not deceitful, so one sees how easy it
is to make a mistake. To-morrow's our German
lesson.

December 6th. Frau Doktor did not say anything
at first. Then she gave out the subject for the essay:
"Why once I could not go to sleep at night." The
girls were all taken aback, and then Frau Doktor said:
Now girls that's not so very difficult. One person
cannot go to sleep because he's just going to be ill,
another because he is excited by joy or fear. Another
has an uneasy conscience because he has done something
which he has been forbidden to do; have not
all of you experienced something of the kind? Then
she looked frightfully hard at Edith Bergler and us
two. She did not say anything more, so we don't
really know if she suspects. I couldn't go to the ice
carnival yesterday because I had such a bad cough,
and Dora couldn't go either because she had a headache;
I don't know whether it was a real headache
or _that kind_ of headache; but I expect it was that kind.

December 17th. I haven't managed to write anything
for a whole week. The day before yesterday
we had our Christmas reports: In history I had
satisfactory, in Natural History good, in everything
else very good. In diligence because of that stupid
Vischer I had only a 2. Father was very angry; he
says everyone can get a 1 in diligence. That's true
enough, but if one has satisfactory in anything then
one can't get a 1 for diligence. Inspee of course had
only 1's, except a 2 in English. But then she's a
frightful swot. Verbenowitsch is the best in our class,
but we can't any of us bear her, she's so frantically
conceited and Berta Franke says she's _not to be
trusted_. Berta walks to school with her cousin who's
in the seventh; she's nearly 14, and is awfully pretty.
She didn't say what sort of a report she had, but I
believe it was a very bad one.

December 18th. To-day at supper Dora fainted because
she found a little chicken in her egg, not really
a chicken yet, but one could make out the wings and
the head, just a sketch of a chicken Father said.
Still, I really can't see what there was to faint about.
Afterwards she said it had made her feel quite creepy.
And she'll never be able to eat another egg. At first
Father was quite frightened and so was Mother, but
then he laughed and said: What a fuss about nothing!
She had to go and lie down at once and I stayed
downstairs for a long time. When I came up to our
room she was reading, that is I saw the light through
the crack in the door; but when I opened the door it
was all dark and when I asked: Ah so you're still
reading she didn't answer and she pretended to wake
up when I switched on the light and said: What's the
matter? I can't stand such humbug so I said: Shut
up, you know quite well it's 9 o-clock. That's all.
On our way to school to-day we didn't Speak a word
to one another. Luckily after awhile we met a girl
belonging to her class.

December 19th. I'm frightfully excited to know
what I'm going to get for Christmas. What I've
wished for is: A set of white furs, boa, muff, and
velvet cap trimmed with the same fur, acme skates
because mine are always working loose, _German_ sagas,
not Greek; no thank you, hair ribbons, openwork
stockings, and if possible a gold pin like the one Hella
got for a birthday present. But Father says that
our Christ Child would find that rather too expensive.
Inspee wants a corset. But I don't think she'll get
one because it's unhealthy. The tablecloth for Father
is finished and is being trimmed, but Mother's book
cover is not quite ready yet. I'm giving Dora a
little manicure case. Oh, and I'd nearly forgotten
what I want more than anything else, a lock-up box in
which to keep my diary. Dora wants some openwork
stockings too and three books. A frightful thing
happened to me the other day. I left one of the
pages of my diary lying about or lost one somehow
or other. When I came home Inspee said: "you've
lost _this_, haven't you? School notes I suppose?"
I didn't notice what it was for a moment, but then
I saw by the look of it and said: Yes, those are school
notes. Hm-m-m, said Inspee, not exactly that are
they? You can thank your stars that I've not shown
them to Mother. Besides people who can't spell yet
really ought not to keep diaries. It's not suitable for
children. I was in a wax. In the closet I took a
squint to see what mistakes I had made. There was
only _wenn_ with one _n_ instead of double _n_ and _dass_
with short _ss's_, that's all. I was jolly glad that there
was nothing about _her_ on the page. She'd under-
lined the _n_ and the short _ss's_ with red, just as if she
was a schoolmistress, infernal cheek! The best would
be to have a book with a lock to it, which one could
alway keep locked, then no one could read any of it
and underline one's mistakes in red. I often write
so fast that it's easy to make a slip now and again.
As if she never made a mistake. The whole thing
made me furious. But I can't say anything about it
because of Mother, at least on the way to school; but
no, if I say nothing at all then she always gets more
waxy than ever. If I were to say much about it
Mother might remember those 5 pages I lost in the
country and I'd rather not thank you.

December 22nd. Aunt Dora came to-day. She's
going to stay with us for a time till Mother is quite
well again. I didn't remember her at all, for I was
only four or five when she went away from Vienna.
You dear little black beetle she said to me and gave
me a kiss. I didn't like the _black_ much, but Hella
says that suits me, that it's _piquant_. _Piquant_ is
what the officers always say of her cousin in Krems,
Father says she is a beauty, and she's dark like me.
But I'd rather be fair, fair with brown eyes or better
still with violet eyes. Shall I grow up a beauty? Oh
I do hope I shall!

December 23rd. I am frightfully excited about to-
morrow. I wonder what I shall get? Now I must go
and decorate the Christmas tree. Inspee said: Hullo,
is _Gretl_ going to help decorate this year? She's never
done it before! I should like to know why not. But
Aunt Dora took my side. "Of course she'll help
decorate too; but please don't stuff yourselves with
sweets." "If Dora doesn't eat anything I shan't
either," said I promptly.

Evening. Yesterday was our last day at school.
The holidays are from the 23rd to January 2nd. It's
glorious. I shall be able to go skating every day.
Of course I had no time to-day and shan't have to--
morrow. I wonder whether I should send the Gold
Fairy a Christmas card. I wish she had a prettier
name. Anastasia Klastoschek; it is so ugly. All
Czech names are so ugly. Father knows a Count
Wilczek, but a still worse name is Schafgotsch.
Nothing would induce me to marry anyone called
Schafgotsch or Wilczek even if he were a count and
a millionaire. Yesterday we paid our respects to the
staff, Verbenowitsch and I went to Frau Doktor because
she is fondest of us, or is _said_ to be. Nobody
wanted to go to Professor Rigl, Igel, we always say
Nikel, for when he has respects paid to him he always
says: "Aw ri'." But it would have been rude
to leave him out and so the monitors had to go. When
Christmas was drawing near Frau Doktor told us
that we were none of us to give presents to the staff.
"I beg you, girls, to bear in mind what I am saying,
for if you do not there will only be trouble. You
remember what happened on St. Nicholas' day. And
you must not send anything to the homes of the staff,
nor must the Christ Child leave anything on any one's
doorstep." As she said this she looked hard at me
and Edith Bergler, so she knows who left the Krampus.
I'm so tired I can't keep my eyes open. Hurrah,
to-morrow is Christmas Eve!!!

December 24th. Christmas Eve afternoon is horrid.
One does not know what to be at. I'm not allowed
to go skating so the best thing is to write. Oswald
came home yesterday. Everyone says he's looking
splendid; I think he's awfully pale and he snorted
when everyone said he had such a fine colour; of
course, how can he look well when he has such a
_heartache_. I wish I could tell him that I understand
what he feels, but he's too proud to accept sympathy
from me. He has wished for an army revolver for
Christmas, but I don't think he'll get one for boys at
the middle school are not allowed to have any firearms.
Not long ago at a Gymnasium in Galicia one
of the boys shot a master out of revenge; they said
it was because the boy was getting on badly with his
work, but really it was about a girl, although the
master was 36 years old. This morg. I was in town
with Oswald shopping; we met the Warths, Elli
and . . . Robert. Oswald said that Elli was quite
nice-looking but that Robert was an ugly beast. Besides,
he can't stand him he said, because he glared
at me so. If only he knew what happened in the
summer! I was awfully condescending to Robert and
that made him furious. If one could only save you
girls from all the troubles which the world calls
"Love," said Oswald on the way home. I was just
going to say "I know that you're unhappy in love
and I can feel for you," when Inspee came round
the corner of the Bognergasse with her chum and 2
officers were following them, so none of them saw us.
"Great Scott, Frieda's full-fledged now," said Oswald,
"she's a little tart." I can't stand that sort of vulgarity
so I did not say another word all the way home. He
noticed and said to Mother: "Gretl's mouth has been
frozen up from envy." That's all. But it was really
disgusting of him and now I know what line to take.

Just a moment for a word or two. The whole
Christmas Eve has gone to pot. A commissionaire
came with a bouquet for Dora and Father is fuming.
I wish I knew who sent it. I wonder if it was one
of those 2 officers? Of course Inspee says she has
not the ghost of an idea. What surprises me is that
Oswald has not given her away. All he said was:
I say, what a lark! But Father was down on him
like anything, "You hold your jaw and think of your
own beastly conduct." I didn't envy him; I don't
think much of Dora's looks myself, but apparently she
pleases _someone_. In the bouquet there was a poem
and Dora got hold of it quickly before Father had
seen it. It was awfully pretty, and it was signed:
One for whom you have made Christmas beautiful!
The heading is: "The Magic Season." I think
Dora's splendid not to give herself away; even to me
she declares she does not know who sent it; but of
course that may be all humbug. I think it really comes
from young Perathoner, with whom she's always
skating.

December 28th. I've had absolutely no time to
write. I got everything I wanted. Aunt Dora gave
both of us an opera glass in mother-of-pearl in a plush
case. We are going to all the school performances,
Father's arranged it; he has subscribed to _all_ the
performances during the school year 19-- to 19--.
I am so delighted for Frau Doktor M. will come too.
I do hope I shall sit next to her.

December 31st. To-day I wanted to read through
all I have written, but I could not manage it but in
the new year I really must write every day.

January 1st, 19--. I must write a few sentences
at least. For the afternoon we had been invited to
the Rydberg's the Warths were there and Edle von
Wernhoff!! I was just the same as usual with Lisel
but I would not say a word to R. They left before
us, and then Heddy asked me what was wrong between
me and R. He had said of me: Any one can
have the _black goose for me_. Then he said that any
one could take me in. I was so stupid that I would
believe anything. I can't think what he meant, for
he never took me in about anything. Anyhow I would
not let _him_ spoil new year's day for me. But Hella
is quite right for if the first person one meets on
January 1st is a common person that's a bad beginning.
The first thing this morning when I went out I met
our old postman who's always so grumpy if he's kept
waiting at the door. I looked the other way directly
and across the street a fine young gentleman was passing,
but it was no good for the common postman had
really been the first.

January 12th. I am so angry. _We_ mayn't go skating
any more because Inspee has begun to complain
again of her silly old ears and Mother imagines that
she got her earache last year skating. It's all right
to keep _her_ at home; but why shouldn't _I_ go? How
can _I_ help it when _she_ gets a chill so easily? In most
things Father is justice itself, but I really can't understand
him this time. It's simply absurd, only it's too
miserable to call it absurd. I'm in a perfect fury.
Still, I don't say anything.

February 12th. I have not written for a whole
month, I've been working so hard. To-day we got
our reports. Although I've been working so frightfully
hard, again I only got a 2 in Diligence. Frau
Doktor M. made a splendid speech and said: As
you sow, so you shall reap. But that's not always true.
In Natural History I did not know my lesson twice but
I got a 1, and in History I only did not know my
lesson once and I got Satisfactory. Anyhow Fraulein
V. does not like me because of that time when I
did not bow to her in the tram. That is why in January,
when Mother asked about me, she said: "She
does not really put her back into her work." I overheard
Father say: After all she's only a kid, but to-
day he made a frightful row about the 2 in Diligence.
He might have known why she gave me that. Dora,
_so she says_, has only ones, but she has not shown me
the report. I don't believe what I don't see. And
Mother never gives her away to me.

February 15th. Father is furious because Oswald
has an Unsatisfactory in Greek. Greek is really no
use; for no one uses Greek, except the people who
live in Greece and Oswald will never go there, if he
is going to be a judge like Father. _Of course_ Dora
learns Latin; but not for me thank you. Hella's report
is not particularly good and her father was in a
_perfect fury!!!_ He says she ought to have a better
report than any one else. She does not bother much
and says: One can't have everything. But if she
doesn't get nothing but ones in the summer term she
is not to stay at the high school and will have to go
to the middle school. That'll make her sit up.
Father's awfully funny too: What have you got history
books for, if you don't read them? Yesterday
when I was reading my album of stories, Father came
in and said: You like a story book better than a
history book, and shut the book up and took it away
from me. I was in such a temper that I went to bed
at 7 o'clock without any supper.

February 20th. I met the Gold Fairy to-day. She
spoke to me and asked why I did not come skating
any more. The fancy dress Ice Carnival on the 24th
was splendid she said. I said: Would you believe
it, a year ago my _sister_ had an earache, and _for that
reason_ they won't allow _either_ of us to skate this year.
She laughed like anything and said so exquisitely:
Oh, what a wicked sister. She looked perfectly
ravishing: A red-brown coat and skirt trimmed with
fur, sable I believe, and a huge brown beaver hat with
crepe-de-chine ribbons, lovely. And her eyes and
mouth. I believe she will marry the man who is always
going about with her. Next autumn, when we
get new winter clothes, I shall have a fur trimmed
red-brown. We must not always be dressed alike.
Hella and Lizzi are never dressed alike.

March 8th. I shall never say another word to Berta
Franker she's utterly false. I've such a frightful
headache because I cried all through the lesson. She
wrote to Hella and me in the arithmetic lesson: A
_Verhaltnis_[2] means something quite different. Just
at that moment the mistress looked across and said:
To whom were you nodding? She said: To Lainer.
Because she laughed at the word "Verhaltnis." It was
not true. I had not thought about the word at all.
It wasn't till I had read the note that it occurred to
Hella and me what _Verhaltnis_ means. After the lesson
Fraulein St. called us down into the teachers' room
and told Frau Doktor M. that Franke and I had
laughed at the use of the word "Verhaltnis." Frau
Doktor said: What was there to laugh at? Why did
you not just do your sums? Fraulein St. said: You
ought to be ashamed of yourselves, young girls in the
first class shouldn't know anything about such things.
I shall have to speak to your mothers. In the German
lesson Frau Doktor M. told us to write an essay on
the proverb: Pure the heart and true the word, clear
the brow and free the eye, these are our safeguards,
or something of that sort; I must get Hella to write it
for me, for I was crying all through the lesson.


[2] The German word Verhaltnis as used in the arithmetic lesson
means ratio, proportion. The word is in common use in
Germany for a love intimacy or liaison.--Translators' Note.


March 10th. To-day Berta Franke wanted to talk
things out with us; but Hella and I told her we would
not speak to her again. We told her to remember
_what sort_ of things she had said to us. She denied it
all already. We shouldn't be such humbugs. It was
mean of her. Really we didn't know anything and
_she_ told us all about it. Hella has told me again and
again she wished we didn't know anything. She says
she's always afraid of giving herself away and that
she often thinks about that sort of thing when she
ought to be learning her lessons. So do I. And one
often dreams about such things at night when one
has been talking about them in the afternoon. Still,
it's better to know all about it.

March 22nd. I so seldom manage to write anything,
first of all our lessons take such a lot of time,
and second because I don't care about it any more
since what Father said the other day. The last time
I wrote was on Saturday afternoon, and Father came
in and said: Come along children, we'll go to Schonbrunn.
That will do you more good than scribbling
diaries which you only go and lose when you've written
them. So Mother told Father all about it in the
holidays. I couldn't have believed it of Mother for
I begged her to promise not to tell anyone. And she
said: One doesn't promise about a thing like that;
but I won't tell anyone. And now she must have told
about it, although she said she wouldn't. Even
Franke's deceitfulness was nothing to that for after
all we've only known her since last autumn, but I
could never have believed that Mother would do such
a thing. I told Hella when we were having tea at
the Tivoli and she said she would not altogether trust
her mother, she'd rather trust her father. But if that
had happened to _her_, her father would have boxed
her ears with the diary. I did not want to show anything,
but in the evening I only gave Mother quite a
little kiss. And she said, what's the matter, dear? has
anything happened? Then I could not keep it in
and I cried like anything and said: You've betrayed
me. And Mother said: "I?" Yes, you; you told
Father about the diary though you promised me you
wouldn't. At first Mother didn't remember anything
about it, but soon she remembered and said: "But,
little one, I tell Father everything. All you meant was
that Dora was not to know." That's quite true, it's
all right that Dora wasn't told; but still Father need
not have been told either. And Mother was awfully
sweet and nice and I didn't go to bed till 10 o'clock.
But whatever happens I shan't tell her anything again
and I don't care about the old diary any more. Hella
says: Don't be stupid; I ought just to go on writing;
but another time I should be careful not to lose
anything, and besides I should not blab everything to
Mother and Father. She says she no longer tells her
mother anything since that time in the summer when
her mother gave her a box on the ear because that
other girl had told her all about everything. It's quite
true, Hella is right, I'm just a child still in the way
I run to Mother and tell her everything. And it's not
nice of Father to tease me about my diary; I suppose
he never kept one himself.

March 27th. Hurrah we're going to Hainfeld for
Easter; I am so delighted. Mother has a friend there
whose husband is doctor there, so she has to live there
all the year round. Last year in the winter she and
Ada stayed three days with us because her eyes were
bad. Ada is really nearly as old as Dora, but Dora
said, like her cheek: "Her intellectual level makes
her much more suitable company for you than for me."
Dora thinks herself cleverer than anyone else. They
have 2 boys, but I don't know them very well for they
are only 8 and 9. Mother's friend was in an asylum
once, for she went off her head when her 2 year old
baby died. I remember it quite well. It must have
been more than 2 years ago when Father and Mother
were always talking of poor Anna who had lost her
child within 3 days. And I believed she had really
lost it, and once I asked whether they had found it
yet. I thought it had been lost in the forest, because
there's such a great forest at Hainfeld. And since
then I can't bear to hear people say lost when they
mean dead, for it is so difficult to know which they
really mean.

On the 8th of April the Easter holidays will begin
and we shall go on the 11th, on Maundy Thursday.

April 6th. I don't know what to do about writing
my diary. I don't want to take it with me and as
for remembering everything and writing it down afterwards
I know quite well I should never do that. Hella
says I should only jot it down in outline, that's what
Frau Doktor M. always says, and write it out properly
after I come back from Hainfeld. That's what she
does. They are going to the Brioni Islands. I've
never seen the sea. Hella says there's nothing so
wonderful about it. She's been there four times.
Anyway she does not think so much of it as most
people do. So it can't be anything so frightfully
grand. Rather stupid I dare say.

April 12th. We got here yesterday. Ada is a
darling but the two boys are awfully vulgar. Ernstl
said to Ada: I shall give you a smack on the a----
if you don't give me my pistol directly. Ada is as
tall as her mother. Their speech is rather countrified
Even the doctor's. He drinks a frightful lot of beer;
quarts I believe.

April 14th. Father came to-day. He's awfully
fond of the doctor. They kissed one another. It did
make me laugh. In the morning we were in the forest;
but there are no violets yet, only a few snowdrops, but
a tremendous lot of hellebores quite red.

April 15th. We got up at 4 yesterday morning.
We did not go into the church for Mother was afraid