But she said it with an air of astonishment.
Afterwards she called me into her own private sanctum, the place where
people went to be scolded, and felt the bumps on my forehead.
"Child," she said, "you have great originality. The region of sublimity
is large. So is that of humor. I predict a future for you. I do, indeed.
Do you understand what I mean?"
"No, ma'am," I answered, timidly.
"I mean that some day you will write greater things than these wrapping
paper compositions. I mean that with hard work, hard work, mind you, you
may write books. You may become an _authoress_!"
She shook hands with me quite seriously when I went away as though with
an equal. The next moment she called me back, and kissed me, holding me
close to her silk breast.
"You have talent, dear child," she said. "I will develop it. I will
watch over you. Some day there will be books!"
I went home very bewildered, but very happy. I looked at the worn places
on the stair carpet almost tenderly. I laid my cheek against my mother's
old winter coat hanging up in the hall. Suppose the fortune which Norah
had read in the teacup should come true! Suppose that _I_ should be the
one to buy the new things, to make soft the narrow life, to reimburse
the dear ones who gave and gave and never thought of the sacrifice. Just
suppose! It was as if a great white door had opened before me.
* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Obvious punctuation errors have been corrected. Varied hyphenation was
retained.
Repeated chapter titles were removed to avoid repetition.