We made good our threats and soon left our Aunt’s to visit a cousin in the same village. While there I was invited by a young man to drive out one Sunday evening--my nearest experience to having a beau. I was pleased but embarrassed. I was probably then seventeen. Rallied by my cousins before I went, I was laughed at unmercifully on return, early in the evening, because I had not invited the young man in to call, as he evidently expected I would. During the drive, when I had mentioned my plans for further study on leaving school, he had questioned the wisdom of them, saying a woman should choose no career that would interfere with her home life, as that assuredly would, if followed. “But I am not going to marry,” I promptly announced, and then how he “squelched” me! “Don’t ever be heard saying that again. When a young girl says that, it is either because she is so ignorant of life that she doesn’t know what she is talking about, or else she says it for effect and to be contradicted.” I think he added that he did not believe I meant to be insincere; but I felt his rebuke keenly. My cheeks flamed at the suggestion that I might be saying this for effect. I suppose I did think it was “smart” to be different from the other girls, though beneath this was a settled purpose. His advice stung me, but taught me a lesson. Since then I have been guarded in expressing my intention in this respect, but my attitude has never changed. As a family all five of us have alike a strong love for children. The others have the natural outlet for it which I have never had, and early knew I should never have. I was perhaps sixteen when I discovered how strong this feeling was in myself. A friend of Mother’s was visiting us with her two-year-old child. We girls were planning to go out that evening for a frolic, but just before starting I had taken that baby in my arms, and the delicious feeling I had as he nestled up to me acted like a charm. In spite of the coaxing of the girls I stayed at home. Left alone in the house, I had a precious hour holding that baby and singing him to sleep. After all the years, that evening stands out as a blessed experience, but even then I believe I was more sad than glad. Possibly I am mistaken, but I think I felt convinced then that no child of mine would ever nestle in my arms. I remember my voice broke as I sang to him. The experience was too sacred to repeat. I have never mentioned it before.