"Now look here, father" I said. "If it was mother who was interested in him it might be troublesome. But it is only me. And I warn you, here and now, that I expect to be thrilled at the sight of a nice young man right along. It goes up my back and out the roots of my hair." Well, my father is a real person, so he told me to talk sense, and gave me twenty dollars, and agreed to say nothing about the young man to mother, if I would root for Canada against the Adirondacks for the summer, because of the fishing. Mother was waiting in the hall for me, but she held me off with both hands. "Not until you have bathed and changed your clothing, Barbara," she said. "I have never had it." She meant the whooping cough. The school will recall the epidemic which ravaged us last June, and changed us from a peaceful institution to what sounded like a dog show. Well, I got the same old room, not much fixed up, but they had put up different curtains anyhow, thank goodness. I had been hinting all spring for new furniture, but my family does not take a hint unless it is chloroformed first, and I found the same old stuff there. They believe in waiting until a girl makes her debut before giving her anything but the necessities of life. Sis was off for a week-end, but Hannah was there, and I kissed her. Not that I'm so fond of her, but I had to kiss somebody. "Well, Miss Barbara!" she said. "How you've grown!" That made me rather sore, because I am not a child any longer, but they all talk to me as if I were but six years old, and small for my age. "I've stopped growing, Hannah," I said, with dignity. "At least, almost. But I see I still draw the nursery." Hannah was opening my suitcase, and she looked up and said: "I tried to get you the blue room, Miss Bab. But Miss Leila said she needed it for house parties." "Never mind," I said. "I don't care anything about furniture. I have other things to think about, Hannah; I want the school room desk up here." "Desk!" she said, with her jaw drooping. "I am writing now," I said. "I need a lot of ink, and paper, and a good lamp. Let them keep the blue room, Hannah, for their selfish purposes. I shall be happy in my work. I need nothing more." "Writing!" said Hannah. "Is it a book you're writing?" "A play." "Listen to the child! A play!" I sat on the edge of the bed. "Listen, Hannah," I said. "It is not what is outside of us that matters. It is what is inside. It is what we are, not what we eat, or look like, or wear. I have given up everything, Hannah, to my career." "You're young yet," said Hannah. "You used to be fond enough of the boys." Hannah has been with us for years, so she gets rather talky at times, and has to be sat upon. "I care nothing whatever for the Other Sex," I replied haughtily. She was opening my suitcase at the time, and I was surveying the chamber which was to be the seen of my Literary Life, at least for some time.