They were picking up everybody _en route_, and they stopped at our house to include my parents. They gave them five minutes in which to get ready. My father was an intimate friend of the people whom they were going to surprise; and, furthermore, as he was one of the best musicians of the neighbourhood he could not get out of going, as without him the company would have no chance of dancing. He accordingly consented to join the party. Then they insisted that my mother go, too. “What will she do with the baby? Who will feed her?” There was only one thing to do in these circumstances--take baby too. My mother declined at first, alleging that she had no time to make the necessary preparations, but the jubilant crowd would accept no refusal. They bundled me up in a coverlet and I was packed into a sleigh, which bore me to the ball. When we arrived they supposed that, like a well-brought-up baby, I should sleep all night, and they put me on the bed in a room temporarily transformed into a dressing-room. They covered me carefully and left me to myself. There it was that the two gentlemen quoted at the beginning of this chapter discovered the baby agitating feet and hands in every direction. Her only clothing was a yellow flannel garment and a calico petticoat, which made her look like a poor little waif. You may imagine my mother’s feelings when she saw her daughter make an appearance in such a costume. That at all events is how I made my debut, at the age of six weeks. I made it because I could not do otherwise. In all my life everything that I have done has had that one starting-point; I have never been able to do anything else. I have likewise continued not to bother much about my personal appearance. II MY APPEARANCE ON A REAL STAGE AT TWO YEARS AND A HALF When I was a very small girl the president of the Chicago Progressive Lyceum, where my parents and I went every Sunday, called on my mother one afternoon, and congratulated her on the appearance I had made the preceding Sunday at the Lyceum. As my mother did not understand what he meant, I raised myself from the carpet, on which I was playing with some toys, and I explained: “I forgot to tell you, mamma, that I recited my piece at the Lyceum last Sunday.” “Recited your piece?” repeated my mother. “What does she mean?” “What!” said the president, “haven’t you heard that Loie recited some poetry last Sunday?” My mother was quite overcome with surprise. I threw myself upon her and fairly smothered her with kisses, saying, “I forgot to tell you. I recited my piece.” “Oh, yes,” said the president, “and she was a great success, too.” My mother asked for explanations. The president then told her: “During an interval between the exercises, Loie climbed up on the platform, made a pretty bow as she had seen orators do, and then, kneeling down, she recited a little prayer. What this prayer was I don’t remember.”