Instantly the dark grave loomed up before me, so dark and dreary that I shrank from being put there. I could not die; I was afraid to sleep with the silent dead. I would far rather live, even though I lived unloved forever. And then, softly in my ear, a spirit friend whispered, “Be _great_ and _good_—get to yourself a name of which they shall be proud—make them love you for your deeds, rather than your looks, and when, in the future, strangers shall ask concerning you, ‘Who is she?’ let it be their pride to answer, ‘My daughter,’ or ‘My sister.’” Older and wiser heads than mine would have said it was Ambition, which thus counselled with me, but I questioned her not of her name. I only knew that her words were sweet and soothing, and I treasured them in my heart, pondering upon them until I fell asleep, unconscious that the daylight was fast declining, and that the heavy dew was falling upon my uncovered head. Meantime at home many inquiries were being made concerning my whereabouts, and when, at last, night came on, and I was still away, my oldest brother was sent in quest of me down the long lane where I was last seen by Lizzie, who had attempted to follow me, but had desisted through fear of being called a _tag_. I was just dreaming that the trumpet of fame was sounding forth my name, when, alas! I awoke to find it was only brother Charlie, making the woods resound with “Rosa Lee! Where are you? Why don’t you answer?” Of course I was disappointed,—who wouldn’t be?—and in a fit of obstinacy I determined not to reply, but to make him think I was lost—then see how he’d feel! But on this point I was not to be gratified, for failing of finding me in the lane, he made straight for the grape-vine, where he stumbled over me as I lay, this time feigning sleep, to see what he would do. Seizing me by the shoulder, he exclaimed, “You are a pretty bird, scaring us out of a year’s growth. Mother’ll scold you well for this.” But he was mistaken, for mother’s manner towards me was greatly changed. The torn pantalet and the chewed bonnet-strings were all forgotten, and in the kindest tone she asked, “If I were not cold, and why I went to sleep on the grass.” There were tears in my eyes, but I winked hard and forced them back, until Lizzie brought me a piece of custard pie (my special favorite) which, she said, “she had saved for me, because she knew how much I loved it.” This was too much, and sitting down in Carrie’s little chair, I cried aloud, saying in reply to the oft-repeated question as to what ailed me, that “I didn’t know, only I was so glad.” “Hystericky as a witch,” was Sally’s characteristic comment on my strange behavior, at the same time she suggested that I be put to bed.