One day, when we played in the yard as usual, my father appeared all of a sudden and called us to him. It was not often that he left his shop in the daytime, and therefore we felt much surprised to see him. He told us that we had got a little sister. The news electrified us, and we ran into the house. But as soon as we beheld the scrap of a being that my mother handled so carefully, we calmed down considerably and regarded her with critical looks. She was much too small to take part in any of our games, and to bring her over the plank was utterly impossible. So we did not for a long time care much about her, and everything remained as it had always been. My brother and I were together constantly, and I believe indispensable to each other. When I was six years old my mother sent me to school. I think I liked it very much because of the school-bag, and the things it contained. A book--a single mysterious book--a slate, a slate-pencil. The slate-pencil had a beautiful red paper wrapped round it, and mother told me not to drop it, as it might break. On the day appointed, she took me there herself. My brother also wanted to come, but he was told that he was far too small. He had to stay at home, and I left exceedingly proud. Confronted with the schoolhouse, however, I grew very still. It was a large, beautiful building, with walls so calm and dignified that I was struck with awe. My mother brought me into my classroom, and told me to be a very good girl. Then she left me, and I was alone with the other children. My place was right in front, and next to me sat a little girl with very long, fair plaits, the daughter of one of the teachers. The fact of having so aristocratic a neighbour made me more silent still. I hardly dared to look up; but that embarrassment soon passed away. She herself broke the spell by telling me that she, too, was going to be a schoolmistress some day. Then I told her about our yard, the brooklet, and the plank. She listened very attentively to all I had to tell her, and soon we became great friends. Her name was Hilda. Next to Hilda sat the daughter of a baker, who was called Leopoldine. She also became my friend.