Stepping Heavenward by Mrs. E. Prentiss Chapter 1 I. January 15, 1831. How dreadfully old I am getting! Sixteen! Well, I don't see as I can help it. There it is in the big Bible in father's own hand: "Katherine, born Jan. 15, 1815." I meant to get up early this morning, but it looked dismally cold out of doors, and felt delightfully warm in bed. So I covered myself up, and made ever so many good resolutions. I determined, in the first place, to begin this Journal. To be sure, I have begun half a dozen, and got tired of them after a while. Not tired of writing them, but disgusted with what I had to say of myself. But this time I mean to go on, in spite of everything. It will do me good to read it over, and see what a creature I am. Then I resolved to do more to please mother than I have done. And I determined to make one more effort to conquer my hasty temper. I thought, too, I would be self-denying this winter, like the people one reads about in books. I fancied how surprised and pleased everybody would be to see me so much improved! Time passed quickly amid these agreeable thoughts, and I was quite startled to hear the bell ring for prayers. I jumped up in a great flurry and dressed as quickly as I could. Everything conspired together to plague me. I could not find a clean collar, or a handkerchief. It is always just so. Susan is forever poking my things into out-of-the-way places! When at last I went down, they were all at breakfast. "I hoped you would celebrate your birthday, dear, by coming down in good season," said mother. I do hate to be found fault with, so I fired up in an instant. "If people hide my things so that I can't find them, of course I have to be late," I said. And I rather think I said it in a very cross way, for mother sighed a little. I wish mother wouldn't sigh. I would rather be called names out and out. The moment breakfast was over I had to hurry off to school. Just as I was going out mother said, "Have you your overshoes, dear?" "Oh, mother, don't hinder me! I shall be late," I said. "I don't need overshoes." "It snowed all night, and I think you do need them," mother said. "I don't know where they are. I hate overshoes. Do let me go, mother," I cried. "I do wish I could ever have my own way." "You shall have it now, my child," mother said, and went away. Now what was the use of her calling me "my child" in such a tone, I should like to know. I hurried off, and just as I got to the door of the schoolroom it flashed into my mind that I had not said my prayers! A nice way to begin on one's birthday, to be sure! Well, I had not time. And perhaps my good resolutions pleased God almost as much as one of my rambling stupid prayers could. For I must own I can't make good prayers. I can't think of anything to say. I often wonder what mother finds to say when she is shut up by the hour together.