This morning when I left the asylum I felt so ashamed because I had to wear this horrid old wincey dress.
All the orphans had to wear them, you know.
A merchant in Hopeton last winter donated three hundred yards of wincey to the asylum.
Some people said it was because he couldn't sell it, but I'd rather believe that it was out of the kindness of his heart, wouldn't you? When we got on the train I felt as if everybody must be looking at me and pitying me.
But I just went to work and imagined that I had on the most beautiful pale blue silk dress-because when you ARE imagining you might as well imagine something worth while-and a big hat all flowers and nodding plumes, and a gold watch, and kid gloves and boots.
I felt cheered up right away and I enjoyed my trip to the Island with all my might.
I wasn't a bit sick coming over in the boat.
Neither was Mrs. Spencer although she generally is.
She said she hadn't time to get sick, watching to see that I didn't fall overboard.
She said she never saw the beat of me for prowling about.