Hark!  Aunt Tabitha’s call to dinner.  I am glad of it.  I was scribbling such nonsense, when I have so much to write better worth while.

12 o’clock.  The night is beautiful, and it is a piece of self-denial to close the shutter, light my lamp, and write in my journal.  Peace of mind came yesterday, positive happiness to-day, neither of which I can analyze.  I only know I have not been so thoroughly content since the acquisition of my first jackknife; nor so proud since the day when I first sported a shining beaver.  I have conquered Etty’s distrust; she has actually promised me her friendship.  I am rather surprised that I am so enchanted at this triumph over a prejudice.  I am hugely delighted.  Not because it is a triumph, however;—­vanity has nothing to do with it.  It is a worthier feeling, one in which humility mingles with a more cordial self-respect than I have hitherto been conscious of.  I can, and I will, deserve Etty’s good opinion.  She is an uncompromising judge, but I will surprise her by going beyond what she believes me capable of.  I never had a sister; I shall adopt Etty, and when I go home, we will write every week, if not every day.

But how came it all about?  By what blessed sunbeams can the ice have been softened, till now, as I hope, it is broken up for ever?  People under the same roof cannot long mistake each other, it seems, else Etty and I should never have become friends.

As we left the door of Captain Black’s house, and turned into the field path to avoid the dust, Etty said, “I do not know whether you care much about it, but you have given pleasure to these good old people, who have but little variety in their daily routine, being poor, and infirm, and lonely.  It is really a duty to cheer them up, if we can.”  I felt that it warmed my heart to have shared that duty with her, and I said so.  I thought she looked doubtful and surprised.  It was a good opening for egotism, and I improved it.  I saw that she was no uninterested listener, but all along rather suspicious and incredulous, as if what I was claiming for myself was inconsistent with her previous notions of my disposition.  I believe I had made some little impression Saturday night, but her old distrust had come back by Sunday morning.  Now she was again shaken.

At last, looking up with the air of one who has taken a mighty resolve, she said, “I presume such a keen observer as yourself must have noticed that the most reserved people are, on some occasions, the most frank and direct.  I am going to tell you that I feel some apology due to you, if my first impressions of your character are really incorrect.  I am puzzled what to think.”

“I am to suppose that your first impressions were not as favorable as those of Mrs. Black, whom I heard remark that I was an amiable youth, with an uncommonly pleasant smile.”

“Just the opposite, in fact,—­pardon me!  To my eye, you had a mocking, ironical cast of countenance.  I felt sure at once you were the sort of person I never could make a friend of, and acquaintances I leave to Flora, who wants to know every body.  I thought the less I had to do with you the better.”