I did not know why very clearly, for it was a new feeling; I had
not experienced it before, and it was all a mystery, and I could
not make it out.
But when night came I could not bear the lonesomeness, and went
to the new shelter which he has built, to ask him what I had done
that was wrong and how I could mend it and get back his kindness again;
but he put me out in the rain, and it was my first sorrow.
SUNDAY.--It is pleasant again, now, and I am happy; but those were
heavy days; I do not think of them when I can help it.
I tried to get him some of those apples, but I cannot learn to
throw straight. I failed, but I think the good intention pleased him.
They are forbidden, and he says I shall come to harm; but so I
come to harm through pleasing him, why shall I care for that harm?
MONDAY.--This morning I told him my name, hoping it would interest him.
But he did not care for it. It is strange. If he should tell me
his name, I would care. I think it would be pleasanter in my ears
than any other sound.
He talks very little. Perhaps it is because he is not bright,
and is sensitive about it and wishes to conceal it. It is
such a pity that he should feel so, for brightness is nothing;
it is in the heart that the values lie. I wish I could make him
understand that a loving good heart is riches, and riches enough,
and that without it intellect is poverty.
Pages:
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349