Winter was nearing its end when one morning in late July I ventured
out of doors for the first time, though still but a skeleton, a shadow
of my former self. It was a windy day of brilliant sunshine, a day I
shall never forget, and the effect of the air and the sun and smell of
earth and early flowers, and the sounds of wild birds, with the sight
of the intensely green young grass and the vast crystal dome of heaven
above, was like deep draughts of some potent liquor that made the
blood dance in my veins. Oh what an inexpressible, immeasurable joy to
be alive and not dead, to have my feet still on the earth, and drink
in the wind and sunshine once more! But the pleasure was more than I
could endure in that feeble state; the chilly wind pierced me like
needles of ice, my senses swam, and I would have fallen to the ground
if my elder brother had not caught me in his arms and taken me back to
the house.
In spite of that fainting fit I was happy again with the old
happiness, and from day to day I regained strength, until one day in
early August I was suddenly reminded that it was my anniversary by my
brothers and sisters all coming to me with birthday presents, which
they had been careful to provide beforehand, and congratulations on my
recovery.
Fifteen years old! This was indeed the most memorable day of my life,
for on that evening I began to think about myself, and my thoughts
were strange and unhappy thoughts to me-what I was, what I was in the
world for, what I wanted, what destiny was going to make of me! Or was
it for me to do just what I wished, to shape my own destiny, as my
elder brothers had done? It was the first time such questions had come
to me, and I was startled at them.
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