. The one I knew the best of all : a memory of the mind of a child . he grass should you take me toprison ? What dulness of his kindly nature—I feel surehe was not an unkindly fellow—blinded thePoliceman to the terror and consternation whichmust in some degree have expressed themselveson her tiny face, I do not understand, but heevidently saw nothing of them. I do not remem-ber what his face looked like, only that it did notwear the ferocity which would have accordedwith his awful words. Yes, he said, I should have to pick you upand carry you at once to prison. She must have turned pale ; but
. The one I knew the best of all : a memory of the mind of a child . he grass should you take me toprison ? What dulness of his kindly nature—I feel surehe was not an unkindly fellow—blinded thePoliceman to the terror and consternation whichmust in some degree have expressed themselveson her tiny face, I do not understand, but heevidently saw nothing of them. I do not remem-ber what his face looked like, only that it did notwear the ferocity which would have accordedwith his awful words. Yes, he said, I should have to pick you upand carry you at once to prison. She must have turned pale ; but that she satstill without further comment, that she did notburst into frantic howls of despair, causes one to 2O The One I Knew the Best of All feel that even in those early days she wasgoverned by some rudimentary sense of dignityand resignation to fate, for as she sat there, theshort legs in socks andsmall black ankle-straps confronting her, the mar-row \vas dissolving in herinfant bones. There is doubtlesssuggestion as to thelimits and exag-gerations of the. tender mind in the fact that this incident was anawful one to her and caused her to waken inher bed at night and quake with horror, while The One I Knew the Best of All 21 the later episode of her hearing that Poor Papahad died seemed only to be a thing- of mystery ofwhich there was so little explanation that it wasnot terrible. This was without doubt because, toa very young childs mind, death is an idea toovague to grasp. There came a day when someone carried herinto the bedroom where the crimson-draped four-post bed was, and standing by its side held her inher arms that she might look down at Papa lyingquite still upon the pillow. She only thought helooked as if he were asleep, though someone said : Papa has gone to Heaven, and she was notfrightened, and looked down with quiet interestand respect. A few years later the sight of achild of her own age or near it, lying in his coffin,brought to her young being an awed
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