great for a child to bear. But, really, while the night was passing she scarcely knew that she had a body at all or remembered any other thing than one.
“My papa is dead!” she kept whispering to herself. “My papa is dead!”
It was not until long afterward that she realized that her bed had been so hard that she turned over and over in it to find a place to rest, that the darkness seemed more intense than any she had ever known, and that the wind howled over the roof among the chimneys like something
snapped Lavinia. “But I don’t believe in mines full of diamonds.”
“Well, people have to get them from somewhere,” said Jessie. “Lavinia,” with a new giggle, “what do you think Gertrude says?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure; and I don’t care if it’s something more about that everlasting Sara.”
“Well, it