After a little while, however, our mannerisms
betrayed us. One of my cousins was known to be the chief story-
teller, and I was recognized as the leading rhymer among the
younger contributors; the editor-sister excelling in her
versifying, as she did in almost everything.
It was a cluster of very conscious-looking little girls that
assembled one evening in the attic room, chosen on account of its
remoteness from intruders (for we did not admit even the family
as a public, the writers themselves were the only audience), to
listen to the reading of our first paper. We took Saturday
evening, because that was longer than the other workday evenings,
the mills being closed earlier. Such guessing and wondering and
admiring as we had! But nobody would acknowledge her own work,
for that would have spoiled the pleasure. Only there were certain
wise hints and maxims that we knew never came from any juvenile
head among us, and those we set down as "editorials."
Some of the stories contained rather remarkable incidents.
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