Frau Bergmann.
You are fourteen years old to-day.
Wendla.
Had I known you were going to make my dress so long, I would rather not have been fourteen.
Frau Bergmann.
The dress is not too long, Wendla. What do you want? Can I help it that my child is two inches taller every spring? As a grown-up maiden you cannot go about in short dresses.
Wendla.
At any rate, my short dress becomes me better than this nightgown.—Let me wear it again, Mother, only through this summer. This penitential robe will fit me just as well whether I am fifteen or fourteen. Let's put it aside until my next birthday, now I should only tear the flounces.
Frau Bergmann.
I don't know what to say. I want to take special care of you just now, child. Other girls are hardy and plump at your age. You are the contrary.——Who knows what you will be when the others have developed?