‘ “Annita,” I said, when we had seated ourselves under the oak, “can you remember twelve years ago?”
‘ “Yes; I remember everything—my poor parents!”
‘ “Can you remember when we came here—how frightened you were? how you clung to me?”
‘ “Yes, I remember it distinctly. I remember the first night I would not sleep in the servant’s room, but that I cried so, and that I insisted on having my little bed moved into your room.”
‘ “But can you remember what you once said, when we were walking about here together?”
‘ “No; I don’t know what you refer to. I have no recollection of anything.”
‘ “But I remember it very well myself.”
‘ “What was it, then? Was it some very silly thing?”
‘ “No, it was not silly; but listen: while you held my hand, and skipped along by my side, you suddenly said to me, ‘Do you know what I am going to be?’
‘ “ ‘No,’ I answered; ‘I don’t in the least know what.’