"Father says you are the wisest creature he knows, and you are but eight years old, and three months ago I was six.
"And yet Mother says I'm the silliest little girl that she ever met with, because I am always picking up tricks.
"She does not know where I learnt to stand on one leg (unless it was from a goose), but it has made one of my shoulders stick out more than the other.
"It wasn't the goose who taught me to whistle up and down-stairs. I learnt that last holidays from my brother.
"The baker's man taught me to put my tongue in my cheek when I'm writing copies, for I saw him do it when he was receipting a bill.
"And I learnt to wrinkle my forehead, and squeeze up my eyes, and make faces with my lips by imitating the strange doctor who attended us when we were ill.
"It was Brother Jack himself who showed me that the way to squint is to look at both sides of your nose.
"And then, Toby—would you believe it?—he turned round last holidays and said—'Look here, Tiny, if the wind changes when you're making that face it'll stay there, and remember you can't squint properly and keep your eye on the weathercock at the same time to see how it blows.'
"But boys are so mean!—and I catch stammering from his school friend—'Tut-tut-tut-tut-Tom,' as we call him—but I soon leave it off when he goes.