Here I am fifteen next month, going on sixteen.

(Why, that brook and river met long ago!) But Mother is getting to be almost as bad as Aunt Jane was about my receiving proper attentions from young men.

Oh, she lets me go to places, a little, with the boys at school; but I always have to be chaperoned.

And whenever are they going to have a chance to say anything really _thrilling_ with Mother or Aunt Hattie right at my elbow?
Echo answers never! So I've about given up _that's_ amounting to anything, either.
Of course, there's Father left, and of course, when I go back to Andersonville this summer, there may be something doing there.

But I doubt it.
I forgot to say I haven't heard from Father again.