It isn't hers! It's mine: papa says everything she has is mine.

All her nice books are mine; she offered to give me them, and her pretty birds, and her pony Minny, if I would get the key of our room, and let her out; but I told her she had nothing to give, they ware all, all mine.

And then she cried, and took a little picture from her neck, and said I should have that; two pictures in a gold case, on one side her mother, and on the other uncle, when they were young.

That was yesterday--I said they were mine, too; and tried to get them from her.

The spiteful thing wouldn't let me: she pushed me off, and hurt me.