It was delightful just to be myself.

I rejoiced, with the younger children, during the weeks of packing and preparation, in the relaxation of discipline and the general demoralization of our daily life.

It was pleasant to be petted and spoiled by favorite cousins and stuffed with belated sweets by unfavorite ones.

It was distinctly interesting to catch my mother weeping in corner cupboards over precious rubbish that could by no means be carried to America.

It was agreeable to have my Uncle Moses stroke my hair and regard me with affectionate eyes, while he told me that I would soon forget him, and asked me, so coaxingly, to write him an account of our journey.