And constantly--just as when one has a tender spot anywhere, a sore finger for instance, everything seems to rub against it--constantly little allusions were made which appeared to have some reference to my concealment.

Something would be said about my birthday present, and my brothers would ask me if I had made up my mind what I should buy with it, or they would tease me about my sudden fancy for spending two days together with my grandmother, and ask me if I was not in a hurry to go to see her again.

I grew irritable and suspicious, and more and more unhappy, and before long those about me began to notice the change.

My father and mother feared I was ill--'Nelly is so unlike herself,' I heard them say.

My brothers openly declared 'there was no fun in playing with me now, I had grown so cross.' I felt that it was true--indeed both opinions were true, for I really _was_ getting ill with the weight on my mind, which never, night or day, seemed to leave it.
"At last one day my father told me that he was going to drive into the little town where my grandmother lived, the next day, and that I was to go with him to see her.