When I was six years old my mother sent me to school. I think I liked it very much because of the school-bag, and the things it contained. A book--a single mysterious book--a slate, a slate-pencil. The slate-pencil had a beautiful red paper wrapped round it, and mother told me not to drop it, as it might break. On the day appointed, she took me there herself. My brother also wanted to come, but he was told that he was far too small. He had to stay at home, and I left exceedingly proud. Confronted with the schoolhouse, however, I grew very still. It was a large, beautiful building, with walls so calm and dignified that I was struck with awe. My mother brought me into my classroom, and told me to be a very good girl. Then she left me, and I was alone with the other children. My place was right in front, and next to me sat a little girl with very long, fair plaits, the daughter of one of the teachers. The fact of having so aristocratic a neighbour made me more silent still. I hardly dared to look up; but that embarrassment soon passed away. She herself broke the spell by telling me that she, too, was going to be a schoolmistress some day. Then I told her about our yard, the brooklet, and the plank. She listened very attentively to all I had to tell her, and soon we became great friends. Her name was Hilda. Next to Hilda sat the daughter of a baker, who was called Leopoldine. She also became my friend.
My life had now changed completely. At school we arranged where to meet in the afternoon, and every day grew to be a great event. It happened sometimes that my new friends paid me a visit. Then we played in the yard, and I felt proud of my flowers. But I don't think my little friends really cared for them as much as I did. Both Hilda and Leopoldine were fond of fishing out all sorts of rubbish from the brooklet, and climbing up the wall that separated the houses. Leopoldine came to see me more often than Hilda, who, as I knew and perfectly understood, was not allowed to have many friends. It was for that reason that I hardly ever saw her anywhere but at school. She was the one I loved best. Our meetings, however, were usually held round the church. The church was placed in the centre of a large square, and possessing many a nook and corner, made an ideal spot for all our games. My brother was as a matter of course a very constant member. Another little boy joined us now and again, and then my brother was most happy. He liked boys decidedly better than girls; "girls," he used to say, "are silly."