I had to be utterly discredited. I stated that no one had known a thing about my writing a book. Pa was inculpated as far as supplying the paper, but had not suspected what I was to write. Ma was very generous and kind to everyone who complained. She wrote them nice letters explaining she entirely disapproved of me, that she had known nothing of my intentions, was grieved by my wicked wilfulness, which never came from her either by precept or example, and that she herself was the greatest victim to be mistaken for the mother in the foolish autobiography. “But ma,” I said, “I made up a woman with no resemblance to you on purpose, it is not my fault.”

But of course denial would not adjust matters It showed the abnormal power of what was printed, and was my first inkling that what was printed could be wide of the facts. EXPERIENCE taught me that, but those who had never tried to write anything but a letter could not learn by experience.

“If the child had known enough to take a nom-de-plume, her relatives and friends would have been able to remain silent when she failed and to boast if she succeeded, without this pillaloo,” said Pa. Parliament had taught him about human nature.

I lay awake night after night wondering what I could do. I made up my mind to commit suicide so that Ma could be rid of me, but when I had worked myself up to it one day, Pa asked me to help him draft and brand a flock of sheep, and it was such a relief that instead of suiciding I decided to run away. Even that was not immediately practicable as I hadn’t a railway fare, and if I left, Pa would not have had anyone to help with the place. I helped reap our bit of wheat that year, with a hook, and I milked the cows, so that Eusty could help Pa top the fences in the back paddock. I was awfully glad to keep to my own back yard. I did not want to give the girls the satisfaction of fumigating society by cutting me dead, as they all were threatening to do.

Then one day, who should come riding to the front gate but a strange gentleman in clerical attire. It was Father O’Toole who was in charge of the Roman Catholics of the parish. He told Ma that he would like to talk to that daughter of hers, if she did not object. Ma was hurt that a clergyman from another denomination should find it necessary to correct me, especially a Roman Catholic, as Catholics and Protestants have silly contentions concerning the copyright to heaven, but Ma is always a lady, so she invited Father O’Toole to come in.

Fortunately Pa had seen the arrival and came to my support. There was a great flow of geniality between them. Ma withdrew.

“Well, well, well,” said Father O’Toole, laughing so heartily that I smiled. “Ye’re a great girl and a right royal brave wan, but ye’re all wrong on wan or two points that I’d like to indicate.”