Letters From a Little Girl

I had always expected happiness some day. Now I know I shall never
have it. Girls dream many foolish things about the future. They have
such dear, silly hopes.

All dreams are ended for me; all that remains in life for me is to
work very hard so that I can learn to support myself and my parents. I
should like to make a great deal of money so that when I die I can
leave it to charity. I desire to be remembered for my good works. But
of course I shall first have to learn how to take care of myself and
mother and father before I can aid the poor. I often think of becoming
a nun and going out to nurse lepers. Only I don't know where there are
any. Do you?

Paris is very large and a sort of silvery grey colour, full of trees
with yellowing leaves--but Oh, it is so lonely, Mr. Neeland! I am
determined not to cry every day, but it is quite difficult not to. And
then there are so many, many people, and they all talk French! They
talk very fast, too, even the little children.

This seems such an ungrateful letter to write you, who were so good
and kind to me in my dreadful hour of trial and disgrace. I am afraid
you won't understand how full of gratitude I am, to you and to the
Princess Mistchenka.