Our house had a long back piazza, covered all over with grape-vines, with steps going down to the yard. I discovered that by standing on my tip-toes, halfway up the steps, I could see into the next yard, where there grew such different flowers from ours, and where there often came a little girl of six or seven—about my own age—to gather bouquets. She did not see me at first: so, for many days, I quietly watched the stout little figure. During one of my observations, her mother called her, and such a name as she had! The call, as I heard it, was "Tobacco, my daughter!" I felt deeply for the girl who was afflicted by such a name. I determined to throw her the finest bunch of grapes on our vine by way of consolation. Some days after, when I was giving my large family of dolls an airing in the garden, I saw a small face staring at me just over the top of the fence. Being familiar with the position myself, I was not alarmed but hastened to mount to the same level on my side and offer some grapes.

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