flowers, for one bunch was given to Chotu every day in return for his sweetmeats and kind treatment. When I questioned in my own little heart which afforded me the greater pleasure, the gift of flowers to father or to Chotu, I was unable to answer. If in the early morning I found a bud that specially pleased me, the thought of father and of Chotu entered my mind at the same moment. I was anxious to see Chotu every morning, but at dusk I waited as eagerly for my father's return. I seemed to love him most with whom I was for the time being. I became more emphatic in assuring my father how deeply I loved him, at which he was evidently amused, for he usually replied by saying,
"Do you really?"
"Truly, father, I mean it."
Then my father would smile and kiss me. Now Chotu had never yet kissed me, so surely it was father who loved me most. Then why should I bestow so much affection upon Chotu? For love expects love in return; of this I was convinced even in my infancy, although no one had told me so.
Thus passed two years, years so happy and full of childish delights. Often in later life
