her doorstep. Edith Bergler knew where she lived for
she comes by there every day on her way to school.
I wonder if she'll guess where the Krampus comes
from. I did not know that Edith Bergler was such
a nice girl, I always thought she must be deceitful
because she wears spectacles. But now I'm quite
certain she is not deceitful, so one sees how easy it
is to make a mistake. To-morrow's our German
lesson.

December 6th. Frau Doktor did not say anything
at first. Then she gave out the subject for the essay:
"Why once I could not go to sleep at night." The
girls were all taken aback, and then Frau Doktor said:
Now girls that's not so very difficult. One person
cannot go to sleep because he's just going to be ill,
another because he is excited by joy or fear. Another
has an uneasy conscience because he has done something
which he has been forbidden to do; have not
all of you experienced something of the kind? Then
she looked frightfully hard at Edith Bergler and us
two. She did not say anything more, so we don't
really know if she suspects. I couldn't go to the ice
carnival yesterday because I had such a bad cough,
and Dora couldn't go either because she had a headache;
I don't know whether it was a real headache
or _that kind_ of headache; but I expect it was that kind.

December 17th. I haven't managed to write anything
for a whole week. The day before yesterday
we had our Christmas reports: In history I had
satisfactory, in Natural History good, in everything
else very good. In diligence because of that stupid
Vischer I had only a 2. Father was very angry; he
says everyone can get a 1 in diligence. That's true
enough, but if one has satisfactory in anything then
one can't get a 1 for diligence. Inspee of course had
only 1's, except a 2 in English. But then she's a
frightful swot. Verbenowitsch is the best in our class,
but we can't any of us bear her, she's so frantically
conceited and Berta Franke says she's _not to be
trusted_. Berta walks to school with her cousin who's
in the seventh; she's nearly 14, and is awfully pretty.
She didn't say what sort of a report she had, but I
believe it was a very bad one.

December 18th. To-day at supper Dora fainted because
she found a little chicken in her egg, not really
a chicken yet, but one could make out the wings and
the head, just a sketch of a chicken Father said.
Still, I really can't see what there was to faint about.
Afterwards she said it had made her feel quite creepy.
And she'll never be able to eat another egg. At first
Father was quite frightened and so was Mother, but
then he laughed and said: What a fuss about nothing!
She had to go and lie down at once and I stayed
downstairs for a long time. When I came up to our
room she was reading, that is I saw the light through
the crack in the door; but when I opened the door it
was all dark and when I asked: Ah so you're still
reading she didn't answer and she pretended to wake
up when I switched on the light and said: What's the
matter? I can't stand such humbug so I said: Shut
up, you know quite well it's 9 o-clock. That's all.
On our way to school to-day we didn't Speak a word
to one another. Luckily after awhile we met a girl
belonging to her class.

December 19th. I'm frightfully excited to know
what I'm going to get for Christmas. What I've
wished for is: A set of white furs, boa, muff, and
velvet cap trimmed with the same fur, acme skates
because mine are always working loose, _German_ sagas,
not Greek; no thank you, hair ribbons, openwork
stockings, and if possible a gold pin like the one Hella
got for a birthday present. But Father says that
our Christ Child would find that rather too expensive.
Inspee wants a corset. But I don't think she'll get
one because it's unhealthy. The tablecloth for Father
is finished and is being trimmed, but Mother's book
cover is not quite ready yet. I'm giving Dora a
little manicure case. Oh, and I'd nearly forgotten
what I want more than anything else, a lock-up box in
which to keep my diary. Dora wants some openwork
stockings too and three books. A frightful thing
happened to me the other day. I left one of the
pages of my diary lying about or lost one somehow
or other. When I came home Inspee said: "you've
lost _this_, haven't you? School notes I suppose?"
I didn't notice what it was for a moment, but then
I saw by the look of it and said: Yes, those are school
notes. Hm-m-m, said Inspee, not exactly that are
they? You can thank your stars that I've not shown
them to Mother. Besides people who can't spell yet
really ought not to keep diaries. It's not suitable for
children. I was in a wax. In the closet I took a
squint to see what mistakes I had made. There was
only _wenn_ with one _n_ instead of double _n_ and _dass_
with short _ss's_, that's all. I was jolly glad that there
was nothing about _her_ on the page. She'd under-