It had come home
to me that papa was somehow doing wrong. My father was in my
childish thought and belief, the ideal of chivalrous and high-
bred excellence; — and _papa_ was doing wrong. I could not turn
my eyes from the truth; it was before me in too visible a
form. It did not arrange itself in words, either; not at
first; it only pressed upon my heart and brain that seven
hundred people on my father's property were injured, and by
his will, and for his interests. Dimly the consciousness came
to me; slowly it found its way and spread out; its details
before me; bit by bit one point after another came into my
mind to make the whole good; bit by bit one item after another
came in to explain and be explained and to add its quota of
testimony; all making clear and distinct and dazzling before
me the truth which at first it was so hard to grasp. And this
is not the less true because my childish thought at first took
everything vaguely and received it slowly. I was a child and a
simple child; but once getting hold of a clue of truth, my
mind never let it go.
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