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Margaret Ogilvy - J. M. Barrie

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Margaret Ogilvy by her Son - J. M. Barrie.  1897 edition.



On the day I was born we bought six hair-bottomed chairs, and in 
our little house it was an event, the first great victory in a 
woman's long campaign; how they had been laboured for, the pound-
note and the thirty threepenny-bits they cost, what anxiety there 
was about the purchase, the show they made in possession of the 
west room, my father's unnatural coolness when he brought them in 
(but his face was white) - I so often heard the tale afterwards, 
and shared as boy and man in so many similar triumphs, that the 
coming of the chairs seems to be something I remember, as if I had 
jumped out of bed on that first day, and run ben to see how they 
looked.  I am sure my mother's feet were ettling to be ben long 
before they could be trusted, and that the moment after she was 
left alone with me she was discovered barefooted in the west room, 
doctoring a scar (which she had been the first to detect) on one of 
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