I am also very grateful to her . She brought me up when our mother died . No doubt she had a hard time of it , poor dear , for I never was easily brought up , perversely preferring to come up in my own way . But Sara did her duty unflinchingly and -- well , it 's not for me to say that the result does her credit . But it really does , considering the material she had to work with . I 'm a bundle of faults as it is , but I tremble to think what I would have been if there had been no Sara . Yes , I love Sara , and I 'm grateful to her . But she does n't understand me in the least . Perhaps it is because she is so much older than I am , but it does n't seem to me that Sara could really ever have been young . She laughs at things I consider the most sacred and calls me a romantic girl , in a tone of humorous toleration . I am chilled and thrown back on myself , and the dreams and confidences I am bubbling over with have no outlet . Sara could n't understand -- she is so practical . When I go to her with some beautiful thought I have found in a book or poem she is quite likely to say , `` Yes , yes , but I noticed this morning that the braid was loose on your skirt , Beatrice . Better go and sew it on before you forget again . ' A stitch in time saves nine . ' '' When I come home from a concert or lecture , yearning to talk over the divine music or the wonderful new ideas with her , she will say , `` Yes , yes , but are you sure you did n't get your feet damp ? Better go and change your stockings , my dear . ` An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure . ' '' So I have given up trying to talk things over with Sara . This old journal will be better .
Last night Sara and I went XXXXX Mrs. Trent 's musicale .
So at because for from of that to with worth