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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/15571-8.txt b/15571-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2dca22b --- /dev/null +++ b/15571-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4152 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mary Cary, by Kate Langley Bosher + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Mary Cary + "Frequently Martha" + +Author: Kate Langley Bosher + +Release Date: April 6, 2005 [EBook #15571] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARY CARY *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Melissa Er-Raqabi and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. + + + + + + + +MARY CARY +_"FREQUENTLY MARTHA"_ + +BY +Kate Langley Bosher + +FRONTISPIECE BY +FRANCES ROGERS + +NEW YORK +GROSSET & DUNLAP +PUBLISHERS + +Published By Arrangement With Harper & Brothers + + + + +COPYRIGHT, 1910 BY HARPER & BROTHERS +PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + + + + +TO +VIRGINIA + + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAP. PAGE + I. AN UNTHANKFUL ORPHAN 1 + II. THE COMING OF MISS KATHERINE 14 + III. MARY, FREQUENTLY MARTHA 27 + IV. THE STEPPED-ON AND THE STEPPERS 39 + V. "HERE COMES THE BRIDE!" 50 + VI. "MY LADY OF THE LOVELY HEART" 61 + VII. "STERILIZED AND FERTILIZED" 70 +VIII. MARY CARY'S BUSINESS 75 + IX. LOVE IS BEST 85 + X. THE REAGAN BALL 97 + XI. FINDING OUT 103 + XII. A TRUE MIRACLE 120 +XIII. HIS COMING 133 + XIV. THE HURT OF HAPPINESS 141 + XV. A REAL WEDDING 155 + + + + +MARY CARY + + + + +I + +AN UNTHANKFUL ORPHAN + + +My name is Mary Cary. I live in the Yorkburg Female Orphan Asylum. You +may think nothing happens in an Orphan Asylum. It does. The orphans are +sure enough children, and real much like the kind that have Mothers and +Fathers; but though they don't give parties or wear truly Paris clothes, +things happen, and that's why I am going to write this story. + +To-day I was kept in. Yesterday, too. I don't mind, for I would rather +watch the lightning up here than be down in the basement with the +others. There are days when I love thunder and lightning. I can't flash +and crash, being just Mary Cary; but I'd like to, and when it is done +for me it is a relief to my feelings. + +The reason I was kept in was this. Yesterday Mr. Gaffney, the one with +a sunk eye and cold in his head perpetual, came to talk to us for the +benefit of our characters. He thinks it's his duty, and, just naturally +loving to talk, he wears us out once a week anyhow. Yesterday, not +agreeing with what he said, I wouldn't pretend I did, and I was punished +prompt, of course. + +I don't care for duty-doers, and I tried not to listen to him; but +tiresome talk is hard not to hear--it makes you so mad. Hear him I did, +and when, after he had ambled on until I thought he really was +castor-oil and I had swallowed him, he blew his nose and said: + +"You have much, my children, to be thankful for, and for everything you +should be thankful. Are you? If so, stand up. Rise, and stand upon your +feet." + +I didn't rise. All the others did--stood on their feet, just like he +asked. None tried their heads. I was the only one that sat, and when he +saw me, his sunk eye almost rolled out, and his good eye stared at me in +such astonishment that I laughed out loud. I couldn't help it, I truly +couldn't. + +I'm not thankful for everything, and that's why I didn't stand up. Can +you be thankful for toothache, or stomachache, or any kind of ache? You +cannot. And not meant to be, either. + +The room got awful still, and then presently he said: + +"Mary Cary"--his voice was worse than his eye--"Mary Cary, do you mean +to say you have not a thankful heart?" And he pointed his finger at me +like I was the Jezebel lady come to life. + +I didn't answer, thinking it safer, and he asked again: + +"Do I understand, Mary Cary"--and by this time he was real +red-in-the-face mad--"do I understand you are not thankful for all that +comes to you? Do I understand aright?" + +"Yes, sir, you understand right," I said, getting up this time. "I am +not thankful for everything in my life. I'd be much thankfuller to have +a Mother and Father on earth than to have them in heaven. And there are +a great many other things I would like different." And down I sat, and +was kept in for telling the truth. + +Miss Bray says it was for impertinence (Miss Bray is the Head Chief of +this Institution), but I didn't mean to be impertinent. I truly didn't. +Speaking facts is apt to make trouble, though--also writing them. To-day +Miss Bray kept me in for putting something on the blackboard I forgot to +rub out. I wrote it just for my own relief, not thinking about anybody +else seeing it. What I wrote was this: + + "Some people are crazy all the time; + All people are crazy sometimes." + +That's why I'm up in the punishment-room to-day, and it only proves that +what I wrote is right. It's crazy to let people know you know how queer +they are. Miss Bray takes personal everything I do, and when she saw +that blackboard, up-stairs she ordered me at once. She loves to punish +me, and it's a pleasure I give her often. + +I brought my diary with me, and as I can't write when anybody is about, +I don't mind being by myself every now and then. Miss Bray don't know +this, or my punishment would take some other form. + +I just love a diary. You see, its something you can tell things to and +not get in trouble. When writing in it I can relieve my feelings by +saying what I think, which Miss Katherine says is risky to do to +people, and that it's safer to keep your feelings to yourself. People +don't really care about them, and there's nothing they get so tired of +hearing about. A diary doesn't talk, neither do animals; but a diary +understands better than animals, and you can call things by their right +name in a book which it isn't safe to do out loud, even to a dog. + +I know I am not unthankful, and I would much rather have a Father and +Mother on earth than to have them in heaven, but I guess I should have +kept my preferences to myself. Somehow preferences seem to make people +mad. + +But a Mother and Father in heaven _are_ too far away to be truly +comforting. I like the people I love to be close to me. I guess that is +why, when I was little, I used to hold out my arms at night, hoping my +Mother would come and hold me tight. But she never came, and now I know +it's no use. + +There are a great many things that are no use. One is in telling people +what they don't want to know. I found that out almost two years ago, +when I wasn't but ten. The way I found out was this. + +One morning, it was an awful cold morning, Miss Bray came into the +dining-room just as we were taking our seats for breakfast, and she +looked so funny that everybody stared, though nobody dared to even smile +visible. All the children are afraid of Miss Bray; but at that time I +hadn't found out her true self, and, not thinking of consequences, I +jumped up and ran over to her and whispered something in her ear. + +"What!" she said. "What did you say?" And she bent her head so as to +hear better. + +"You forgot one side of your face when fixing this morning," I said, +still whispering, not wanting the others to hear. "Only one side is +pink--" But I didn't get any further, for she grabbed my hand and almost +ran with me out of the room. + +"You piece of impertinence!" she said, and her eyes had such sparks in +them I knew my judgment-day had come. "You little piece of impertinence! +You shall be punished well for this." I was. I didn't mean to be +impertinent. I thought she'd like to know. I thought wrong. + +I loathe Miss Bray. The very sight of her shoulders in the back gets me +mad all over without her saying a word, and everything in me that's +wrong comes right forward and speaks out when she and I are together. +She thinks she could run this earth better than it's being done, and +she walks like she was the Superintendent of most of it. But I could +stand that. I could stand her cheeks, and her frizzed front, and a good +many other things; but what I can't stand is her passing for being +truthful when she isn't. She tells stories, and she knows I know it; and +from the day I found it out I have stayed out of her way; and were she +the Queen of Europe, Asia, and Africa, and the United States I'd want +her to stand out of mine. I truly would. + +Her outrageousest story I heard her tell myself. It was over a year ago, +and we were in the room where the ladies were having a Board meeting. I +had come in to bring some water, and had a waiter full of glasses in my +hands, and was just about to put them on the table when I heard Miss +Bray tell her Lie. + +That's what she did. She Lied! + +Those glasses never touched that table. My hands lost their hold, and +down they came with a crash. Every one smashed to smithereens, and I +standing staring at Miss Bray. The way she told her story was this. The +Board deals us out for adoption, and that morning they were discussing a +request for Pinkie Moore, and, as usual, Miss Bray didn't want Pinkie +to go. You see, Pinkie was very useful. She did a lot of disagreeable +things for Miss Bray, and Miss Bray didn't want to lose her. And when +Mrs. Roane, who is the only Board lady truly seeing through her, asked, +real sharplike, why Pinkie shouldn't go this time, Miss Bray spoke out +like she was really grieved. + +"I declare, Mrs. Roane," she said--and she twirled her keys round and +round her fingers, and twitched the nostril parts of her nose just like +a horse--"I declare, Mrs. Roane, I hate to tell you, I really do. But +Pinkie Moore wouldn't do for adoption. She has a terrible temper, and +she's so slow nobody would keep her. And then, too"--her voice was the +Pharisee kind that the Lord must hate worse than all others--"and then, +too, I am sorry to say Pinkie is not truthful, and has been caught +taking things from the girls. I hope none of you will mention this, as I +trust by watching over her to correct these faults. She begs me so not +to send her out for adoption, and is so devoted to me that--" And just +then she saw me, which she hadn't done before, I being behind Mrs. +Armstead, and she stopped like she had been hit. + +For a minute I didn't breathe. I didn't. All I did was to stare--stare +with mouth open and eyes out; and then it was the glasses went down and +I flew into the yard, and there by the pump was Pinkie. + +"Oh, Pinkie!" I said. "Oh, Pinkie!" And I caught her round the waist and +raced up and down the yard like a wild man from Borneo. "Oh, Pinkie, +what do you think?" Poor Pinkie, thinking a mad dog had bit me, tried to +make me stop, but stop I wouldn't until there was no more breath. And +then we sat down on the woodpile, and I hugged her so hard I almost +broke her bones. + +First I was so mad I couldn't cry, and then crying so I couldn't speak. +But after a while words came, and I said: + +"Pinkie Moore, are you devoted to Miss Bray? Are you? I want the truest +truth. Are you devoted to her?" + +"Devoted to Miss Bray? Devoted!" And poor little Pinkie, who has no more +spirit than a poor relation, spoke out for once. "I hate her!" she said. +"I hate her worse than prunes; and if somebody would only adopt me, I'd +be so thankful I'd choke for joy, except for leaving you." Then she +boohoo'd too, and the tears that fell between us looked like we were +artesian wells--they certainly did. + +But Pinkie didn't know what caused my tears. Mine were mad tears, and +not being able to tell her why they came, I had to send her to the house +to wash her face. I washed mine at the pump, and then worked off some of +my mad by sweeping the yard as hard as I could, wishing all the time +Miss Bray was the leaves, and trying to make believe she was. I was full +of the things the Bible says went into swine, and I knew there would be +trouble for me before the day was out. But there wasn't. Not even for +breaking the pump-handle was I punished, and Miss Bray tried so hard to +be friendly that at first I did not understand. I do now. + +That was my first experience in finding out that some one who looked +like a lady on the outside was mean and deceitful on the inside, and it +made me tremble all over to find it could be so. Since then I have never +pretended to be friends with Miss Bray. As for her, she hates me--hates +me because she knows I know what sort of a person she is, a sort I +loathe from my heart. + +When I first got my diary I thought I was going to write in it every +day. I haven't, and that shows I'm no better on resolves than I am on +keeping step. I never keep step. Sometimes I've thought I was really +something, but I'm not. Nobody much is when you know them too well. It +is a good thing for your pride when you keep a diary, specially when you +are truthful in it. Each day that you leave out is an evidence of +character--poor character--for it shows how careless and put-off-y you +are; both of which I am. + +But it isn't much in life to be an inmate of a Humane Association, or a +Home, or an Asylum, or whatever name you call the place where job-lot +charity children live. And that's what I am, an Inmate. Inmates are like +malaria and dyspepsia: something nobody wants and every place has. +Minerva James says they are like veterans--they die and yet forever +live. + +Well, anyhow, whenever I used to do wrong, which was pretty constant, I +would say to myself it didn't matter, nobody cared. And if I let a +chance slip to worry Miss Bray I was sorry for it; but that was before I +understood her, and before Miss Katherine came. Since Miss Katherine +came I know it's yourself that matters most, not where you live or +where you came from, and I'm thinking a little more of Mary Cary than I +used to, though in a different way. As for Miss Bray, I truly try at +times to forget she's living. + +But she's taught me a good deal about Human Nature, Miss Bray has. About +the side I didn't know. It's a pity there are things we have to know. I +think I will make a special study of Human Nature. I thought once I'd +take up Botany in particular, as I love flowers; or Astronomy, so as to +find out all about those million worlds in the sky, so superior to +earth, and so much larger; but I think, now, I'll settle on Human +Nature. Nobody ever knows what it is going to do, which makes it full of +surprises, but there's a lot that's real interesting about it. I like +it. As for its Bray side, I'll try not to think about it; but if there +are puddles, I guess it's well to know where, so as not to step in them. +I wish we didn't have to know about puddles and things! I'd so much +rather know little and be happy than find out the miserable much some +people do. + +Anyhow, I won't have to remember all I learn, for Miss Katherine says +there are many things it's wise to forget, and whenever I can I'll +forget mean things. I'd forget Miss Bray's if she'd tell me she was +sorry and cross her heart she'd never do them again. But I don't believe +she ever will. God is going to have a hard time with Miss Bray. She's +right old to change, and she's set in her ways--bad ways. + + + + +II + +THE COMING OF MISS KATHERINE + + +Now, why can't I keep on at a thing like Miss Katherine? Why? Because +I'm just Mary Cary, mostly Martha; made of nothing, came from nowhere, +and don't know where I'm going, and have no more system in my nature +than Miss Bray has charms for gentlemen. + +But Miss Katherine--well, there never was and never will be but one Miss +Katherine, and there's as much chance of my being like her as there is +of my reaching the stars. I'll never be like her, but she's my friend. +That's the wonderful part of it. She's my friend. And when you've got a +friend like Miss Katherine you've got strength to do anything. To stand +anything, too. + +The beautiful part of it is that I live with her; that is, she lives in +the Asylum, and I sleep in the room with her. + +It happened this way. Last summer I didn't want to do anything but sit +down. It was the funniest thing, for before that I never did like to sit +down if I could stand up, or skip around, or climb, or run, or dance, or +jump. I never could walk straight or slow, and I never can keep step. + +Well, last summer I didn't want to move, and I couldn't eat, and I +didn't even feel like reading. I'd have such queer slipping-away +feelings right in my heart that I'd call myself a drop of ink on a +blotter that was spreading and spreading and couldn't stop. Sometimes I +would think I was sinking down and down, but I really wasn't sinking, +for I didn't move. I only felt like I was, and I was afraid to go to +sleep at night for fear I would die, and I stayed awake so as to know +about it if I did. + +And then I began to be afraid of dying, and my heart would beat so I +thought it would wear out. But I didn't tell anybody how I felt. I was +ashamed of being afraid, and I just told God, because I knew He could +understand better than anybody else; and I asked Him please to hold on +to me, I not being able to do much holding myself, and He held. I know +it, for I felt it. + +You see, Mrs. Blamire--she's Miss Bray's assistant--was away; Miss Bray +was busy getting ready to go when Mrs. Blamire came back; and Miss Jones +was pickling and preserving. I didn't want to bother her, so I dragged +on, and kept my feelings to myself. + +The girls were awful good to me. Real many have relations in Yorkburg, +and if I'd eaten all the fruit they sent me I'd been a tutti-frutti; but +I couldn't eat it. And then one day I began to talk so queer they were +frightened, and told Miss Bray, and she sent for the doctor quick. That +afternoon they took me to the hospital, and the last thing I saw was +little Josie White crying like her heart would break with her arms +around a tree. + +"Please don't die, Mary Cary, please don't die!" she kept saying over +and over, and when they tried to make her go in she bawled worse than +ever. I tried to wave my hand. + +"I'm not going to die, I'm coming back," I said, and that's all I +remember. + +I knew they put me in something and drove off, and then I was in a +little white bed in a big room with a lot of other little beds in it; +and after that I didn't know I was living for three weeks. But I talked +just the same. They told me I made speeches by the hour, and read books +out loud, and recited poems that had never been printed. But when I +stopped and lay like the dead, just breathing, the girls say they heard +there were no hopes, and a lot of them just cried and cried. It was +awful nice of them, and if they hadn't cut my hair off I would have made +a real pretty corpse. + +The day I first saw Miss Katherine really good she was standing by my +bed, holding my wrist in one hand and her watch in another, and I +thought she was an angel and I was in heaven. She was in white, and I +took her little white cap for a crown, and I said: + +"Are you my Mother?" + +She nodded and smiled, but she didn't speak, and I asked again: + +"Are you my Mother?" + +"Your right-now Mother," she said, and she smiled so delicious I thought +of course I was in heaven, and I spoke once more. + +"Where's God?" + +Then she stooped down and kissed me. + +"In your heart and mine," she answered. "But you mustn't talk, not yet. +Shut your eyes, and I will sing you to sleep." And I shut them. And I +knew I was in heaven, for heaven isn't a place; it's a feeling, and I +had it. + +And that's how I met Miss Katherine. + +Her father and mother are dead, just like mine. Her father was Judge +Trent, and his father once owned half the houses in Yorkburg, but lost +them some way, and what he didn't lose Judge Trent did after the war. + +When her father died Miss Katherine wouldn't live with either of her +brothers, or any of her relations, but went to Baltimore to study to be +a nurse. After she graduated she didn't come back for three or four +years, and she hadn't been back six months when I was taken sick. And +now I sing: + + "Praise God from whom that sickness flew." + +Sing it inside almost all the time. + +Miss Katherine don't have to be a nurse. She has a little money. I don't +know how much, she never mentioning money before me; but she has some, +for I heard Miss Bray and Mrs. Blamire talking one night when they +thought I was asleep; and for once I didn't interrupt or let them know I +was awake. + +I had been punished so often for speaking when I shouldn't that this +time I kept quiet, and when they were through I couldn't sleep. I was +so excited I stayed awake all night. And from joy--pure joy. + +I had only been back from the hospital a week, and was in the room next +to Mrs. Blamire's, where the children who are sick stay, when I heard +Miss Bray talking to Mrs. Blamire, and at something she said I sat up in +bed. Right or wrong, I tried to hear. I did. + +They were sitting in front of the fire, and Miss Bray leaned over and +cracked the coals. + +"Have you heard that Miss Katherine Trent is coming here as a trained +nurse?" she said, and she put down the poker, and, folding her arms, +began to rock. + +"You don't mean it!" said Mrs. Blamire, and her little voice just +cackled. "Coming here? To this place? I do declare!" And she drew her +chair up closer, being a little deaf. + +"That's what she's going to do." Miss Bray took off her spectacles. "The +Board can't afford to pay her a salary, but she's offered to come +without one, and next week she'll start in." + +"Katherine Trent always was queer," she went on, still rocking with all +her might. "She can get big prices as a nurse, though she doesn't have +to nurse at all, having money enough to live on without working. And why +she wants to come to a place like this and fool with fifty-odd children +and get no pay for it is beyond my understanding. It's her business, +however, not mine, and I'm glad she's coming." + +"I do declare!" And Mrs. Blamire clapped her hands like she was getting +religion. "My, but I'm glad! Miss Katherine Trent coming here! And next +week, you say? I do declare!" And her gladness sounded in her voice. It +was a different kind from Miss Bray's. Even in the dark I could tell, +for hers was thankfulness for the children. Miss Bray was glad for +herself. + +That was almost a year ago, and now my hair has come out and curls worse +than ever. It's very thick, and it's brown--light brown. + +I'm always intending to stand still in front of the glass long enough to +see what I do look like, but I'm always in such a hurry I don't have +time. I know my eyes are blue, for Miss Katherine said this morning they +got bigger and bluer every day, and if I didn't eat more I'd be nothing +but eyes. If you don't like a thing, can you eat it? You cannot. That +is, in summer you can't. In winter it's a little easier. + +I never have understood how Miss Katherine could have come to an Orphan +Asylum to live and to eat Orphan Asylum meals when she could have eaten +the best in Yorkburg. And Yorkburg's best is the best on earth. +Everybody says that who's tried other places, even Miss Webb, who gets +right impatient with Yorkburg's slowness and enjoyment of itself. + +And Miss Katherine is living here from pure choice. That's what she is +doing, and she's made living creatures of us, just like God did when He +breathed on Adam and woke him up. + +At the hospital she used to ask me all about the Asylum, and, never +guessing why, I told her all I knew, except about Miss Bray. Miss +Katherine had known the Asylum all her life, but had only been in it +twice--just passing it by, not thinking. When I got better and could +talk as much as I pleased, she wanted to know how many of us there were, +what we did, and how we did it: what we ate, and what kind of +underclothes we wore in winter, and how many times a week we bathed all +over; when we got up, and what we studied, and how long we sewed each +day, and how long we played, and when we went to bed--and all sorts of +other things. I wondered why she wanted to know, and when I found out I +could have laid right down and died from pure gladness. I didn't, +though. + +Once I asked her what made her do it, and she laughed and said because +she wanted to, and that she was much obliged to me for having found her +work for her. But I believe there's some other reason she won't tell. + +And why I believe so is that sometimes, when she thinks I am asleep, I +see her looking in the fire, and there's something in her face that's +never there at any other time. It's a remembrance. I guess most hearts +have them if they live long enough. But you'd never think Miss Katherine +had one, she's so glad and cheerful and busy all the time. I wonder if +it's a sweetheart remembrance? I know three of her beaux; one in +Yorkburg and two from away, who have been to see her frequent times; but +a beau is different from a sweetheart. I'm sure that look means +something secret, and I bet it's a man. Who is he? I don't know. I wish +he was dead. I do! + +When I first came back from the hospital my little old sticks of legs +wouldn't hold me up, and down I would go. But I didn't mind that. I just +minded not going to sleep at night. But sleep wouldn't come, and I'd +get so wide awake trying to make it that I began to have a teeny bit of +fever again, and then it was Miss Katherine asked if she might take me +in her room. I was nervous and still needed attention, she said, +and--magnificent gloriousness!--I was sent to her room to stay until +perfectly well, and I'm here yet. Perfectly well because I am here! + +That first night when I got into the little white bed next to her bed, +and knew she was going to be there beside me, I couldn't go to sleep +right off. I kept wishing I was King David, so I could write a book of +gratitudes and psalms and praises, and that was the first night I ever +really prayed right. I didn't ask for a thing except for help to be +worth it--the trouble she was taking for just little me, a charity +child. Just me! + +And oh, the difference in her room and the room I had left! She had had +it painted and papered herself, for it hadn't been used since kingdom +come, and the cobwebs in it would have filled a barrel. It had been a +packing-room, and when Miss Katherine first saw it she just whistled +soft and easy; but when she was through, it was just a dream. + +It is a big room at the end of the wing, and it has three windows in +it: one in the front and one in the back and one opposite the door you +come in. And when the paper was put on you felt like you were in a great +big garden of roses; pink roses, for they were running all over the +walls, and they were so natural I could smell them. I really could. + +Miss Katherine brought her own furniture and things, and she put a +carpet on the floor, all over, not just strips. And the windows had +muslin curtains at them with cretonne curtains just full of pink roses, +looped back from the muslin ones; and the couch and the cushions and +some chairs were all covered with the same kind of pink roses. And as +for the bed, it was too sweet for anybody to lie on--that is, for +anybody but Miss Katherine to lie on. + +There was a big closet for her clothes, and a writing-desk which had +been in the family a hundred years--maybe a thousand. I don't know. And +one side of the room was filled with books in shelves which old Peter +Sands made and painted white for her. She lets me look at them as much +as I want, and says I can read as many as I choose when I am old enough +to understand them. She didn't mention any time to begin trying to +understand, and so I started at once, and I've read about forty already. + +There aren't a great many pictures on Miss Katherine's walls. Just a few +besides the portraits of her father and mother, oil paintings. And oh, +dear children what are to be, I'm going to have my picture painted as +soon as I marry your father, so you can know what I looked like in case +I should die without warning. I want you to have it, knowing so well +what it means to have nothing that belonged to your mother, I not having +anything--not even a strand of hair or a message. + +Sometimes I wonder if I ever really did have a Mother, or if the doctor +just left me somewhere and nobody wanted me. I must have had one, for +Betty Johnson says a baby's bound to. That a father isn't so specially +necessary, but you've got to have a Mother. Mine died when I was born. I +wonder how that happened when there wasn't anybody in all this great big +earth to take care of me except my father, who didn't know how. He died, +too, and then I was an Orphan. + +This is a strange world, and it's better not to try to understand +things. + +In the winter time Miss Katherine always has a beautiful crackling fire +in her room, and some growing flowers and green things. It was a +revelation to the girls, her room was. Not fine, and it didn't cost +much, but you felt nicer and kinder the minute you went in it. And it +made Mrs. Reagan's grand parlors seem like shining brass and tinkling +cymbals. I wonder why? + + + + +III + +MARY, FREQUENTLY MARTHA + + +I am going to write a history of my life. The things that happen in this +place are the same things, just like our breakfasts, dinners, and +suppers. They wouldn't be interesting to hear about, so while waiting +for something real exciting to put down, I am going to write my history. + +I don't know very much about who I am. I wish my Mother had left a diary +about herself, but she didn't. Nobody, not even Miss Katherine, will +tell me who I was before I came here, which I did when I was three. I +know my nurse brought me, but I can't remember what she looked like, and +when she went away without me: I never saw nor heard of her again. I +don't even know her name. I thought it was fine to play in a big yard +with a lot of children, and I soon stopped crying for my nurse. + +I never did see much sense in crying. Everybody was good to me, and not +being old enough to know I was a Charity child, and by nature happy, +they used to call me Cricket. Sometimes some of them call me that now. + +A hundred dozen times I have asked Miss Katherine to tell me something +about myself, but in some way she always gets out of it. I know my +mother and father are dead, but that's all I do know; and I wouldn't ask +Miss Bray if I had to stand alone for ever and ever. + +Sometimes I believe Miss Katherine knows something she won't tell me, +but since I found out she don't like me to ask her I've stopped. And not +being able to ask out what I'd like, I think a lot more, and some nights +when I can't go to sleep, it gives me an awful sinking feeling right +down in my stomach, to think in all this great big world there isn't a +human that's any kin to me. + +I might have come from the heavens above or the depths below, only I +didn't, and being like other girls in size and shape and feelings, I +know I once did have a Mother and Father. But if they had relations +they've kept quiet, and it's plain they don't want to know anything +about me, never having asked. + +It would make me miserable--this aloneness would, if I let it. I won't +let it. I have got to look out for Mary Cary, frequently Martha, and +when you're miserable you don't get much of anything that's going +around. I won't be unhappy. I just won't. I haven't enough other +blessings. + +But not being able to speak out as much as I would like on some things +personal, I got into the habit of talking to my other self, which I +named Martha, and which I call my secret sister. Martha is my every-day +self, like the Bible Martha who did things, and didn't worry trying to +find out what couldn't be found out, specially about why God lets +Mothers die. + +Mary is my Sunday self who wonders and wonders at everything and asks a +million questions inside, and goes along and lets people think she is +truly Martha when she knows all the time she isn't. And if I do hold out +and write a history of my life, it's going to be a Martha and Mary +history; for some days I'm one, some another, and whichever I happen to +be is plain to be seen. + +When I grow up I am going to marry a million-dollar man, so I can travel +around the world and have a house in Paris with twenty bath-rooms in +it. And I'm going to have horses and automobiles and a private car and +balloons, if they are working all right by that time. I hope they will +be, for I want something in which I can soar up and sit and look down on +other people. + +All my life people have looked down on me, passing me by like I was a +Juny bug or a caterpillar, and I don't wonder. I'm merely Mary Cary with +fifty-eight more just like me. Blue calico, white dots for winter, white +calico, blue dots for summer. Black sailor hats and white sailor hats +with blue capes for cold weather, and no fire to dress by, and freezing +fingers when it's cold, and no ice-water when it's hot. + +Yes, dear Mary, you and I are going to marry a rich man. (Martha is +writing to-day.) I will try to love him, but if I can't I will be polite +to him and travel alone as much as possible. But I am going to be rich +some day. I am. And when I come back to Yorkburg eyes will bulge, for +the clothes I am going to wear will make mouths water, they're going to +be so grand. Miss Katherine would be ashamed of that and make me +ashamed, but this writing is for the relief of feelings. + +But there's one thing I'm surer of than I am of being rich, and that is +that there are to be no secrets about my children's mother. They are to +know all about me I can tell, which won't be much or distinguished, but +what there is they're to know. And that's the chief reason I'm going to +write my history, so as to remember in case I forget. + +Well, now I will begin. I am eleven years and eleven months and three +days old. I don't have birthday parties. The Yorkburg Female Orphan +Asylum is a large house with a wide hall in the middle, and a wing on +one side that makes it look like Major Green, who lost one arm in the +war. + +There are large grounds around the house, and around the grounds is a +high brick wall in front and a wooden fence back and sides. The children +and the chickens use the grounds at the back; the front has grass and +flowers, and is for company, which is seldom. Sometimes, just because I +can't help it, I chase a chicken through the front so as to know how it +feels to run in the grass, which it is forbidden to do. + +Forbidden things are so much nicer than unforbidden. I love to do them +until they're done. + +The Asylum is on King Street, almost at the very end, and there isn't +much passing, just the Tates and the Gordons and a few others living +farther on. The dining-room is in the basement, half below the ground, +and on cloudy days the lamps have to be lighted--that is, they used to. +Now we have electric lights, and I just love to turn them on. It's such +a grand way to get a thing done, just to press a button. + +The dining-room has a picture over the mantel of a cow standing in +yellow-brown grass, and, though hideous, it's a great comfort. That cow +understands our feelings at mealtimes, and we understand hers. + +Humane meals are very much like yellow-brown grass, and our clothes are +on the same order as our meals. As for our days, if it wasn't for +calendars we wouldn't know one from the other, except Sundays, for, +unlike the stars mentioned by St. Paul, they differ not. + +The rising-bell rings at five o'clock, and all except the very littlest +get up and clean up until seven, when we march into the dining-room. At +7.25 we rise at the tap of Miss Bray's bell, and those who have more +cleaning up-stairs march out; those who clear the table and wash the +dishes stay behind. At 8.30 we march into the school-room, where we +have prayers and calisthenics. The calisthenics are fine. At nine we +begin recitations. + +We have a teacher who lives in town, Miss Elvira Strother. She's a good +teacher. The older girls help teach the little ones, and next year I'm +to help. + +This Asylum is over ninety (90) years old, but looks much older. There +is just money enough to run it, and it hasn't had any paint or +improvements in the memory of man, except the electric lights. The town +put those in for safety, and don't charge for them. + +I wish the town would put in bath-tubs for the same reason. It would +make the children much nicer. They just naturally don't like to wash, +and one small pitcher of water for two girls don't allow much splashing. + +But Yorkburg hasn't any water-works, not being born with them. I mean, +water-works not being the fashion when Yorkburg was first begun, nobody +has ever thought of putting them in. Mr. Loyall, he's the mayor, says +everybody has gotten on very well for over two hundred years without +them, and he don't see any use in stirring up the subject. So there'll +never be any change until he's dead, and in Yorkburg nobody dies till +the last thing. + +There wouldn't be any electric lights if the shoe factory hadn't come +here. The men who brought it came from New Jersey, and they wanted +light, and got it. And Yorkburg was so pleased that it moved a little +and made some light for itself; and now everything in town just blazes, +even the Asylum. + +I used to sleep in No. 4, but I don't sleep there now. It is a big room, +and has six windows in it, and in winter we children used to play we +were arctic explorers and would search for icebergs. The North Pole was +the Reagan's house, half-way down the street, and it might as well have +been, for it was as much beyond our reach. + +But it was the one thing we were all going to get some day when we +married rich. And when we got it, we were going to drive up to the Galt +House--that's the Home for Poor and Proud Ladies--and ask for Mrs. +Reagan, who was to be in it in the third floor back, and leave her some +old clothes with the buttons off, and old magazines. None of us could +bear Mrs. Reagan--not a single one. + +It is a beautiful house, Mrs. Reagan's is. It has large white pillars +in the front and back, and it's got three bath-rooms, and a big tank in +the back yard. And it has velvet curtains over the lace ones, and gold +furniture and pictures with gold frames a foot wide. + +I heard Miss Katherine talking about it to Miss Webb one night. They +were laughing about something Miss Katherine said was the most +impossible of all, and Miss Webb said it was desecrating for such a +stately old house to fall into the hands of such bulgarians. What are +bulgarians? I don't know. But they're not ladies. + +Mrs. Reagan is not a lady. The way I found it out was this. Miss Jones, +she's our housekeeper, sent a message to her one day by Bertha Reed and +me about some pickles. Bertha is awful timid, and she didn't know +whether or not we ought to go to the front door; but I did, and I told +her to come on. + +"I don't go to back doors, if I don't know my family history," I said. +"I know who I am, and something inside of me tells me where to go." And +I pressed the button so hard I thought I'd broken it unintentional. + +The man-servant opened the door and looked at us as if weary and +surprised, and said nothing. + +"Is Mrs. Reagan in?" I asked. + +"She is." + +That's all he said. He waited. I waited. Then I stepped forward. + +"We will come in," I said. "And you go and tell her Mary Cary would like +to see her, having a message from Miss Jones." And he was so surprised +he moved aside, and in I walked. + +I had heard so much about this house that I wasn't going to miss seeing +what was in it, if that fool man was rude; so while he was gone to get +Mrs. Reagan I counted everything in the front parlor as quick as I +could, and told Bertha to count everything in the back. + +There were three sofas and two mirrors and nine chairs and six rugs and +six tables and two pianos, one little old-fashioned one and a big new +one; and three stools and seventeen candlesticks and four pedestals with +statuary on them, some broken, all naked; and seven palms and +twenty-three pictures and two lamps and five red-plush curtains, three +pairs over the lace ones and two at the doors; and as for ornaments, it +was a shop. And not one single book. + +I am sure I got the things right, for I'd been practising remembering +at observation parties, in case I ever got a chance to see inside this +house; and I looked hard so I could tell the girls. + +Poor Bertha was so frightened she didn't remember anything but the clock +and a china cat and an easel and picture, and before I could count Mrs. +Reagan came in. + +She stopped in the doorway, and had we come from leper-land she couldn't +have held herself farther off. + +"What are you doing in here?" she asked, and she tried the haughty +air--"What are you doing in here?" + +"We were waiting for you," I said. "We have a message from Miss Jones." + +"Well, another time don't wait in here, and don't come to the front door +if you have a message from Miss Jones or Miss Any-body-else. I don't +want any pickles this year. Had I wanted any I would have sent her word. +You understand? Don't ever come here again in this way!" And she waved +us out as if we were flies. + +For a minute I looked at her as if she were a Mrs. Jorley's wax-works, +and then I made a bow like I make in charades. + +"We understand," I said. "And we will not come again. We've heard a +good many people in Yorkburg have been once and no more." And I bowed +again and walked past her like she was a stage character, which she was, +being a pretence and nothing else. + +Mad? I tell you, I was Martha for a week, and then I saw, real sudden, +how silly I was to let a bulgarian make me mad. + +But if I'm ever expected to love anything like that, it will be +expecting too much of Mary Cary, mostly Martha, for she isn't an enemy. +She's just a make-believe of something she wasn't born into being and +don't know how to make herself. She don't agree with my nature, and if I +had a parlor she couldn't come into it either. She could not. + + + + +IV + +THE STEPPED-ON AND THE STEPPERS + + +I don't believe I ever have written anything about my first years at +this Asylum. I am naturally a wandering person. Well, I was happy. I +know I've said that before, but Miss Katherine says that's one of the +few things you can say often. + +I had a kitten, and a chicken which I killed by mistake. I took it to +the pump to wash it, and it lost its breath and died. I still put +flowers on the place where its grave was. + +It was my first to die. I have lost many others since: a cat, and a +rabbit, and a rooster called Napoleon because he was so strutty and +domineering to his wives. I didn't put up anything to his grave. I +didn't think the hens would like it. They just despised him. + +Then there were the remains of Rebecca Baker. She was of rags, with +button eyes and no teeth, just marks for them; but I loved her very +much. I kept her as long as there was anything to hold her by; but after +legs and arms went, and the back of her head got so thin from lack of +sawdust that she had neuralgia all the time, I found her dead one +morning, and buried her at once. + +I loved Rebecca Baker: not for looks, but for comfort. I could talk to +her without fear of her telling. She always knew how hungry I was, and +how I hated oatmeal without sugar, and she never talked back. + +During the years from three to nine I lived just mechanical, except on +the inside. I got up to a bell and cleaned to a bell, and sat down to +eat to a bell; rose to a bell, went to school to a bell, came out to a +bell, worked to a bell, sewed to a bell, played to a bell, said my +prayers to a bell, got in bed to a bell, and the next day and every day +did the same thing over to the same old bell. + +But when I marry my children's father there are to be no bells in the +house we live in. Only buttons, with no particular time to be pressed. + +We go to church to a bell, too; that, is to Sunday-school. We always go +to St. John's Sunday-school--Episcopal. The man who left this place put +it in his will that we had to, but we go to all the other churches. +Episcopal the first Sunday, Methodist the second, Presbyterian the +third, and Baptist the fourth, and when we get through we begin all over +again. + +We go to church like we do everything else, two by two. Start at a tap +of that same old bell, and march along like wooden figures wound up; and +the people who see us don't think we are really truly children or like +theirs, except in shape inside. They think we just love our hideous +clothes, and that we ought to be thankful for molasses and +bread-and-milk every night in the week but one, and if we're not, we're +wicked. Rich people think queer things. + +Sundays at the Humane are terribly religious. + +They begin early and last until after supper, and if anybody is sorry +when Sunday is over, it's never been mentioned out loud. We have prayers +and Bible-reading before breakfast every day, but on Sundays longer. +Then we go to Sunday-school, where some of the children stare at us like +we were foreign heathen who have come to get saved. Some nudge each +other and laugh. But real many are nice and sweet, and I just love that +little Minnie Dawes, who sits in front of me. She wears the prettiest +hats in Yorkburg, and I get lots of ideas from them. I trim hats in my +mind all the time Miss Sallie is talking--Miss Sallie is our teacher. + +She is a good lady, Miss Sallie Ray is. Her chief occupation is +religion, and as for going to church, it's the true joy of her life. +She's in love with Mr. Benson, the Superintendent, and very regular at +all the services. So is he. + +But for teaching children Miss Sallie wasn't meant. She really wasn't. +She never surely knows the lesson herself, and it was such fun asking +her all sorts of questions just to see her flounder round for answers +that I used to pretend I wanted to know a lot of things I didn't. But I +don't do that now. It was like punching a lame cat to see it hop, and I +stopped. + +She don't ask me anything, either. Never has since the day Mr. Benson +came in our class and asked for a little review, and Martha Cary made +trouble, of course. + +Miss Sallie was so red and excited by Mr. Benson sitting there beside +her that she didn't know what she was doing. She didn't, or she wouldn't +have asked me questions, knowing I never say the things I ought. But +after a minute she did ask me, fanning just as hard as she could. It +was in January. + +"Now, Mary Cary, tell us something of the people we have been studying +about this winter," she said, "Mention something of Abraham, Isaac, and +Jacob, and Peter and Paul. Who was Abraham?" + +"Abraham was a coward," I said. + +"A what?" And her voice was a little shriek. "A what?" + +"A coward. He was! He passed his wife off for his sister, fearing +trouble for himself, and not thinking of consequences for her." + +"That will do," she said, and she fanned harder than ever, and looked +real frightened at Mr. Benson, who was blowing his nose. "Susie Rice, +who was Jacob?" + +Susie didn't know. Nobody knew, so I spoke again. + +"Jacob was a rascal. He deceived his father and stole from his brother. +But he prospered and repented, and died prominent." + +Mr. Benson got up and said he believed his nose was bleeding, and went +out quick, and since then Miss Sallie has never asked me a single +question. Not one. + +Now I wonder what made Martha speak out like that? Abraham and Jacob +were good men who did some bad things, but generally only their goodness +is mentioned. While you're living it's apt to be the other way. + +But I'm glad the bad is overlooked in time. Maybe that is what God will +do with everybody. He'll wipe out all the wrongness and meanness, and +see through it to the good. I hope that's the way it's going to be, for +that's my only chance. + +Since Miss Sallie stopped asking me anything, and I her, I have a lovely +time in my mind taking things off the other children and putting them on +the Orphans. There's Margaret Evans. In the winter she's always blue and +frozen, and I'd give her that Mallory child's velvet coat and gray muff +and tippet, and put Margaret's blue cape and calico dress on her. + +Poor little Margaret! She's so humble and thankful she gets even less +than the rest, it looks like, though I suppose in clothes she has the +same allowance, and the difference, maybe, is in herself. + +Some people are born to be stepped on, and of steppers there are always +a-plenty. + +After Sunday-school we walk to the church we're going to, two by two, +just alike and all in blue. The minister always mentions us in his +prayers, except at St. John's, the prayer-book not providing for Orphans +in particular. + +When church is over we march home and have dinner, and after dinner we +study the lesson for next Sunday and practise hymns until time for the +afternoon service. That begins at four, and some of the town ministers +preach or talk, generally preach, long and wearisome. + +The Episcopal minister gets through in a hurry. We love to have him. He +talks so fast we don't half understand, and before we know it he's got +his hand up and we hear him saying: "And now to the Father and to the +Son--." And the rest is mumbled, but we know he's through and is glad of +it, and so are we. + +The Presbyterian Sunday is the longest and solemnest, and I always write +a new story in my mind when Dr. Moffett preaches. He is very learned, +and knows Hebrew and Latin and Greek, but not much about little girls. + +Poor Mrs Blamire; she tries to keep awake, but she can't do it; and +after the first five minutes she puffs away just as regular as if she +were wound up. Once I shut my eyes and tried to puff like her, but I +forgot to be careful, and did it so loud the girls came near getting in +trouble. Dr. Moffett is deaf, and didn't hear. Miss Bray heard. + +But the Baptist minister don't let you sleep on his Sunday. He used to +try to make the girls come up and profess, but now he don't ask even +that. Just sit where you are and hold up your hand, and when you join +the church--any church will answer--you are saved. I don't understand +it. + +We all like the Methodist minister. I don't think he knows many dead +languages. He don't have much time to study, being so busy helping +people; but he knows how to talk to us children, and he always makes me +wish I wasn't so bad. He always does, and the Mary part of me just rises +right up on his Sunday, and Martha is ashamed of herself. He believes in +getting better by the love way. So do I. + +Miss Katherine is going away next week to stay two months. Going to her +army brother's first, and then to the California brother, who's North +somewhere. And from the time she told me I've felt like Robinson +Crusoe's daughter would have felt, if he'd had one, and gone off and +left her on that desert island. + +I don't know what we're going to do when she goes away. I could shed +gallons of tears, only I don't like tears, and then, too, she might see +me. I want her to think I'm glad she's going, for she needs a change. +But, oh, the difference her going will make! + +I will be nothing but Martha. I know it. Nothing but Martha until she +comes back. The Mary part of me is so sick at the thought she hasn't any +backbone, and Martha is showing signs already. + +And that shows I'm just nothing, for Miss Katherine has taught us, +without exactly telling, how we can't do what we ought by wanting. We've +got to work. In plain words, its watch and pray, and with me it's the +watching that's most important. If I'm not on the lookout, and don't nab +Martha right away, praying don't have any effect. I'm a natural pray-er, +but on watching I'm poor. + +I couldn't make any one understand what Miss Katherine has done for us +since she's been here. Some words don't tell things. The nursing when +we're sick is only a part, and though she's fixed up one of the rooms +just like a hospital-room, with everything so white and clean and sweet +in it that it's real joy to be sick, we're not sick often. + +It's the keeping us well that's kept her so busy. She's explained so +many things to us we didn't know before, she's almost made me like my +body. I didn't use to. Not a bit. + +It's such a nuisance, and needs so much attention to keep it going +right. So often it was freezing cold, or blazing hot, or hungry, and had +to be dressed in such ugly clothes that I was ashamed of it. And if ever +I could have hung it up in the closet or put it away in a bureau-drawer, +I would have done it while I went out and had a good time. But I +couldn't do it. I had to take it everywhere I went, and until Miss +Katherine came I had mighty little use for it. + +But since she's been here the girls are much cleaner, and we don't mind +so much not having the things to eat that we like. That is, not quite so +much. But almost. When you're downright hungry for the taste of things, +it don't satisfy to say to yourself "You don't really need it. Be +quiet." And being made of flesh and blood, most of us would rather eat +the things we want to than the things we ought to. + +But the dining-room is much nicer. We have flowers on the table, and the +cooking is better, though we still have prunes. + +I loathe prunes. + + + + +V + +"HERE COMES THE BRIDE!" + + +I knew when Miss Katherine left I'd be nothing but Martha. That's what +I've been--Martha. + +She hadn't been gone two days when Mary gave up, and as prompt as +possible Martha invented trouble. + +It was this way. In the summer we have much more time than in the +winter, and the children kept coming to me asking me to make up +something, and all of a sudden a play came in my mind. I just love +acting. The play was to be the marriage of Dr. Rudd and Miss Bray. + +You see, Miss Bray is dead in love with Dr. Rudd--really addled about +him. And whenever he comes to see any of the children who are sick she +is so solicitous and sweet and smiley that we call her, to ourselves, +Ipecac Mollie. Other days, plain Mollie Cottontail. It seemed to me if +we could just think him into marrying her, it would be the best work +we'd ever done, and I thought it was worth trying. + +They say if you just think and think and think about a thing you can +make somebody else think about it, too. And not liking Dr. Rudd, we +didn't mind thinking her on him, and so we began. Every day we'd meet +for an hour and think together, and each one promised to think single, +and in between times we got ready. + +Becky Drake says love goes hard late in life, and sometimes touches the +brain. Maybe that accounts for Miss Bray. + +She is fifty-three years old, and all frazzled out and done up with +adjuncts. But Dr. Rudd, being a man with not even usual sense, and awful +conceited, don't see what we see, and swallows easy. Men are +funny--funny as some women. + +I don't think he's ever thought of courting Miss Bray. But she's thought +of it, and for once we truly tried to help her. + +Well, we got ready, beginning two days after Miss Katherine left, and +the play came off Friday night, the third of July. In consequence of +that play I have been in a retreat, and on the Fourth of July I made a +New-Year resolution. + +I resolved I would do those things I should not do, and leave undone the +things I should. I would not disappoint Miss Bray. She looked for things +in me to worry her. She should find them. + +Well, I was in that top-story summer-resort for ten days. Put there for +reflection. I reflected. And on the difference between Miss Katherine +and Miss Bray. + +But the play was a corker; it certainly was. We chose Friday night +because Miss Jones always takes tea with her aunt that night, and Miss +Bray goes to choir practising. I wish everybody could hear her sing! +Gabriel ought to engage her to wake the dead, only they'd want to die +again. + +Dr. Rudd is in the choir, and she just lives on having Friday nights to +look forward to. + +The ceremony took place in the basement-room where we play in bad +weather. It's across from the dining-room, the kitchen being between, +and it's a right nice place to march in, being long and narrow. + +I was the preacher, and Prudence Arch and Nita Polley, Emma Clark and +Margaret Witherspoon were the bridesmaids. + +Lizzie Wyatt was the bride, and Katie Freeman, who is the tallest girl +in the house, though only fourteen, was the groom. + +Katie is so thin she would do as well for one thing in this life as +another, so we made her Dr. Rudd. + +We didn't have but two men. Miss Webb says they're really not necessary +at weddings, except the groom and the minister. Nobody notices them, +and, besides, we couldn't get the pants. + +I was an Episcopal minister, so I wouldn't need any. Mrs. Blamire's +raincoat was the gown, and I cut up an old petticoat into strips, and +made bands to go down the front and around my neck. Loulie Prentiss +painted some crosses and marks on them with gilt, so as to make me look +like a Bishop. I did. A little cent one. + +There wasn't any trouble about my costume, because I could soap my hair +and make it lie flat, and put on the robe, and there I was. But how to +get a pair of pants for Katie Freeman was a puzzle. + +Nothing male lives in the Humane. Not even a billy-goat. We couldn't +borrow pants, knowing it wouldn't be safe; and what to do I couldn't +guess. + +Well, the day came, and, still wondering where those pants were to come +from, I went out in the yard where a man was painting a window-shutter +that had blown off a back window. Right before my eyes was the woodhouse +door wide open, and something said to me: + +"Walk in." + +I walked in; and there in a corner on a woodpile was a real nice pair of +pants, and a collar and cravat, and a coat and a tin lunch-bucket, which +had been eaten--the lunch had. And when I saw those pants I knew Katie +Freeman was fixed. + +They belonged to the man who was painting the shutter. + +It was an awful hot day, and he had taken them off in the woodhouse and +put on his overalls, and when he wasn't looking I slipped out with them, +and went up to Miss Bray's room. She was down-stairs talking to Miss +Jones, and I hid them under the mattress of her bed. + +I knew when she found they were missing she'd turn to me to know where +they were. No matter what went wrong, from the cat having kittens or the +chimney smoking, she looked to me as the cause. And if there was to be +any searching, No. 4--I sleep in No. 4 when Miss Katherine is +away--would be the first thing searched. So I put them under her bed. + +I wish Miss Katherine could have seen that man about six o'clock, when +the time came for him to go home. She would have laughed, too. She +couldn't have helped it. + +He is young, and Bermuda Ray says he is in love with Callie Payne, who +lives just down the street. He has to pass her house going home, and I +guess that's the reason he wore his good clothes and took them off so +carefully. But whether that was it or not, he was the rippenest, maddest +man I ever saw in my life when he went to put on his pants and there +were none to put. + +I almost rolled off the porch up-stairs, where I was watching. I never +did know before how much a man thinks of his pants. + +He soon had Miss Bray and Miss Jones and a lot of the girls out in the +yard, and everybody was talking at once; and then I heard him say: + +"But I tell you, Miss Bray, I put 'em here, right on this woodpile. And +where are they? You run this place, and you are responsible for--" + +"Not for pants." And Miss Bray's voice was so shrill it sounded like a +broken whistle. "I'm responsible for no man's pants. When a man can't +take care of his pants, he shouldn't have them. Besides, you shouldn't +have left yours in the woodhouse when working in a Female Orphan +Asylum." And she glared so at him that the poor male thing withered, and +blushed real beautiful. + +He's a pretty young man, and I felt sorry for him when Miss Bray snapped +so. I certainly did. + +"My overalls are my working-pants," he said, real meek-like, and his +voice was trembling so I thought he was going to cry. "It's very strange +that in a place like this a man's clothes are not safe. I thought--" + +"Well, you had no business thinking. Next time keep your pants on." And +Miss Bray, who's good on a bluff, pretended like she had been truly +injured, and the poor little painter sat down. + +Presently his face changed, as if a thought had come into his mind from +a long way off, and he said, in another kind of voice: + +"I beg your pardon, Miss Bray. I believe I know who done it. It's a +friend of mine who tries to be funny every now and then, and calls it +joking. I'll choke his liver out of him!" And he settled himself on the +woodpile to wait until dark before he went home. + +If anybody thinks that wedding was slumpy, they think wrong. It was +thrilly. When the bride and groom and the bridesmaids came in, all the +girls were standing in rows on either side of the walk, making an aisle +in between, and they sang a wedding-song I had invented from my heart. + +It was to the Lohengrin tune, which is a little wobbly for words, but +they got them in all right, keeping time with their hands. These are the +words: + + 1 + + Here comes the Bride, + God save the Groom! + And please don't let any chil-i-il-dren come, + For they don't know + How children feel, + Nor do they know how with chil-dren to deal. + + 2 + + She's still an old maid, + Though she would not have been + Could she have mar-ri-ed any kind of man. + But she could not. + So to the Humane + She came, and caus-ed a good deal of pain. + + 3 + + But now she's here + To be married, and go + Away with her red-headed, red-bearded beau. + Have mercy, Lord, + And help him to bear + What we've been doing this many a year! + +And such singing! We'd been practising in the back part of the yard, and +humming in bed, so as to get the words into the tune; but we hadn't let +out until that night. That night we let go. + +There's nothing like singing from your heart, and, though I was the +minister and stood on a box which was shaky, I sang, too. I led. + +The bride didn't think it was modest to hold up her head, and she was +the only silent one. But the bridegroom and bridesmaids sang, and it +sounded like the revivals at the Methodist church. It was grand. + +And that bride! She was Miss Bray. A graven image of her couldn't have +been more like her. + +She was stuffed in the right places, and her hair was frizzed just like +Miss Bray's. Frizzed in front, and slick and tight in the back; and her +face was a purple pink, and powdered all over, with a piece of dough +just above her mouth on the left side to correspond with Miss Bray's +mole. + +And she held herself so like her, shoulders back, and making that little +nervous sniffle with her nose, like Miss Bray makes when she's excited, +that once I had to wink at her to stop. + +The groom didn't look like Dr. Rudd. But she wore men's clothes, and +that's the only way you'd know some men were men, and almost anything +will do for a groom. Nobody noticed him. + +We were getting on just grand, and I was marrying away, telling them +what they must do and what they mustn't. Particularly that they mustn't +get mad and leave each other, for Yorkburg was very old-fashioned and +didn't like changes, and would rather stick to its mistakes than go back +on its word. And then I turned to the bride. + +"Miss Bray," I said, "have you told this man you are marrying that you +are two-faced and underhand, and can't be trusted to tell the truth? +Have you told him that nobody loves you, and that for years you have +tried to pass for a lamb, when you are an old sheep? And does he know +that though you're a good manager on little and are not lazy, that your +temper's been ruined by economizing, and that at times, if you were +dead, there'd be no place for you? Peter wouldn't pass you, and the +devil wouldn't stand you. And does he know he's buying a pig in a bag, +and that the best wedding present he could give you would be a set of +new teeth? And will you promise to stop pink powder and clean your +finger-nails every day? And--" + +But I got no further, for something made me look up, and there, standing +in the door, was the real Miss Bray. + +All I said was--"Let us pray!" + + + + +VI + +"MY LADY OF THE LOVELY HEART" + + +Beautiful gloriousness! Miss Katherine has come back! + +What a different place some people can make the same place! + +Yesterday there wasn't an interesting thing in Yorkburg. Nothing but +dust and shabby old houses and poky people who knew nothing to talk +about, and to-day--oh, to-day it's dear! I love it! + +You see, after that wedding everything went wrong. The girls said it +wasn't fair for me to be punished so much more than the rest, and they +wanted to tell the Board about it; but for once I agreed with Miss Bray. + +"I did it. I made it up and fixed everything, and you all just agreed," +I said. "And if anybody has to pay, I'm the one to do it." And I paid +all right. Paid to the full. But it's over now, and I'm not going to +think about it any more. When a thing is over, that should be the end +of it, Miss Katherine says, and with me what she says goes. + +Miss Bray is away. If some of her relations liked her well enough to +have her stay a few months with them, she could get leave of absence; +but she's never been known to stay but four weeks. She's gone to visit +her sister somewhere in Fauquier County. Her sister's husband always +leaves home for his health when she arrives, and Miss Bray says she +thinks it's so queer he has the same kind of spells at the same time +every year. + +But now Miss Katherine's back, nothing matters. Nothing! + +Yesterday I was just a squirrel in a cage. All day long I was saying: +"Well, Squirrel, turn your little wheel. That's all you can do; turn +your little wheel." And inside I was turning as hard and fast as a +sure-enough squirrel turns; but outside I was just mechanical. + +I wonder sometimes I don't blaze up right before people's eyes. I'm so +often on fire--that is, my mind and heart are--that I think at times my +body will surely catch. Thus far it hasn't, but if I don't go somewhere, +see something, do something different, it's apt to, and the doctors +won't have a name for the new kind of inflammation. + +I'm going to die after a while, and I'm so afraid I will do it before I +travel some that if I were a boy child I'd go anyhow. But I can't go. +That is, not yet. + +Miss Katherine has been travelling for two months up North. She's been +with her brother and his wife. The wife is sick, or she thinks she is, +which Miss Katherine says is a hard disease to cure, and she's kept them +moving from place to place. + +They wanted Miss Katherine to go to Europe with them this fall, but she +isn't going. She's been twice, and says she don't want to go. But I +don't believe it's that. I believe it's something else. + +But sufficient unto the day is the happiness thereof! I'm going to enjoy +her staying, and already everything seems different. + +You see, Miss Katherine lives here just for love, and when you do things +for love you do them differently from the way you do them for money. + +We are just Charity children, some not knowing who they are, I being one +of that kind; but she never treats us as if she thinks of that. If we +were relations she liked, she couldn't be kinder or nicer, and when a +child is in trouble Miss Katherine is the one that's gone to at once. + +She is never too tired or too busy to listen, but she's awful firm; and +there's no nonsense or sullenness or shamming where she is. She can see +through the insides of your soul, up to the top and down to the tip, and +in front of her eyes you are just your plain self. Only that, and +nothing more. They are gray, her eyes are, with a dark rim around the +gray part; and she has the longest black lashes I ever saw. Her hair is +black, too, like an Eastern Princess and in the morning when she puts +her cap on and her nurse's white dress, which she wears when on duty, I +call her to myself, "My Lady of the Lovely Heart," and I could kneel +down and say my prayers to her. + +I don't, though, for she would tell me pretty quick to get up. She +doesn't like things like that, and, of course, it would look queer. + +But I don't know anybody who isn't queer about something. Either stupid +queer, or silly queer, or smart queer, or beautiful queer, or religious +queer, or selfish queer, or some other kind. + +Miss Bray is the Queen of Queers. + +But Miss Katherine is queer, too. If she wasn't, she wouldn't stay at +this Orphan Asylum, just to help us children, and doing it as cheerfully +as if she were happier here than she would be anywhere else. If her +staying isn't queerness, beautiful queerness, what is it? + +I don't understand it, and I don't believe I ever will understand how +any one who can get ice-cream will take prunes. + +But Miss Katherine has got a way of seeing the funny side of things, and +sometimes I can't tell whether she minds prunes and pruny things or not. + +I'm sure she does, but she says, when you can't change a thing, don't +let it change you, and that an inward disposition is hard on other +people. + +I don't know what that means, but I think it's the same as saying +there's no use in always chewing the rag. Martha is right much inclined +to be a chewer. + +Miss Webb is, too. She is Miss Katherine's best friend, and I just love +to hear her talk. + +She always comes once a week, often twice, to spend the evening at the +Asylum with Miss Katherine, and sometimes when they think I'm asleep, +I'm not. I'd be a nuisance if I kept popping up and saying, "I'm not +asleep, speak low." So when I can't, really can't, sleep, though I do +try, I hear them talking, and the things Miss Webb says are a great +relief to my feelings. + +She doesn't come to supper, orphan-asylum suppers being refreshments to +stay from, not come to, but nearly always they make something on a +chafing-dish. Something that's good, painful good. + +Miss Webb says Miss Katherine's stomach has some rights, which is true; +and when they begin to cook, I just sleep away, breathing regular and +easy, so they won't know I am awake, for fear they might think I am not +asleep on purpose. + +But I have to hold on to the bed and stuff my ears and nose so as not to +hear and smell, for I am that hungry I could eat horse if it had +Worcestershire sauce on it. And that is what they put in their things, +which shows that in eating, even, Miss Katherine preaches sense and +practises taste. + +Miss Webb just laughs at theories, and brings all sorts of good things +with her. She says doctors have wronged more stomachs than they've ever +righted by all this dieting business, and, while there's sense in some +of it, there's more nonsense; and as for her, she don't believe in it. +I don't know anything about it; but I don't, either. + +They always save me some of whatever they make, which I get the next +day. But if I could rise out of bed and eat as much as I want out of +that chafing-dish, there would be a funeral Miss Bray would like to +attend. The corpse would be Mary Cary, died Martha. + +There is a screen at the foot of my bed, put there so the light won't +bother me and so I won't be seen. And, thinking I am asleep, Miss +Katherine and Miss Webb talk on as if I were dead; and it's very +interesting the things they talk about. + +Of course, Miss Webb came over last night, and, after talking about two +hours, she said: "Oh, I forgot to tell you. Lizzie Lane is going to +marry Bob Rogers, and right away. I don't suppose you've heard." + +"Yes, I have; Lizzie wrote me." And Miss Katherine took the hair-pins +out of her hair and let it fall down her back. "What made her change her +mind? What is she marrying him for?" + +"How do I know?" And Miss Webb tasted the chocolate to see if it was +sweet enough. + +"How does anybody know what a man is married for? In most cases you +can't risk a guess. Lizzie is a woman, therefore 'hath reason or +unreason for her act.'" + +"How did it happen? What made her change her mind?" and Miss Katherine +threw her hair-pins on the bureau and stooped down to get her slippers. +"How does Lizzie explain it?" + +"She says she was so sleepy she doesn't remember whether she said yes or +no. But Bob remembers, and the wedding is to be week after next. He's +courted her three times a year for seven years; but since he's been +living North he hasn't even written to her, and she didn't know he was +in town until he came up that night to see her. + +"He stayed until after one o'clock, and didn't mention marriage. But as +he got up to go he told her his house was going to send him on a six +months' trip to Japan. If she would marry him and go, say so. If not, +say that, too, but for the last time. Lizzie said she'd go." + +Miss Katherine fastened her kimono, put her feet up on the chair in +front of her, and clasped her hands behind her head. + +"I don't wonder at the unhappy marriages," she said. "The queer part is +there aren't more of them. Why did Bob wait eight years to talk to +Lizzie like this? Why is it a man has so little understanding of a +woman?" + +"Why? Because he's a Man. The Lord made him, and there must be some +reason for him; but even the Lord must sometimes get worn out at his +dumbness. However--" + +She stopped, for the chocolate was boiling over; then she began to sing: + + "Before marriage, men love most. + After marriage, women best. + Marriage many changes makes-- + Heart is happy or heart breaks." + +And she sang it so many times that I went to sleep and dreamed the dream +I love most. + +I see hundreds and hundreds of little creatures (they are the Mary part +of little children), and they are afraid and shivering and standing +about, not knowing where to go or what to do. And then Miss Katherine is +in the midst of them, smiling and beckoning, and they follow and follow, +and wings come out. Just tiny ones at first, and then larger and larger, +and presently they fly all around her, and she points the way, smiling +and cheering. + +And then they rise higher and higher, and off they go, and she is alone. +Tired out but glad, because she taught them how to use their wings. + + + + +VII + +"STERILIZED AND FERTILIZED" + + +This is Sunday, and we have done all the usual Sunday things. There +won't be another for seven days. For that we give thanks in our hearts, +but not out loud. + +This was Presbyterian Sunday. Miss Bray is a Presbyterian. + +It is a solemn thing to be a Presbyterian, and easy for the mind, too. +Everything is fixed, and there is no unfixing. You are saved or you are +not saved, and you will never know which it is until after you are dead +and find out. Miss Bray believes she is saved, and she takes liberties. +She also thinks everything is as God ordered it, and she believes God +ordered poor Mrs. Craddock to die--that is, took her away. I don't. I +think it was that last baby. + +She had had twelve, and the thirteenth just wore her out at the thought. +There being nobody to do anything for her, she got up and cooked +breakfast in her stocking feet when the baby was only a week old, and +that night she had the influenza, and the next pneumonia. On the sixth +day she was dead, and so was the baby. They forgot to feed it. + +I don't believe God ever took any mothers away intentional. He never +would have made them so necessary if He had meant to take them away when +they were most needed. When they go I believe He is sorry. + +I don't know how to explain it. Nobody does, though a lot try. But I +know He sees it bigger than we do, and maybe He is working at something +that isn't finished yet. + +Minnie Peters is real sick. Miss Katherine has put her in the +hospital-room, and is staying in there with her. + +I am all alone by myself to-night. I don't like aloneness at night. It +makes you pay too much attention to your feelings, which Miss Katherine +says is the cause of more trouble in this world than all other diseases +put together. + +She says, too, that what we feel about a thing is very often different +from the way other people feel about it. And when you don't agree with +people, the only thing you can be sure about is that they don't agree +with you. I believe that's true. Not being by nature much of an +agree-er, and having feelings I hope others don't, I would be a walking +argument if Miss Katherine hadn't stopped me and explained some things I +didn't realize before. + +Last night, being by myself, and not being able to go to sleep, I wrote +a piece of poetry. + +Miss Katherine says it's hard to forgive people who think they write +poetry, so I won't show her this. But it does relieve you to write down +a lot of woozy nothing that is somehow like you feel. This is the +poem--I mean the verses: + + 1 + + Out upon life's ocean vast, + With the current drifting fast, + I am sailing. Oh, alas, + 'Tis a lonely feeling! + + 2 + + Why was such a trip e'er started + On a pathway all uncharted? + Why from loved ones was I parted? + Who will answer? Who? + + 3 + + None will answer. So I'll see + What there is on this journey (journee) + That will bring good-luck to me-- + I'll look out and see! + +I hope Minnie isn't going to be sick long. She is the first girl to be +really ill since Miss Katherine came. It makes you feel so queer in the +throat to know somebody is truly sick. + +A lot of the girls have been sick a little with colds and small and +unserious diseases in the past year. But Miss Katherine says it's her +business to keep us well, not just get us well after we're sick, and +she's certainly done it. We've been weller than we ever were in our +lives, and no medicine taken. Just plain common-sense regulations. + +I wonder what's the matter with Minnie? The doctor hasn't said, but Miss +Katherine is uneasy, and she won't let anybody come in the room. She +hasn't been out herself since yesterday. + + * * * * * + +My, but we've had a time lately! + +We've been fumigated and sterilized and fertilized so much that we are +better prepared for the happy-land than we ever were before. But the +danger of anybody going to it right away is over. + +Minnie Peters has had scarlet fever, and the commotion made her real +famous. + +Miss Katherine knew it from the first, but Dr. Rudd wouldn't believe it +until he had to, and Yorkburg got so excited it hasn't talked of +anything else for weeks. + +Minnie was awful ill. Two days and two nights they didn't think she +would live, and for three weeks Miss Katherine didn't leave the room. If +it hadn't been for her Minnie would be dead. + +Miss Katherine's room has been closed since they first found out it was +really scarlet fever Minnie had, and I have been in No. 4 again. She is +going away to spend a week with Miss Webb. Going to-morrow. + +I am so glad she is going. All of us are glad, for she has had to do +something which shows whether you are a Christ-kind Christian or the +usual kind, and she is tired out. She won't admit it, though, and laughs +and kisses her hand over the banister, which is all the closer we have +seen her yet. + +Miss Bray was scared to death. She didn't offer to share the nursing, +but she made excuses a-plenty for not doing it. Miss Bray is a church +Christian. You couldn't make her miss going to church. She thinks she'd +have bad luck if she did. + + + + +VIII + +MARY CARY'S BUSINESS + + +This is a busy time of the year, and things are moving. I'm in business. +The Apple and Entertainment business. + +The reason I went in business was to make money, and the money was to +buy Christmas presents with. + +I didn't have a cent. Not one. Christmas was coming. Money wasn't. And +what's the use of Christmas if you can't give something to somebody? + +Religion is the only thing I know of that you can get without money and +without price, and even that you can't keep without both. Not being +suitable to the season, I couldn't give that away, even if I had it to +spare, and wondering what to do almost made me sick. + +I thought and thought until my brain curdled. I looked over everything I +had to see if there was a thing I could sell. There wasn't. I couldn't +tell Miss Katherine, knowing she'd fix up some way to give me some and +pretend I was earning it; and then, one day, when she was out, I locked +myself in her room, and Martha gave Mary such a spanking talk that Mary +moved. + +Everything Martha had suggested before, Mary had some excuse for not +doing. Mary is lazy at times, and, as for pride, she's full of it. +Martha generally gives the trouble, but Mary needs plain truth every now +and then, and that day she got it. When the talk was over, there was a +plan settled on, and the plan was this. + +Each day in December we have an apple for dinner. Mr. Riley sends us +several barrels every winter, and, as they won't keep, we have one +apiece until they're gone. + +We don't have to eat them at the table, and when Martha told Mary you +could do anything you wanted if you wanted to hard enough--except raise +the dead, of course--the idea came that I could sell my apple. And right +away came the thought of the boy I could sell it to. John Maxwell is his +name. + +He goes to our Sunday-school and is fifteen, and croaks like a +bull-frog. Ugly? Pug-dog ugly; but he's awful nice, and for a boy has +real much sense. + +His father owns the shoe-factory, and has plenty of money. I know, for +he told me he had five cents every day to get something for lunch, and +fifty cents a week to do anything he wants with. His mother gives it to +him. + +Well, the next Sunday he came over to talk, like he always does after +Sunday-school is out, and I said, real quick, Mary giving signs of +silliness: + +"I'm in business. Did you know it?" + +"No," he said. "What kind? Want a partner?" + +"I don't. I want customers. I'm in the Apple business. I have an apple +every day. It's for sale. Want to buy it?" + +"What's the price?" Then he laughed. "I'm from New Jersey. What's it +worth?" + +"It's worth a cent. As you're from New Jersey, I charge you two. Take +it?" + +"I do." And he started to hand the money out. + +But I told him I didn't want pay in advance. And then we talked over how +the apple could be put where he could get it, and the money where I +could. We decided on a certain hole in the Asylum fence John knew +about, and every evening that week I put my apple there and found his +two pennies. On Saturday night I had fourteen cents. Wasn't that grand? +Fourteen cents! + +But the next Sunday there came near being trouble. Roper Gordon--he's +John Maxwell's cousin--had heard about the apple selling. He told me I +wasn't charging enough, and that he'd pay three cents for it. + +"I'll be dogged if you will," said John. "I'm cornering that apple, and +I'll meet you. I'll give four." + +"All right," I said. "I'm in business to make money. I'm not charging +for worth, but for want. The one who wants it most will pay most. It can +go at four." + +"No, it can't!" said Roper. His father is rich, too. He's the +Vice-President of the Factory, and Roper puts on lots of airs. He thinks +money can do anything. + +"I'll give five. Apples in small lots come high, and selected ones +higher. John is a close buyer, and isn't toting square." + +"That's a lie!" said John, and he lit out with his right arm and gave +Roper such a blow that my heart popped right out on my tongue and sat +there. Scared? I was weak as a dead cat. + +But I grabbed John and pulled him behind me before Roper could hit back, +and then in some way they got outside, and I heard afterward John beat +Roper to a jelly. + +I don't blame him. If any one were to say I wasn't square, I'd fight, +too. + +When you don't fight, it's because what is said is true, and you're +afraid it will be found out. And a coward. Good Lord! + +Anyhow, after that I got five cents a day for my apple. John put six +cents in, raising Roper, he said, but I wouldn't keep but five. + +"I can't," I said. "I hate my conscience, for even in business it pokes +itself in. But five cents is all I can take." + +"Which shows you're new in business, or you'd take the other fellow's +skin if he had to have what you've got. And I'm bound to have that +apple. Bound to!" And he dug the toe of his shoe so deep in the dirt he +could have put his foot in. We were down at the fence, where I went to +tell him he mustn't leave but five cents any more. + +The Apple business was much easier than the Entertainment business; but +I enjoyed both. Making money is exciting. I guess that's why men love +to make it. + +I made in all $2.34. One dollar and fifty cents on entertaining, and +eighty-four cents on apples. + +The entertaining was this way. Mrs. Dick Moon is twin to the lady who +lived in a shoe. Her house isn't far from the Asylum, and I like her +real much; but she isn't good on management. Everything on the place +just runs over everything else, and nothing is ever ready on time. + +She has money--that is, her husband has, which Miss Katherine says isn't +always the same thing. And she has servants and a graphophone and a +pianola, but she doesn't really seem to have anything but children, and +they are everywhere. + +They are the sprawly kind that lie on their stomachs and kick their +heels, and get under your feet and on your back. And their mouths always +have molasses or sugar in the corners, and their noses have colds, and +their hands are that sticky they leave a print on everything they touch. + +But they aren't mean-bad, just bad because they don't know what to do, +and they beg me to stay and play with them when Miss Jones sends me +over with a message. Sometimes I do, and the day Martha gave Mary such a +rasping about making money, another thought came besides the apples, and +I went that afternoon to see Mrs. Moon. + +"Mrs. Moon," I said, "the children have colds and can't go out. If Miss +Bray will let me, would you like me to come over and entertain them +during our play-hour? It's from half-past four to half-past five. I'll +come every day from now until Christmas, and I charge twenty-five cents +a week for it." + +I knew my face was rambler red. I hated to mention money, but I hated +worse not to have any to buy Miss Katherine a present with. If she +thought twenty-five cents a week too high she could say so. But she +didn't. + +"Mercy, Mary Cary!" she said, "do you mean it? Would I like you to come? +Would I? I wish I could buy you!" And she threw her arms around me and +kissed me so funny I thought she was going to cry. + +"Of course I want you," she went on, after wiping her nose. She had a +cold, too. "You can manage the children better than I, and if you knew +what one quiet hour a day meant to the mother of seven, all under +twelve, you'd charge more than you're doing. I'll see Miss Bray +to-morrow." + +She saw, and Miss Bray let me come. + +Mrs. Moon is a member of the Board, and Mr. Moon is rich. Miss Bray +never sleeps in waking time. + +Well, when Mrs. Moon paid me for the first week, she gave me fifty cents +instead of twenty-five, and I wouldn't take it. + +"But you've earned it," she said, putting it back in my hand, and giving +it a little pat--a little love pat. "You didn't say you were coming on +Sundays, and you came. Sunday is the worst day of all. I nearly go crazy +on Sunday. No, child, don't think you're getting too much. One doctor's +visit would be two dollars, and the prescription forty cents, anyhow. +The children would be on the bed, and my head splitting, and Mammy as +much good in keeping them quiet as a cackling hen. I feel like I'm +cheating in only paying fifty cents. Each nap was worth that. I wish I +could engage you by the year!" And she gave me such a squeeze I almost +lost my breath. + +But they are funny, those Moon children. Sarah Sue is the oldest, and +nobody ever knows what Sarah Sue is going to say. + +Yesterday I made them tell me what they were going to buy for their +mother's and father's Christmas presents, and the things they said were +queer. As queer as the presents some grown people give each other. + +"I'm going to give father a set of tools," said Bobbie. "I saw 'em in +Mr. Blakey's window, and they'll cut all right. They cost eighty-five +cents." + +"What are you going to give your father tools for?" I asked. "He's not a +boy." + +"But I am." And Bobbie jumped over a chair on Billy's back. "You said +yourself you ought always to give a person a thing you'd like to have, +and I'd like those tools. They're the bulliest set in Yorkburg. I'm +going to give mother a little yellow duck. That's at Mr. Blakey's, too." + +"It don't cost but five cents," said Sarah Sue, and she looked at Bobbie +as if he were not even the dust of the earth. Then she handed me her +list. + +"But, Sarah Sue," I said, after I'd read it, "you've got seventy-five +cents down here for your mother and only fifty for your father. Do you +think it's right to make a difference?" + +"Yes, I do." And Sarah Sue's big brown eyes were as serious as if 'twere +funeral flowers she was selecting. "You see, it's this way. I love them +both seventy-five cents' worth, but I don't think I ought to give them +the same. Father is just my father by marriage, but Mother's my mother +by bornation. I think mothers ought always to have the most." + +I think so, too. + + + + +IX + +LOVE IS BEST + + +Christmas is over. I feel like the parlor grate when the fire has gone +out. + +But it was a grand Christmas, the grandest we've ever known. It came on +Christmas Day. From the time we got up until we went to bed we were so +happy we forgot we were Charity children; and no matter whatever +happens, we've got one beautiful time to look back on. + +Miss Katherine says a beautiful memory is a possession no one can take +from you, and it's one of the best possessions you can have. I think so, +too. She's made all my memories. All. I mean the precious ones. + +Everybody in this Orphan Asylum had a present from somebody outside. +Even me, who might as well be that man in the Bible, Melchesey +something, who didn't have beginning or end, or any relations. + +I had fourteen from outside. Some I hid, because I didn't want the girls +to know, several not getting more than one, and hardly any more than +three or four. + +Those who had the heart to give them didn't have the money, and those +who had the money didn't have the heart. Being so busy with their own +they forgot to remember, and if it hadn't been for Miss Katherine and +her friends this last Christmas would have been like all others. + +Her Army brother's wife sent a box full of all sorts of pretty Indian +things, she being in the wild West near the Indians who made them. And +she sent ten dolls, all dressed, for the ten youngest girls. + +She is awful busy, having three children and not much money; but Miss +Katherine says busy people make time, and those who have most to do, do +more still. + +She sent me the darlingest little bedroom slippers with fur all around +the top. And in them she put a little note that made me cry and cry and +cry, it was so dear and mothery. I don't know what made me cry, but I +couldn't help it. I couldn't. + +She doesn't know me except from what Miss Katherine writes, and I +wonder why she wrote that note. But everybody is good to me--that is, +nearly everybody. + +It certainly makes a difference in your backbone when people are kind +and when they are not. I don't believe unkindness and misfortune and +suffering will ever make me good. If anybody is mean to me, I'm +stifferer than a lamp-post, and you couldn't make me cry. But when any +one is good to me, I haven't a bit of firmness, and am no better than a +caterpillar. + +I got thirty-one presents this year. Thirty-one! I didn't know I had so +many friends in Yorkburg, and my heart was so bursting with surprise and +gratitude it just ached. Ached happy. + +We are not often allowed to make regular visits, but I have lots of +little talks informal on errands, or messages, or passing; and as I know +almost everybody by sight, I have a right large speaking acquaintance. +With some people, Miss Katherine says, that's the safest kind to have. + +You see, Yorkburg is a very small place. Just three long streets and +some short ones going across. Scratching up everything, it hasn't got +three thousand people in it. A lot of them are colored. + +But it's very old and historic. Awful old; so is everything in it. As +for its blue blood, Mrs. Hunt says there's more in Yorkburg than any +place of its size in America. + +Most of the strangers who come here, though, seem to prefer to pass on +rather than stop, and Miss Webb thinks it's on account of the blood. A +little red mixed in might wake Yorkburg up, she says, and that's what it +needs--to know the war is over and the change has come to stay. + +But I love Yorkburg, and most of the people are dear. Some queer. Old +Mrs. Peet is. Her husband has been dead forty years, but she still keeps +his hat on the rack for protection, and whenever any one goes to see her +after dark she always calls him, as if he were upstairs. + +She lives by herself and is over seventy, and she's pretended so long +that he's living that they say she really believes he is. She almost +makes you believe it, too. + +Miss Bray sent me there one night. She wanted some cherry-bounce for +Eliza Green, who had an awful pain, and after I'd knocked, I'd have run +if I'd dared. + +In the hall I could hear Mrs. Peet pounding on the floor with her stick. +Then her little piping voice: + +"Mr. Peet, Mr. Peet, you'd better come down! There's some one at the +door! You'd better come down, Mr. Peet!" + +"It's just Mary Cary!" I called. "Miss Bray sent me, Mrs. Peet. She +wants some cherry-bounce." + +"Oh, all right, Mr. Peet. You needn't bother to come down. It's just +little Mary Cary." And she opened the door a tiny crack and peeped +through. + +"Mr. Peet isn't very well to-night," she said. "He's taken fresh cold. +But you can come in." + +I came; but I didn't want to. And if Mr. Peet had come down those steps +and shaken hands I wouldn't have been surprised. It's certainly strange +how something you know isn't true seems true; and Mr. Peet, dead forty +years, seemed awful alive that night. Every minute I thought he'd walk +in. + +She likes you to think he's living at night. Every day she goes to his +grave, which is in the churchyard right next to where she lives; but at +night he comes back to life to her. She's so lonely, I think it's +beautiful that he comes. + +I make out like I think he comes, too, and I always send him my love, +and ask how his rheumatism is. I tell you, Martha don't dare smile when +I do it. She don't even want to. + +And, don't you know, old Mrs. Peet sent me a Christmas present, too. A +pair of mittens. She knit them herself. It was awful nice of her. + +I don't know how big the check was that Miss Katherine's billionaire +brother sent her to spend on the children's Christmas, but it must have +been a corker. The things she bought with it cost money, and the change +it made in the Asylum was Cinderellary. It was. + +She bought a carpet for the parlor, and some curtains for the windows, +and a bookcase of books. + +For the dining-room she bought six new tables and sixty chairs. They +were plain, but to sit at a table with only ten at it instead of forty, +as I'd been sitting for many years, was to have a proud sensation in +your stomach. Mine got so gay I couldn't eat at the first meal. + +To have a chair all to yourself, after sitting on benches so old they +were worn on both edges, was to feel like the Queen of Sheba, and I felt +like her. I could have danced up and down the table, but instead I said +grace over and over inside. I had something to say it for. All of us +did. + +Besides a present, each of us had a new dress. It was made of +worsted--real worsted, not calico; and that morning after breakfast, and +after everything had been cleaned up, we put on our new dresses and came +down in the parlor. + +And such a fire as there was in it! + +It sputtered and flamed, and danced and blazed, and crackled and roared. +Oh, it knew it was Christmas, that fire did, and the mistletoe and holly +and running cedar knew it, too! + +At first, though, the children felt so stiff and funny in their +new-shaped dresses made like other children's that they weren't natural, +so I pretended we were having a soirée, and I went round and shook hands +with every one. + +They got to laughing so at the names I gave them--names that fit some, +and didn't touch others by a thousand years--that the stiffness went. +And if in all Yorkburg there was a cheerfuller room or a happier lot of +children that Christmas Day than we were, we didn't hear of it. I don't +believe there was, either. + +The reason we enjoyed this Christmas so was because it was on Christmas +Day. + +Our celebrations had always been after Christmas, and Christmas after +Christmas is like cold buckwheat cakes and no syrup. Like an orange with +the juice all gone. + +As for the tree, it was a spanker. We were dazed dumb for a minute when +the parlor doors leading into the sewing-room were opened. But never +being able to stay dumb long, I commenced to clap. Then everybody +clapped. Clapped so hard half the candles went out. + +There wasn't a soul on the place that didn't get a present. This tree +was Miss Katherine's, not the Board's, and the presents bought with the +brother's money were things we could keep. Not things to put away and +pass on to somebody else next year. I almost had a fit when I found I +had roller-skates and a set of books too. Think of it! Roller-skates and +books! The rich brother sent those himself, and I'm still wondering why. + +This was Miss Katherine's second Christmas with us, but the first she +had managed herself. Last Christmas she had been at the Asylum such a +short time she kept quiet, and just saw how things were done. And not +done. But this year she asked if she could provide the entertainment, +and the difference in these last two Christmases was like the difference +in the way things are done from love and duty. + +And oh! love is so much the best! + +I do believe I was the happiest child in all the world that day, and I +didn't come out of that cloud of glory until night. Mrs. Christopher +Pryor took me out. + +She had come over with some of the Board ladies to see the tree and +things, and as she was going home I heard her say: + +"I don't approve of all this. Not at all. Not at all. These children +have had a more elaborate Christmas than mine. They've had as good a +dinner, a handsomer tree, and as many presents as some well-off people. +It's all nonsense, putting notions in their heads when they're as poor +as poverty itself and have their living to make. I don't approve of it. +Not at all." + +She bristled so stiff and shook her head so vigorous that the little jet +ornaments on her bonnet just tinkled like bells, and one fell off. + +Mrs. Christopher Pryor is one of the people who would like to tell the +Lord how to run this earth. She could run it. That He lets the rain fall +and sun shine on everybody alike is a thing she don't approve of either. +As for poor people, she thinks they ought to be thankful for breath, and +not expect more than enough to keep it from going out for good. + +She's very decided in her views, and never keeps them to herself. It's +the one thing she gives away. Everything else she holds on to with such +a grip that it keeps her upper lip so pressed down on her under lip that +she breathes through her nose most of the time. + +She's a very curious shape. Being stout, she has to hold her head up to +keep her chin off her fatness; and she goes in so at the waist, coming +out top and bottom, that you would think something in her would get +jammed out of place. You really would. + +There are seven daughters. No sons. The boys call their place Hen-House. +There is a husband, but nobody seems to notice him; and when with his +wife, he always walks behind. + +Miss Webb says she's sorry for a man whose wife is too active in the +church. Mrs. Pryor is. She leads all the responses; and as for the +chants, she takes them right out of the choir's mouth and soars off with +them. + +I never could bear her; and when I heard her say those words to Mrs. +Marsden, I came right down to earth and was Martha Cary in a minute. I'd +been Mary all day, and, like a splash in a mud-puddle, she made me +Martha; and I heard myself say: + +"No, Mrs. Pryor, we know you don't approve. You never yet have let a +child here forget she was a Charity child, and only people who make +others happy will approve." + +Then I walked away as quiet as a Nun's daughter. But I was burning hot +all the same, and so surprised at the way Martha spoke, so serious and +unlike the way she usually speaks when mad, that I had to go on the back +porch and make snowballs and throw hard at something before I was all +right again. + +But I wouldn't let it ruin my beautiful day. I wouldn't. + +That night, when I went to bed, I was so tired out with happiness I +couldn't half say my prayers. But I knew God understood. He let the +Christ-child be born poor and lowly, so He could understand about +Charity children, and everybody else who goes wrong because they don't +know how to go right. So I just thanked Him, and thanked Him in my +heart. + +And when Miss Katherine kissed me good-night and tucked me in bed, she +said I'd made her have a beautiful Christmas. That I'd helped everybody +and kept things from dragging, because I had enjoyed it so myself, and +been so enthusiastic, and she was so glad I was born that way. + +I thought she was making fun, it was so ridiculous, thanking me, little +Mary Cary, who hadn't done a thing but be glad and seen that nobody was +forgot. + +But she wasn't making fun, and I went off to sleep and dreamed I was in +a place called the Love-Land, where everybody did everything just for +love. Which shows it was a dreamland, for on earth there're Brays and +Pryors, and people too busy to be kind. And in that Love-Land everything +was done the other way, just backward from our way, and yourself came +second instead of first. + + + + +X + +THE REAGAN BALL + + +It is snowing fast and furious to-day. It's grand to watch it. I love +miracles, and it's a miracle to see an ugly place turn into a palace of +marble and silver with diamond decorations. That's what the Asylum is +to-day. I certainly would like to have seen the Reagan ball. Miss Webb +says it was the best show ever given in Yorkburg, and she enjoyed it, +being particular fond of freaks. + +Miss Katherine didn't want to go, but Miss Webb made her. For weeks that +Reagan ball had been talked about, and Yorkburg knew things about it +that had never been known about parties before, money not often being +mentioned here. + +Everybody knew what this ball was going to cost. Knew the supper was +coming from New York, with white waiters and kid gloves. And what Mrs. +Reagan and her daughters were going to wear. That their dresses had been +made in Europe, and that Mrs. Hamner hadn't been invited, and that more +money was coming to Yorkburg in the shape of one man than had ever been +in it altogether before. + +If I just could have put myself invisible on a picture-frame and looked +down on that fleeting show I would have done it. But not being able to +work that miracle, I just heard what was going round, and it was very +interesting, the things I heard. + +Miss Webb and Miss Katherine and I think just alike about Mrs. Reagan. I +know, for I heard them talking one night just before the ball. + +"But why in the name of Heaven should I go if I don't want to?" said +Miss Katherine, and she put her feet on the fender and lay back in her +big rose-covered chair. "I don't like her, or her family, the English +she speaks, or the books she reads. Why, then, should I go to her +parties? I'm not going!" + +"Oh yes, you are." And Miss Webb put some more coal on the fire and made +it blaze. "Knowledge of life requires a knowledge of humanity In all its +subdivisions. Mrs. Reagan is a new sub. As a curio, she's worth the +price. You couldn't keep me from her show." + +"But she's such a snob. When a woman does not know her grandfather's +first name on her mother's side and talks of people not being in her +set, Christian charity does not require you to visit her. I agree with +Mrs. Rodman. People like that ought to be let alone." + +"But Mrs. Rodman isn't going to let them alone. Not for a minute. The +only thing that goes on among them that she doesn't know is what she +can't find out. She met me this morning, and asked me if I'd heard how +many people had gotten here, and when I said no, she made me come in +Miss Patty's store, and told me all she'd been able to discover. + +"'There are eighteen guests already,' she said, 'and nearly all have +rooms to themselves. They tell me it's the fashion now for husbands and +wives not to see each other until breakfast, and not then if the wife +wants hers in bed.' And the way she lifted her chin and eyebrows would +be dangerous for you to try. + +"'I tell you it's a reflection on Yorkburg's mode of life,' she went on. +'For two hundred years people have come and gone in this town, and +rooms have never been mentioned. But this is a degenerate age. +Degenerate! Scandalous wealth shouldn't be recognized, and I don't +intend to countenance it myself!' + +"But she will." And Miss Webb took up her muff to go. "She bought a pair +of cream-colored kid gloves from Miss Patty, and she's going to wear +them at that ball. You couldn't keep her away." + +And she was there. The first one, they say. She had on the dress her +Grandmother wore when her great-grandfather was minister to something in +Europe; and when she sailed around the rooms with the big, high comb in +her hair that was her great-great-grandmother's, Miss Webb says she was +the best side-show on the grounds. + +But if you were to take a gimlet and bore a hole in Mrs. Rodman's head, +you couldn't make her believe anybody would smile at Her. + +She was Mrs. General Rodman, born Mason, and the best blood in Virginia +was in her veins. Also in her father's, as she put on his tombstone. + +Outside of Virginia she didn't think anybody was really anything. Of +course, she knew there were other states where things were done that +made money, but she'd just wave her hand if you mentioned them. + +As for a Yankee! I wouldn't like to put in words what she does think of +a Yankee. + +She lost a husband and two brothers and a father and four nephews and an +uncle in the war; and all her money; and her house had to be sold; and +her baby died before its father saw it; and, of course, that makes a +difference. It makes a Yankee real personal. + +But Miss Katherine don't feel that way about Yankees. Each of her +brothers married one, and she don't seem to mind. + +Miss Katherine went to the ball, too. She gave in, after all, and went. + +I wish you could have seen her when she was dressed and all ready to go. +She had on a long, white satin dress, low neck and short sleeves, with +little trimming and no jewelry. And she looked so tall and beautiful, +and so something I didn't have a name for, that I was afraid, and my +heart beat so thick and fast I thought she'd hear. + +I hated it. Hated that satin dress, and the places where she wore it +when away from the Asylum; and I sat up in bed, for lying down it was +hard to breathe. + +Presently she turned from the fire where she had been standing, looking +in, and came toward me and kissed me good-night. + +In her face was something I had never seen before--something so quiet +and proud that I couldn't sleep for a long time after she went away. + +It wasn't just the same as the remembrance look I had seen several times +before, when she forgot she wasn't by herself. It was prouder than that, +and it meant something that didn't get better--just worse. + +What was it? If it's a man, who is he? He must be living, for it isn't +the look that means something is dead. It means something that won't +die, but is never, never going to be told. + + + + +XI + +FINDING OUT + + +This world is a hard place to live in. I wish somebody would tell me +what we are born for anyway, and what's the use of living. + +There are so many things that hurt, and you get so mixed up trying to +understand, that if you don't keep busy you'll spend your life guessing +at a puzzle that hasn't any answer. + +Miss Katherine has gone away. Gone to stay two months, anyhow. Maybe +three. + +Her Army brother, the one who is a Captain, has been sent to Texas, and +his wife and children were taken ill as soon as they got there. + +Of course, they sent for Miss Katherine; that is, asked her by telegraph +if she wouldn't come. She went. And she'll be going to somebody all her +life, for she's the kind that is turned to when things go wrong. + +Miss Webb is awful worried. She says a cool head and a warm heart are +always worked to death, and the person who has them is forever on call. + +Miss Katherine has them. + +She had to go, of course. We were not sick, except a few snifflers. We +didn't exactly need her, and her brother did; but oh the difference her +being away makes! + +Three months of doing without her is like three months of daylight and +no sunlight. It's like things to eat that haven't any taste; like a room +in which the one you wait for never comes. + +I am back in No. 4, in one of the thirteen beds. My body goes on doing +the same things. Gets up at five o'clock. Dresses, cleans, prays, eats, +goes to school, eats, sews, plays, eats, studies, goes to bed. And +that's got to be done every day in the same way it was done the day +before. + +But it's just my body that does them. Outside I am a little machine +wound up; inside I am a thousand miles away, and doing a thousand other +things. Some day I am going to blow up and break my inside workings, for +I wasn't meant to run regular and on time. I wasn't. + +What was I meant for? I don't know. But not to be tied to a rope. And +that's what I am. Tied to a rope. If I were a boy I'd cut it. + + * * * * * + +I am almost crazy! A wonderful thing has happened. I am so excited my +breathing is as bad as old Miss Betsy Hays's. I believe I know who I am. + +My heart is jumping and thumping and carrying on so that it makes my +teeth chatter; and as I can't tell anybody what I've heard, I am likely +to die from keeping it to myself. + +I am _not_ going to die until I find out. If I did I would be as bad off +in heaven as on earth. Even an angel would prefer to know something +about itself. + +I'm like Miss Bray now. I'm counting on going to heaven. Otherwise it +wouldn't make any difference who I was, as one more misery don't matter +when you're swamped in miserableness. I suppose that's what hell is: +Miserableness. + +What are you when you don't go to heaven? + +But that's got nothing to do with how I found out who I am. It's like +Martha, though: always butting in with questions no Mary on earth could +answer. + +Well, the way I found out was one of those mysterious ways in which God +works his wonders. Yesterday afternoon I asked Miss Bray if I could go +over and play with the Moon children, three of whom are sick, and she +said I might. We were in the nursery, which is next to Mrs. Moon's +bedroom, and she and the lady from Michigan, who is visiting her, were +talking and paying no attention to us. Presently something the lady +said--her name is Mrs. Grey--made everything in me stop working, and my +heart gave a little click like a clock when the pendulum don't swing +right. + +She was sitting with her back to the door, which was open, and I could +see her, but she couldn't see me. All of a sudden she put down her +sewing and looked at Mrs. Moon as if something had just come to her. + +"Elizabeth Moon, I believe I know that child's uncle," she said. "Ever +since you told me about her something has been bothering me. Didn't you +say her mother had a brother who years ago went West?" + +"Hush," said Mrs. Moon, and she nodded toward me. "She'll hear you, and +the ladies wouldn't like it." + +She lowered her voice so I couldn't hear all she said, but I heard +something about its being the only thing Yorkburg ever did keep quiet +about. And only then because everybody felt so sorry for her. In a flash +I knew they were talking about me. + +After the first understanding, which made everything in me stop, +everything got moving, and all my inward workings worked double quick. +Why my heart didn't get right out on the floor and look up at me. I +don't know. I kept on talking and making up wild things just to keep the +children quiet, but I had to hold myself down to the floor. To help, I +put Billy and Kitty Lee both in my lap. + +What I wanted to do was to go to Mrs. Moon and say: "I am twelve and a +half, and I've got the right to know. I want to hear about my uncle. I +don't want to know him, he not caring to know me." But before I could +really think Mrs. Grey spoke again. + +"He has no idea his sister left a child. He told me she married very +young, and died a year afterward; and he had heard nothing from her +husband since. As soon as I go home I am going to tell him. I certainly +am." + +"You had better not," said Mrs. Moon. "It's been thirteen years since he +left Yorkburg, and, as he has never been back, he evidently doesn't +care to know anything about it. I don't think the ladies would like you +to tell. They are very proud of having kept so quiet out of respect to +her father's wishes. If Parke Alden had wanted to learn anything, he +could have done it years ago." + +"But I tell you he doesn't know there's anything to learn." And the +Michigan lady's voice was as snappy as the place she came from. "I know +Dr. Alden well," she went on. "He's operated on me twice, and I've spent +weeks in his hospital. When he tells me it's best for my head to come +off--off my head is to come. And when a man can make people feel that +way about him, he isn't the kind that's not square on four sides. + +"I tell you, he doesn't know about this child. He's often talked to me +about Yorkburg, knowing you were my cousin. He told me of his sister +running away with an actor and marrying him, and dying a year later. +Also of his father's death and the sale of the old home, and of many +other things. There's no place on earth he loves as he does Virginia. He +doesn't come back because there's no one to come to see specially. No +real close kin, I mean. The changes in the place where you were born +make a man lonelier than a strange city does, and something seems to +keep him away." + +"You say he doesn't know his sister left a child?" Mrs. Moon put down +the needle she was trying to thread, and stuck it in her work. "Why +doesn't he know?" + +"Why should he? Who was there to tell him, if a bunch of women made up +their minds he shouldn't know? He wrote to his sister again and again, +but whether his letters ever reached her he never knew. He thinks not, +as it was unlike her not to write if they were received. + +"Travelling from place to place with her actor husband, who, he said, +was a 'younger son Englishman,' the letters probably miscarried, and not +for months after her death did he know she was dead." + +"We didn't, either," interrupted Mrs. Moon. "In fact, we heard it +through Parke, who went West after his father's death. He wrote Roy +Wright, telling him about it." + +"Who is Roy Wright, and where is he, that he didn't tell Dr. Alden about +the child?" + +"Oh, Roy's dead. I believe Mary Alden's marriage broke Roy's heart; +that is, if a man's heart can be broken. He had been in love with her +all her life. Not just loved her, but in love with her. His house was +next to the Aldens', where the Reagans now live, and Major Alden and +General Wright were old friends, each anxious for the match. When Mary +ran away at seventeen and married a man her father didn't know, I tell +you Yorkburg was scared to death." + +"Do you remember it?" + +"Remember! I should think I did. I cried for two weeks. Nearly ruined my +eyes. Mary and I were deskmates at Miss Porterfield's school, and I +adored her. I really did. So did Dick Moon." She stopped. Then: "Like +most women, I'm a compromise," and she laughed. But it was a happy +laugh. Mrs. Grey smiled too. + +"Was Mary Alden engaged to Roy Wright when she married the other man?" +she asked. "Tell me all about her." + +"No, she wasn't. Mary Alden was incapable of deceit, and Roy Wright knew +she didn't love him. He knew she was never going to marry him. Poor Roy! +He was as gentle and sweet and patient as Mary was high-spirited and +beautiful, and the last type on earth to win a woman of Mary's +temperament. She wanted to be mastered, and Roy could only worship." + +"And her father--what did he do?" + +"Do? The Aldens are not people who 'do' things. The day after the news +came, he and General Wright walked arm and arm all over Yorkburg, and +their heads were high; but oh, my dear, it was pitiful. They didn't +know, but they were clinging to each other, and the Major's face was +like death." + +"Didn't some one say he had been pretty strict with her? Held too tight +a rein?" + +"Yes, he had, and he deserved part of his suffering. His pride was +inherited, and Mary could go with no one whose great-grandparents he +didn't know about. But Mary cared no more for ancestors than she did for +Hottentots. When she met this Mr. Cary, a young English actor, at a +friend's house in Baltimore, she made no inquiry as to whether he had +any, and fell in love at once. He was a gentleman, however. That was as +evident as Major Alden's rage when he went to see the latter, and asked +for Mary. Mrs. Rodman happened to be in the house at the time, and what +she didn't see she heard. She says the one thing you can't fool her +about is a counterfeit gentleman. And Ralston Cary was no counterfeit." + +"For Heaven's sake, don't get on what Mrs. Rodman thinks or says. Tell +me about the marriage. I'm asking a lot of questions, but you're so +slow." + +"I'm telling as fast as I can. You interrupt so much with questions I +can't finish." And Mrs. Moon's voice was real spunky. + +"They were married in Washington," she began again. "The morning after +the interview with the Major they caught the five-o'clock train, and +that afternoon there was a telegram telling of the marriage. + +"Her father never forgave Mary. Seven months later he died, and after +settling up affairs there was nothing left. Alden House was mortgaged to +the limit. There were a number of small debts as well as two or three +large ones, and when these were paid and all accounts squared there was +barely enough left for Parke to buy his railroad ticket to some city out +West, where he had secured a place as resident physician in a hospital. +That was thirteen years ago." She took a deep breath, as if thinking. +"Thirteen years. Since then we've known little about him. You say he is +a famous surgeon? We've never heard it in Yorkburg." + +"Of course you haven't. Yorkburg has heard nothing since 1865. But there +are a good many things it could hear." And Mrs. Grey laughed, but with +her forehead wrinkled, as if she were trying to understand something +that was puzzling her. + +And then it was Mrs. Moon said something that made understanding come +rolling right in on me. The answer to that look on Miss Katherine's face +the night of the Reagans' ball was as plain as Jimmie Jenkins's nose, +which is most all you see when you see Jimmie. It was like I thought. It +was a man. + +"Ophelia," said Mrs. Moon, and she moved her chair closer to Mrs. Grey, +and leaned forward with her hands clasped, "did you ever hear Doctor +Alden speak of a Miss Trent--Miss Katherine Trent?" + +"No. You mean--" + +"Yes; she's the one. Parke Alden and Katherine Trent were sweethearts +from children. Shortly after Mary's marriage something happened. There +was a misunderstanding of some kind, and they barely bowed when they +met. Everybody was sorry, for it was one of the matches Heaven might +have made without discredit. Soon after Parke went away, Katherine went +off to some school just outside of Philadelphia, and, so far as is +known, they've never seen each other since." + +Mrs. Grey brought both hands down on her knees. "I knew it was something +like that. I knew it! Doctor Alden is just that sort of a man. And it's +Katherine Trent? I wish I'd known it before she went away." + +"What would you have done?" Mrs. Moon looked frightened. She's very +timid, Mrs. Moon is, and always afraid of telling something she +oughtn't. "What could you have done?" + +"Looked at her better. She's certainly good to look at. Not beautiful, +but a face you never forget. And Doctor Alden is the kind that never +forgets. But tell me something about the child. How did she get here?" + +"Her nurse brought her. Her father kept her after her mother's death, +taking her about from place to place with this old negro mammy until she +was three, when he died suddenly, strange to say, in the same place his +wife died, Mobile, Alabama." + +"Why did the nurse bring her here? Was she a Yorkburg darkey?" + +"No; but she had heard Mr. Cary say there was an Orphan Asylum here, +and not knowing what else to do, she came on with her. She told the +Board ladies she had heard the child's father say a hundred times he +would rather see her dead than have her mother's family take her. And +she begged them not to let it be known who she was until she was old +enough to understand." + +Just then Bobbie Moon laid out flat on his back and kicked up his heels. +And Billie looked so disgusted, I stopped the story I was trying to +tell. + +"You ain't talking sense," he said. "And I'm not going to listen any +more. An ant can't eat an elephant in half an hour and leave no scraps." +And he rolled over and began to fight Bobbie. + +Sarah Sue and Myrtle, who'd been playing with their mother's muff and +tippet, got to fussing so about which should have her hat that Mrs. +Moon, hearing it, jumped up, and I heard her say: + +"Mercy me! Do you suppose she heard?" + +I never was so glad of a fight in my life. The more fuss was made the +more chance there was of my being forgot, and presently I told Mrs. Moon +I had to go home. The boys said they didn't care, my stories were +rotten anyhow, and out I went and ran so fast I had such a pain in my +side I could hardly breathe. + +But I didn't go in right away. I couldn't. Inside of me everything was +thumping: "Mary Alden, your Mother; Mary Alden, your Mother; Mary Alden, +your Mother." There was no other thought but that. + +Presently I turned and went down to King Street, to where the Reagans +live, and in the dark I stood there and shook my fist at my dead +grandfather. I hated him for treating my mother so. Hated him! Then I +burst out crying, and cried so awful my eyes were nearly washed out. + +There were twelve and a half years' worth of tears that had to come out, +and I let them come. After they were out I felt lighter. + +But sleep? There wasn't a blink of it for me all night. I was so mixed +up with new feelings that I was sick in my stomach, and my old +conscience got so sanctimonious that if I could have spanked it I would. + +I wasn't eavesdropping; I know that's nasty. But forty times I'd been +punished for speaking when I shouldn't, and, besides, it was my duty to +find myself. They saw me, and then forgot. If they hadn't wanted me to +know what they were saying, they shouldn't have said it. + +But that didn't do my conscience any good. I hate a conscience. It's +always making you feel low down and disreputable. I don't believe I will +say anything to my children about one, and let them have some peace. + +For two days I didn't have any. Then I decided I'd wait until Miss +Katherine came, and not say anything to her or to anybody about what I'd +heard until I found out a little more about that remembrance in her +face. But the waiting for her is the longest wait I've ever waited +through yet. + +It certainly is queer what a surprise you are to yourself. Before I knew +that my mother and her father and his father and some other fathers +behind him had lived in the Alden House, I would have given all I own, +which isn't much, just my body, to have known it. And I guess I would +have been that airy Martha couldn't have lived with me, and would have +had to take Mary to the pump to bring her senses back with water. Mary +is my best part, but at times she hasn't half the common sense she +needs, and frequently has a pride Martha has to attend to. + +But after I found out I had the same kind of blood in me that Mrs. +General Rodman had in her, though I'm thankful it isn't mentioned on the +family's tombstones, it didn't seem half as big a thing as I thought. + +I was ashamed of the way it had acted, and of the way it had treated my +father. He was too much of a gentleman to talk about his, whether high +or low, and I know nothing about him. But I adore his memory! I am his +child as well as Mary Alden's, and that's a thing my children are never +going to forget. Never. + +And now the part I'm thinking of most is what was said about Miss +Katherine and Dr. Parke Alden being sweethearts when they were young. He +has been away thirteen years, Mrs. Moon said, and Miss Katherine is now +twenty-eight. I know she is, because she told me so. + +Thirteen from twenty-eight leaves fifteen, so she was fifteen when they +had that fuss and he went off. Fifteen was awful young to love hard and +permanent; but Miss Webb says Miss Katherine was born grown and +stubborn, and when she once takes a stand she keeps it. + +I wonder what she took the stand with Uncle Parke for? She is right +quick and outspoken at times, and I bet he made her mad about +something. + +But she ought to have known he was a man, and not expected much. I know +my children's father is going to make me so hopping at times I could +shake him. If he didn't, he would be terrible stupid to live with, and +nothing wears you out like stupidness. I don't really mind a scrap. It's +so nice to make up. + +But I believe that's the reason Miss Katherine don't get married. +Because in her secret heart Dr. Parke Alden is still her sweetheart. I +know in his secret heart she is still his. She's bound to be if she ever +once was. + +Glorious superbness! Wouldn't that be grand? If they were to get married +she would be my really, truly Aunt! The very thought makes me so full of +thrills I can't sit still when it comes over me. + +Oh, Mary Martha Cary, what a beautiful place this world could be! + + + + +XII + +A TRUE MIRACLE + + +A secret isn't any pleasure. What's the use of knowing a thing you can't +let anybody know you know? If I can't tell soon what I've heard about +myself something is liable to happen. + +Nearly three months have passed, and I haven't told yet. I'm still +holding out, but it's the most awful experience I ever had. + +Another idea has come to me, and if I could see Miss Katherine I could +tell whether to do it or not. If she don't come soon I will do it, +anyhow. I won't be able to help it. + +The girls say if I were a darkey they'd think I was seeking. That's +because some days I'm so unnatural quiet and stay so much by myself. I +do that for safety, fearing otherwise I'd speak. + +They don't know what's going on inside of me. If they could see they'd +find nothing but quiverings and questions, and if I don't do anything +really violent it's all I ask. + +Every morning and every night my prayers are just this: "O Lord, help +Mary Cary through this day. I'm not asking for to-morrow, it not being +here yet. But _This Day_ help me to hold out." And all day long I'm +saying under my breath: + + "Hold on, Mary Cary, hold on, hold on. + There never was a night that didn't have a dawn. + There never was a road that didn't have an end. + Wait awhile, wait awhile, and then the letter send." + +I say that so often to myself that I'm afraid somebody will hear me +think it. If that letter isn't sent soon, the answer will be received by +a corpse. + +I'm never again going to have a secret. It's worse than a tumor or +dropsy. Mrs. Penick has a tumor. I've never seen the dropsy, but a +secret is more dangerous, for it dries you up. Dropsy has water to it. + +We had apple-dumplings for dinner. I sold mine to Lucy Pyle for two +cents, and bought a stamp with it. The stamp is for The Letter. + +Miss Katherine has come back. Came night before last, but I've been too +excited to write anything down. Everything I do is done in dabs these +days, and few lines at the time is all I'm equal to. + +She looks grand. And oh, what a difference her being here makes! We are +children, not just orphans, when she is with us; and it's because she +loves us, trusts us, brings our best part to the top that we are +different when she is about. The very way she laughs--so clear and +hearty--makes you think things aren't so bad, and already they have +picked up. Like my primrose does when I give it water, after forgetting +it till it is as limp as old Miss Sarah Cone's crêpe veil. + +I haven't told her anything yet, but I've been watching good. I haven't +seen any particular signs of memories and regrets, she being too busy to +have them since she got back. Still, I believe they are there, and I'm +that afraid I'll say Parke Alden in my sleep I put the covering over my +head, for fear she'd hear me if I did. + +I am back in her room, and this afternoon she asked me what I was +looking at her so hard for. I told her she was the best thing to look +at that came my way, and she laughed and called me a foolish child. But +Mary Cary is thinking, and she isn't telling all she thinks about, +either. + +Well, it's written. That letter is written and gone. It was to Dr. Parke +Alden. I sent it to his hospital in Michigan. I made it short, because +by nature I write just endless, having gotten in the habit from making +up stories for the girls and scribbling them off when kept in, which in +the past was frequent. This is what I wrote: + + DR. PARKE ALDEN: + + _Dear Sir_,--Eleven weeks and two days ago I heard you did not know + I was living. I am. I live in the Yorkburg Female Orphan Asylum, + and have been living here for nine years and four months and almost + a week. If you had known I was living all these years and had not + made yourself acquainted with me, I would not now write you. But I + heard, by accident, you did not know I had been born, so I am + writing to tell you I was. It happened in Natchez, Miss. I know + that much, but little more, except my father was an actor. I + worship his memory. My mother was named Mary Alden, and you are her + brother. If you would like to know more, and will write and ask me, + I think you will learn something of interest. Not about me, but + there are other people in this world. + + Respectfully, + + MARY CARY. + +Three days have passed since I sent that letter off secret. I wouldn't +let Miss Katherine know for a billion dollars that I'd sent it, but I'm +glad I did. I'm sure she's got something in her heart she don't talk +about, for last night, when she didn't know I was looking, I saw that +same quiet proudness come in her face I saw the night of the ball. + +I don't know how long it takes to go to Michigan, not knowing much about +travelling, as I've never been out of Yorkburg since I came in. But some +day I'm going around the world, and I'm going to see everything anybody +else has ever seen before I marry my children's father. Of course, after +I get married he will be busy, and there will be always some excuse that +will make you tired. I'm going beforehand. Miss Webb says marriage is +very uncertain. + +This is a grand day. The crocuses are peeping up just as pert and +pretty. The little brown buds on the trees have turned green and getting +bigger every day, and even the air feels like it's had a bath. I just +love the spring. Everything says to you: "Good-morning! Here we are +again. Let's begin all over." And inside I say, "All right," and I mean +it; but oh, Mary Cary, you're so unreliable. There are times when your +future looks very much like a worm of the dust. + +Miss Bray is real sick. She hasn't been well for a long time, and she +looks like she's shrivelling, though still fat. She has nervous +dyspepsia, which they say is ruinous to dispositions, and Miss Bray's +isn't the kind for any sort of sickness to be free with. + +It certainly is making her queer, for she's changed from sharpness to +tearfulness, and she weeps any time. A thing I never thought I'd live to +see. + +Poor creature, I feel real sorry for her. Miss Jones says she's worn +out, but I don't believe it's that. I believe it's conscience and +coffee. Miss Bray isn't an all-over bad person. If it wasn't I knew she +told stories, I could have stood the other things. But when a person +tells stories, what have you got to hold on to? Nothing. + +I believe it's those stories that's giving her trouble in her stomach. +Anything on your mind does, and Miss Bray looks at me so curious and so +nervous, sometimes, that I can't help feeling sorry for her. + +I don't believe she will ever get well until she repents and confesses +and crosses her heart that she won't do it again. A confession is a +grand relief. + +Suppose Dr. Parke Alden don't write, don't notice me! I will be that mad +and mortified I will wish I was dead. But if he don't answer that +letter, I will write a few more things to him before dying, for, if I am +an Orphan, I oughtn't to be treated like a piece of imagination. + +The black hen has got a lot of little chickens and the jonquils are in +bloom. The sun is as warm as June, but I'm shivering all the time, and +Miss Katherine says she don't understand me. She gave me a tonic to make +me eat more. I don't want to eat. I want a letter. + + * * * * * + +Jerusalem the Golden! Now, what do you reckon has happened! Nothing will +evermore surprise Mary Cary, mostly Martha. + +If the moon ever burns, or the stars come to town, or the Pope marries a +wife, or the dead come to life, I will just say, "Is that so?" and in my +heart I will know a stranger thing than that. + +Yesterday Miss Bray sent for me to come to her room. She was sick in +bed, and her frizzes weren't frizzed, and she looked so old and pitiful +that I took hold of her hand and said, "I'm awful sorry you are sick, +Miss Bray." + +And what did she do but begin to cry, and such a long crying I never saw +anybody have. I knew there was a lot to come out and she'd better get +rid of it, so I let it keep on without remarks, and after a while she +told me to shut the door, and get her a clean handkerchief out of her +top bureau-drawer. + +I did it. Then she told me to sit down. I did that, too, and it's well I +did. If I hadn't I'd have fell. Her words would have made me. + +"Mary Cary," she said, "you have given me a great deal of trouble, and +at times you've nearly worried me to death. But never since you've been +here have you ever told a story, and that's what I've done." And she put +her head down in her pillow, and I tell you she nearly shook herself, +out of bed she cried so. + +I was so surprised and confused I didn't know whether I was awake or +asleep. But all of a sudden it came to me what she meant, and I put my +arms around her neck and kissed her. That's what I did, Martha or no +Martha; I kissed her. Then I said: + +"Miss Bray, I'm awful glad you are sorry you did it. If you're sorry +it's like a sponge that wipes it off, and don't anybody but you and me +and God know about that particular one. And we can all forget it, if +there's never any more." + +And then she cried harder than ever. Regular rivers. I didn't know the +top of your head could hold so much water. + +But she said there would never be any more, for she'd never had any +peace since the way I looked at her that day, and she couldn't stand it +any longer. She didn't know why I had that effect on her, but I did, and +she'd sent for me to talk about it. + +Well, we talked. I told her I didn't think just being sorry was enough, +and I asked her how sorry was she. + +"I don't know," she said, and then she began on tears again, so I +thought I'd better be quick while the feeling lasted. + +"Well, you know, Miss Bray," I began, "Pinkie Moore hasn't been adopted +yet. She never will be while the ladies think what you told them is +true. You ought to write a letter to the Board and tell them what you +said wasn't so." + +"I can't!" she said; and then more fountains flowed. "I can't tell them +I told a story!" + +"But that's what you did," I said. "And when you've done a mean thing, +there isn't but one way to undo it--own up and take what comes. But it's +nothing to a conscience that's got you, and is never going to let you go +until you do the square thing. If you want peace, it's the only way to +get it." + +"But I can't write a letter; I'm so nervous I couldn't compose a line." +And you never would have known her voice. It was as quavery as old +Doctor Fleury's, the Methodist preacher who's laid off from work. + +"I'll write it for you." And I hopped for the things in her desk. "You +can copy it when you feel better." And, don't you know, she let me do +it! After three tryings I finished it, then read it out loud: + + DEAR LADIES,--If any one applies for Pinkie Moore, I hope you will + let her go. Pinkie is the best and most useful girl in the Asylum. + More than two years ago I said differently. It was wrong in me, and + Pinkie isn't untruthful. She hasn't a bad temper, and never in her + life took anything that didn't belong to her. I am sorry I said + what I did. She don't know it and never will, and I hope you will + forgive me for saying it. + + Respectfully, + + MOLLIE E. BRAY. + +When I was through she cried still harder, and said she'd lose her +place. She knew she would. I told her she wouldn't. I knew she wouldn't. +And after a while she sat up in bed and copied it. Some of her tears +blotted it, but I told her that didn't matter, and when I got up to go +she looked better already. + +I knew how she felt. Like I did when my tooth that had to come out was +out. And a thing on your mind is worse than the toothache. One you can +tell, the other you can't. A thing you can't tell is like a spook that's +always behind you, and right in the bed with you when you wake up +sudden, and lies down with you every time you go to sleep. I know, for +that letter is on my mind. + +When I got out of Miss Bray's room I ran in mine, Miss Katherine being +out, and locked the door, and I said: + +"Mary Martha Cary, don't ever say again there's no such things as modern +miracles. There's been a miracle to-day, and you have seen it. Somebody +has been born over." And then, because I couldn't help it, I cried +almost as bad as Miss Bray. + +But, oh, nobody can ever know how much harm it had done me to believe a +lady could go through life telling stories, and doing mean, +dishonorable things, and not minding. And people treating her just the +same as if she were honest! + +When I found out it wasn't so--that your sin did make you suffer, and +that it did make a difference trying to do right--I felt some of my old +Martha-ry scornfulness slipping away. And I got down on my knees, no +words, but God understanding why. + +I don't like any kind of bitterness in my heart. I'd rather like people. +But can you like a deceiver? You can't. + +Dr. Parke Alden has taken no more notice of me than if I were a +Juney-bug. + +I wonder if Miss Katherine will ever marry. She wasn't meant to live in +an Orphan Asylum. She was meant to be the Lady of the House, and to wear +beautiful clothes, and have horses and carriages and children of her +own, and to give orders. Instead of that, she is here; but sometimes she +has a look on her face which I call "Waiting." Last week I wrote a poem +about it. This is it: + + "In the winter, by the fireside, when the snow falls soft and white, + I am waiting, hoping, longing, but for what I don't know quite. + And when summer's sunshine shimmers, and the birds sing clear and sweet, + I am waiting, always waiting, for the joy I hope to meet. + + It will be, I think, my husband, and the home he'll make for me; + But of his coming or home-making, I as yet no signs do see. + But I still shall keep on waiting, for I know it's true as fate, + When you really, truly hustle, things will come if just you'll wait." + +I don't think much of that. It sounds like "Dearest Willie, thou hast +left us, and thy loss we deeply feel." But I wasn't meant for a poet any +more than Miss Katherine for an old maid. + +Dr. Parke Alden must be dead. Either that or he's no gentleman, or he +didn't get my letter. I wish I hadn't written it. I wish I hadn't let +him know I was living. But it was Miss Katherine I was thinking about. +Thank Heaven, I didn't mention her name! He isn't worth thinking about, +and I think of nothing else. + + + + +XIII + +HIS COMING + + +If I could get out on the roof and shake hands with the stars, or dance +with the man in the moon, I might be able to write it down; but +everything in me is bubbling and singing so, I can't keep still to +write. But I'm bound to put down that he's come. He's come! + +He came day before yesterday morning about ten o'clock. I was in the +school-room, and Mrs. Blamire opened the door and looked in. "Mary Cary +can go to the parlor," she said. "Some one wishes to see her." + +I got up and went out, not dreaming who it was, as I was only looking +for a letter; and there, standing by a window with his back to me, was a +man, and in a minute I knew. + +I couldn't move, and I couldn't speak, and Lot's wife wasn't any stiller +than I was. + +But he heard me come in, and turned, and, oh! it is so strange how +right at once you know some things. And the thing I knew was it was all +true. That he'd never known about me until he got my letter. For a +minute he just looked at me. We didn't either of us say a word, and then +he came toward me and held out his hands. + +"Mary Cary," he said. And the first thing I knew I was crying fit to +break my heart, with my arms around his neck, and he holding me tight in +his. His eyes were wet, too. They were. I saw them. He kissed me about +fifty times--though maybe not more than twenty--and I had such a strange +feeling I didn't know whether I was in my body or not. It was the first +time that any one who was really truly my own had ever come to see me +since I'd been an Orphan, and every bit of sense I ever had rolled away +like the Red Sea waters. Rolled right away. + +I don't remember what happened next. Everything is a jumble of so many +kinds of joys that I've been crazy all day. But I wasn't too crazy to +see the look on his face, I mean on my Uncle Dr. Parke Alden's face, +when he saw Miss Katherine coming across the front yard. We were +standing by the window, and as he saw her he looked again, as if he +didn't see good, and then his face got as white as whitewash. He took +out his handkerchief and wiped his lips and his forehead that were real +perspiring, and I almost danced for joy, for I knew in his secret, +secret heart she was his sweetheart still. But I didn't move even a toe. +I just said: + +"That's Miss Katherine Trent. She's the trained nurse here. Did you know +her when she lived in Yorkburg?" + +And he said yes, he knew her. Just that, and nothing else. But I knew, +and for fear I'd tell him I knew, I flew out of the room like I was +having a fit, and met Miss Katherine coming in the front door. + +"Miss Katherine," I said, "there's a friend of yours in the parlor who +wants to see you. Will you go in?" + +She walked in, just as natural, humming a little tune, and I walked +behind her, for I wanted to see it. I will never be as ready for glory +as I was that minute. I could have folded my hands and sailed up, but I +didn't sail. It's well I didn't, for they didn't meet at all like I +expected, and I was so surprised I just said, "Well, sir!" and sat right +down on the floor and looked up at them. + +They didn't see me. They didn't see anything but each other; but if +they'd had the smallpox they couldn't have kept farther apart, just +bowing formal, and not even offering to shake hands. + +My, I was set on! I didn't think they'd meet that way; but Miss Becky +Cole, who's kinder crazy, says God Almighty don't know what a woman is +going to do or when she's going to do it. Miss Katherine proved it. She +didn't fool me, though, with all her quietness and coolness. I knew her +heart was beating as hard as mine, and I jumped up and said: + +"I think you all have been waiting long enough to make up, and it's no +use wasting any more time." And I flew out, slamming the door tight, and +shut them in. + +I don't know what happened after I shut that door. But, oh, he's grand! +He is thirty-six, and big and splendid. He and Miss Katherine are in the +parlor now. Miss Jones says everybody in Yorkburg knows he's here, and +all talking. All! + +I've been so excited since the first day he came that I've had little +sense. But my natural little is coming back, and I'm trying not to talk +too much. Of course, I had to say a good deal, because everybody had to +know how it happened that Doctor Alden came back to Yorkburg so suddenly +after thirteen years' being away. And why he hadn't been before, and +what he came for and when he was going away, and if he were going to +take me with him. + +And then everybody remembered how he and Miss Katherine used to be +sweethearts when they were young. I tell you, the talking that's been +going on in Yorkburg in the last few days would fill a barrel of books. +By the end of the week a whole lot more will be known about Uncle Parke +than he knows about himself. If Yorkburg had a coat of arms it ought to +be a question-mark. + +They've had time to talk over everything that ever happened since Adam +and Eve left Paradise, in the long walks they take, and in the evenings +when he calls, which he does as regular as night comes. And now I'm +waiting for the news. I'll have to be so surprised. And I guess I will +be. Love does very surprising things. + +Miss Katherine knew where Uncle Parke was all the time. She knew who I +was, too; that is, she found out after she nursed me at the hospital. +But what that fuss was about I don't know. Nothing much, I reckon; but +the more you love a person the madder you can get with them. And from +foolishness they've wasted years and years of together-ness. + +But it's all explained now, and I don't think there's going to be any +more nonsense. They are going to be married as sure as my name isn't in +a bank-book; and if signs are anything, it's going to be soon. + +Miss Bray is better, though she looks pretty bad still. She's been +awfully excited about Uncle Parke's coming, and she says she hears he's +very distinguished and real rich. Isn't it strange how quick some people +hear about riches? I don't know anything of his having any. He hasn't +mentioned money to me; but oh, I feel so safe with him! He's so strong +and quiet and easy in his manners, and he's been so splendid and +beautiful to me. He don't use many words. Just makes you understand. + +I wonder what a man says to a lady when he wants her to marry him? I +know Dr. Parke Alden isn't the kind to get down on his knees. If he +were, Miss Katherine would certainly tell him to get up and say what he +had to say standing, or sitting, if it took long. But I'll never know +what he said. They're not the kind to tell; but they can't hide Love. +It's just like the sun. It can't help shining. + + * * * * * + +Land of Nippon, I'm excited! I believe he's said it! + +The reason I think so is, I saw them late yesterday evening coming in +from a long walk down the Calverton road, where there's a beautiful +place for courters. When they got to the gate they stopped and talked +and talked. Then he walked to the door with her, still holding his hat +in his hand, and though it was dark I could feel something different. I +was so nervous you would have thought I was the one. + +I was over by the lilacs; but they didn't see me. I didn't like to move. +It might have been ruinous, so I held my breath and waited. + +When they got to the door they stopped again, and presently he held out +his hand to say good-bye. The way he did it, the way he looked at her +made me just know, and I got right down on my knees under the +lilac-bush, and when he'd gone I sang, "Praise God, from whom all +blessings flow." Sang it loud. + +I didn't care who heard. I wasn't telling why I was thankful. Just +telling I was. Oh, Mary Martha Cary, to think of her being your really, +truly Aunt! The very next thing to a mother! + + + + +XIV + +THE HURT OF HAPPINESS + + +I wouldn't like to put on paper how I feel to-day. Uncle Parke has gone. +Gone back to Michigan. I'm such a mixture of feelings that I don't know +which I've got the most of, gladness or sadness or happiness or +miserableness, and I'd rather cry as much as I want than have as much +ice-cream as I could hold. + +But I'm not going to cry. I don't like cryers, and, besides, I haven't a +place to do it in private. I wouldn't let Miss Katherine see me, not if +I died of choking. I ought to be rejoicing, and I am; but the female +heart is beyond understanding, Miss Becky Cole says, and it is. Mine is. +I could die of thankfulness, but I'd like first to cry as much as I +could if I let go. + +They are engaged. Uncle Parke and Miss Katherine are, and they are to be +married on the twenty-seventh of June. That's my birthday. I will be +thirteen on the twenty-seventh of June. + +They told me about it night before last. I was out on the porch, and +Miss Katherine called me and told me she and Doctor Alden wanted me to +go to walk with them. I knew what was coming. Knew in a flash. But I +pretended not to, and thanked her ever so much, and told her I'd just +love to go. + +We walked on down to the Calverton road, talking about nothing, and +making out it was our usual night walk, but when we got to the seven +maples Uncle Parke stopped. + +"Suppose we sit down," he said. "It's too warm to walk far to-night." +And after we sat he threw his hat on the ground, then leaned over and +took my hands in his. + +"Mary Cary," he began. And though his eyes were smiling, his voice was +real quivering. I was noticing, and it was. "Mary Cary, Katherine and I +have brought you with us to-night to ask if you have any objection to +our being married. We would like to do so as soon as possible--if you do +not object." + +He turned my face to his, and the look in his eyes was grand. It meant +no matter who objected, marry her he would; but it was a way to tell +me--the way he was asking, and I understood. + +"It depends," I said, and, as I am always playing parts to myself, right +on the spot I was a chaperon lady. "It depends on whether you love +enough. Do you?" + +"I do. For myself I am entirely sure. As to Katherine--Suppose she tells +you what she thinks." + +I turned toward her. "Do you, Miss Katherine? It takes--I guess it takes +a lot of love to stand marriage. Do you think you have enough?" + +In the moonlight her face changed like her opal ring when the cream +becomes pink and the pink red. + +"I think there is," she said. Then: "Oh, Mary Cary, why are you such a +strange, strange child?" And she threw her arms around me and kissed me +twenty times. + +After a while, after we'd talked and talked, and they'd told me things +and I'd told them things, I said I'd consent. + +"But if the love ever gives out, I'm not going to stay with you," I +said. "I'm never going to be fashionable and not care for love. A home +without it is hell." + +"Mercy, Mary!" Uncle Parke jumped. "Don't use such strong language. It +isn't nice." + +"But it's true. I read it in a book, and I've watched the Rices. When +there's love enough you can stand anything. When there isn't, you can +stand nothing. Living together every day you find out a lot you didn't +know, and love can't keep still. It's got to grow or die." + +Then I jumped up. "I always could talk a lot about things I didn't +understand," I said. "But I consent." And I flew down the road and left +them. + +I've written it out on a piece of paper, about their being engaged, and +looked at it by night and by day since they told me about it. I've said +it low, and I've said it loud, but I can't realize it, and the little +sense the Lord gave me He has taken away. + +They say I did it. Say I'm responsible for every bit of it, and that I +will have to look after them all the rest of their lives to see that I +didn't make a mistake in writing that letter. And that I'm to go to +Europe with them on their wedding tour and live with them always and +always. And--oh!--I believe my heart is going to burst with miserable +happiness and happy miserableness, and my head feels like it's in a +bag. + +Dr. Parke Alden and Miss Katherine Trent are the two nicest people on +earth, and the two I love best. But I don't think they know all the time +what they are doing and saying. They are that in love they don't see but +one side--the happy side--and they think I am going to leave this place +with a skip and a jump and run along by them, third person, single +number, and not know I'm in the way. + +They won't even listen when I tell them I don't know what I'm going to +do. I know what I want to do! Everything in me gets into shivering +trembleness when I think I could go to Europe with them on their wedding +trip. Think of it! Mary Cary could go to E-U-R-O-P-E! + +They've invited me and say I'm to go, because I'm never to leave them +any more, and they want me. But it isn't so. Mary tries to believe it's +so, but Martha knows it isn't. They think they think they want me, but +they don't; nobody wants an outsider on a wedding tour, and I'm not +going. I can't help it. Come on, tears! Even angels sometimes cry aloud; +and, not being a step-relation to one, I'm going to let Mary cry if she +wants to. Sometimes Martha is real hard on Mary. + +There is no use studying Human Nature. You can't study a thing that +changes by day and by night, and is so uncertain you never know what it +is going to do. Now, here is Mary Cary, mostly Martha, who would rather +get on a train or a boat and go somewhere--she don't care where--than to +do any other thing on earth. Who has never seen anything and wants to +see everything, and who, if anyone had told her a year ago she could go +to New York, and then to Europe, would have slid down every flight of +stairs head foremost from pure joy. And now she has the chance, she is +not going. She is Not. + +She hasn't much sense, Mary Cary hasn't, but enough to know wedding +trips are personal, and, besides, the girls have turned into regular +weepers. Every time anything is said about going away their eyes water +up, and Martha feels like a yellow dog with no tail. I know they hate +Miss Katherine's going; but why do they cry about my going? Lord, this +is a strange place to live in, this world is! I wonder what heaven will +be like? + +Miss Bray is much better. She says Uncle Parke has cured her. I don't +believe it. I believe it was Relief of the Mind. + + * * * * * + +I wasn't meant to be a sad person. I was silly sad the other day; but +I've found out when anything bothers you very much, it helps to take it +out and look at it. Walk all around it, poke it and see if it's sure +enough, and, if it isn't, tell it you'll see it dead before you'll let +it do you that way. + +That's what I did with what was making me doleful, and now I'm all right +again. It was because I did want to go to Europe awful, and it twisted +my heart like a machine had it when I turned my back on the chance. And +then, too, it was because the girls begged me so not to go away for good +that I got so worried. + +They said it wouldn't be the same if I wasn't here, and though they +didn't blame me, they begged me so not to go that I got as addled as the +old black hen that hatched ducks. + +Now, did you ever hear of such a thing? As if it really mattered where +Mary Cary lived! I didn't know anybody truly cared, and finding out made +me light in the head. But I know that's just passing--their caring, I +mean. I'm much obliged; but they'll forget it in a little while, and I +will be just a memory. + +I hope it will be bright. There's so much dark you can't help that a +brightness is real enjoyable. They say what you look for you see, and +what you want to forget you mustn't remember. There are a lot of things +about my Orphan life I'm going to try to forget. But there are some that +for the sake of sense, and in case of airs, I had better bear in mind. I +guess Martha will see to those. Whenever Mary gives signs of soaring, +Martha brings her straight back to earth. Martha doesn't care for +soarers, and she has a terrible bad habit of letting them know she +don't. + +Yorkburg hasn't settled down yet, and is still hanging on to the last +remnants of the surprise about Uncle Parke's coming, and about his +marriage to Miss Katherine and my going away. + +Of course, Miss Amelia Cokeland wanted to know if he'd made the Asylum a +present, and how much. At first nobody would tell her. She's got such a +ripping curiosity that there isn't a sneeze sneezed in Yorkburg, or a +cake baked, or a door shut that she doesn't want to know why. But maybe +she can't help it. Some people are natural inquirers, and that's the +way she makes her living, telling the news. + +She used to work buttonholes, but since she can't see good she just +spends the day out and tells all she hears. Nobody really likes her, but +her tongue is too sharp to fool with. To keep from being talked about, +everybody pretends to be friendly. + +I don't. She shook her finger at me once because I wouldn't tell her +what was in Miss Katherine's letter the first time she went away, and +since then she's never noticed me until Uncle Parke came. Now every time +I see her she's awful pleasant, and tries to make me talk. But a finger +once shook is shook. I don't talk. + +But Uncle Parke did make the Asylum a present. He didn't tell me, +neither did Miss Katherine, and I don't think he wanted anybody but the +Board ladies to know. But, of course, they couldn't keep it secret. They +told their husbands, and that meant the town. Nothing but a dead man +could keep from talking about money. + +It must have been a lot he gave, for Peelie Duke told me she heard Mrs. +Carr and Mrs. Dent talking about it the day she took some apple-jelly +for Miss Jones over to little Jessie Carr, who was sick. + +"He could have kept her at a fashionable boarding-school from the day +she was born until now for the sum he's turned over to the Board," said +Mrs. Carr, and her eyes, which are the beaming kind, just danced, Peelie +said. + +"Well, he ought to," grunted Mrs. Dent, who talks like her tongue was +down her throat. "He ought to! We've been taking care of the child for +almost ten years. I hear he wants the house put in good condition, a new +dining-room and kitchen built and four bath-rooms. The rest is to go to +the endowment. I think more ought to go to the endowment and less for +these luxuries. I don't approve of them. An Orphan Asylum is not a +hotel." + +"No, but it ought to be a home, if possible," said Mrs. Carr, and Peelie +said she looked at Mrs. Dent like she wondered how under heaven her +husband stood her all the time. + +I certainly am glad to know I'm paid for. Some day, when I'm grown and +earning my own living, before I marry my children's father, I am going +to give as much as I can of that money back to Uncle Parke. Of course +that will be some time off, and until then I'll just have to try to be +a nice person. + +Miss Katherine says a whole lot of people would pay a big price to have +a nice person in the house with them--one of those cheerful, sunshiny +kind that helps and is encouraging, and gets up again when they fall +down. As I can't earn money yet, I'm going to try to be something like +that, so they won't be sorry I ever was born. Uncle Parke and Miss +Katherine won't. + +But isn't it strange, when the time comes for you to do a thing you are +crazy to do, you wish it hadn't come? + +There have been days when I hated this Asylum. I've felt at times that I +was just one of the numbers of the multiplication table, and in all my +life I'd never be anything else. And I'd almost sweep the bricks up out +of the yard, I'd be so mad to think I was nothing and nobody. + +I wanted to be something and somebody. I didn't want to die and be +forgotten. I would have liked to sit on St. John's Church steeple and +have everybody look at me and say: + +"That's Mary Cary! She's great and rich, and gives away lots of money +and sings like an angel." That's what I once would have liked, but I've +learned a few things since I didn't know then. + +One is that high places are lonely and hard and uncomfortable, and +people who have sat on them have sometimes wished they didn't. Miss +Katherine told me that herself, also that the place you're in is pretty +near what you're fitted to fill. Otherwise you'd get out and fill +another. + +I've given up steeples and superiorities. But I'm glad I'm not going to +be an orphan, just an orphan, all my life. I'm glad; still, when I think +of going away and leaving everybody and everything: the old pump, where +I drowned my first little chicken washing it; and the old mulberry-tree, +where my first doll was buried; and the garret, where I made up +ghost-stories for the girls on rainy days; and the school-room; and even +No. 4--when I think of these things, I could be like that man in the +Bible (I believe it was David, but it might have been Jonah), I could +lift up my voice and weep. + +But I'm not going to. Weepers are a nuisance. + +I guess that's the way with life, though. When things are going, you +try to hold them back. And if you got them, you'd maybe wish you hadn't. + +That's the way Mrs. Gaines did when her husband died. I mean when he +didn't die that first time. She thought he was going to, and so did +everybody else. He had Fright's disease, and it affected his heart, +being liable to take him off any time, and Mrs. Gaines just carried on +terrible. + +She had faintings and hysterics, and said she couldn't live without him, +though everybody in Yorkburg knew she could, and easy enough. He without +her, too, had she gone first. She had asthma and an outbreaking temper, +and he drank. + +Mrs. Mosby--she's the doctor's wife--said she didn't blame him. No man +could stand Mrs. Gaines all the time without something to help, and +everybody hoped when he got so ill that he'd die and have a little rest. +But he didn't. He got better. + +Mrs. Gaines was so surprised she was downright disagreeable about it, +and how he stood it was a wonder. He didn't long, for the next summer he +was dead sure enough, and Mrs. Gaines put on the longest crêpe veil ever +seen in the South, she said. It touched the hem of her skirt in front +and behind; but she cut it in half after everybody had seen it often +enough to know how long it was. + +If Augustus Gaines thought she was going to ruin her eyes and choke her +lungs by wearing unhealthy crêpe over her face he thought wrong, she +said, and in a few months it was gone and she was as gay as a girl. +She's what they call a character, Mrs. Gaines is. + +I don't want to be like her, and I don't expect to do any groaning over +leaving Yorkburg. I want to live with Uncle Parke and Miss Katherine, +and I'm going to. But it's strange how many happy things hurt. + + + + +XV + +A REAL WEDDING + + +It looks as if everybody who knows Miss Katherine wants her to be +married from their house. Her brothers want her to be married from +theirs. Her aunt, Mrs. Powhatan Bloodgood, who lives in Loudon County, +and whose husband is as rich as a real lord, begs her to be married in +hers; and everybody in Yorkburg--I mean the coat-of-arms +everybodies--has invited her to have the wedding in their home. + +But she just smiles and says no to them all. Says she is going to be +married from her house, which is the Orphan Asylum, though the ceremony +will be at the church. It's going to be in the morning at twelve +o'clock, so they can take the two-o'clock train for Richmond and go on +to New York. + +Miss Katherine wants it to be quiet, but it can't be quiet. There's +nothing on human legs that can use them who won't be at the church to +see that wedding take place. + +Everybody has been paying her a lot of attention of late. It's real +strange what a difference a man makes in a marriage, even if he isn't +noticed much in person at the time. If he's rich and prominent, +everybody is so pleasant and sociable you'd think they were real +intimate. If he's just good and poor, few take notice. + +When Miss Vickie Toones married Mr. Joe Blake they didn't get hardly any +presents. They had a lot of dead relations who used to be rich and +haughty, but their living ones are as poor as the people they didn't +used to know, and hardly anybody gave them anything handsome. + +Miss Katherine's presents are just amazing, and my eyes are blistered by +the shine of them. I didn't know before such things were in the world. +People say Uncle Parke has made a lot of money in some mines out West, +besides being a doctor, and that he doesn't have to work. "But a man who +doesn't work hasn't any excuse for living," I heard him tell somebody, +and maybe it's so, though I don't know. + +I don't know anything these days. I'm the shape and size of Mary Cary, +but I see and hear so many things I never saw and heard before that I'd +like to borrow a dog to see if he knows whether I am myself or somebody +else. And another thing I'd like to find out is, How do other people +know so much? + +Mrs. Philip Creekmore has a cousin whose wife's brother lives in the +same place Uncle Parke does, and Miss Amelia Cokeland wrote out there +and found out all about him. But it doesn't matter whether she truly +knows anything or not. Miss Webb says she is like those fish scientists. +Give her one bone, and she can tell you all the rest. She's had a grand +time telling more things about Uncle Parke than Miss Katherine will ever +learn in this world. + +My dress is finished. I'm to be Maiden of Honor. There are no +bridesmaids. Think of it! Me, Mary Cary, once just flesh and blood +mechanical, now a living creature who is to wear a white Swiss dress and +a sash with pink rosebuds on it, and walk up the church aisle with my +arms full of roses. And--magnificent gloriousness! most beautiful of +all!--every girl in this Asylum is to have a white dress and a sash the +color she likes best to wear to the wedding. That's my wedding gift to +the girls. Uncle Parke gave it to me. + +Miss Katherine's California brother and his wife have come. I don't like +them. He looks bored to death, and chews the end of his mustache till +you wonder there's any left. As for her, she's the limit. Maybe that's +what's the matter with him. + +She seems to be afraid some of us might touch her, and she stares as if +we were figures in a china-shop. No more says good-morning than if we +were. + +She wears seven rings on one hand and four on another, and rustles so +when she walks she sounds like a churner out of order. If she isn't a +bulgarian born, she's bought herself into being one, for she oozes +money. It's the only thing you think of when she's around. You can +actually smell it. I think Miss Katherine is sorry they came. She don't +say it, of course, but plenty of things don't have to be said. + +Uncle Parke came last night, bringing his best friend and some others. +The best one is Doctor Willwood. He's fine. He and I are going to come +down the aisle together. I reach up to his elbow, and he says he may put +me in his pocket. I wish he would. I know I will be that frightened I'd +be glad to get in it. + +He wants to know all about Yorkburg and the people, and to-day Miss Bray +let me take him all around the town and show him the antiquities. He +asked her. I had on the white dress Miss Katherine gave me last summer, +and I looked real nice, for I had on my company manners, too. + +You see, he was from the West, and had never been to Virginia before; +and when a man comes such a long way, one ought to put on company +manners and be extra polite. It wouldn't be right not to. I put mine on, +and I guess I did do a lot of talking. I'm by nature a talker, just like +I can't help skipping when my heart is happy and nothing hurts. + +I told him about all the places we came to, and about who lived in them, +except the Alden house which the Reagans now possess. When we got there +he stopped in front of it. + +"My!" he said, "that's a beautiful old place! Whose is it?" + +"Some people by the name of Reagan live there," I said. "I don't know +them." And I started on. + +I came near forgetting, and saying, "That is Alden house, where my +grandfather used to live," but I remembered in time. I don't acknowledge +my grandfather, and I knew somebody else would tell him Uncle Parke was +born and lived there until he went West. + +We had a grand time. We stayed out over four hours, and I forgot all +about dinner. He didn't want to go in when I suddenly remembered and +told him I must, and then he said I was going to take dinner with him at +the Colonial. He'd asked Miss Bray, and it was all right. And that's +what I did. Took dinner with him at the Colonial! + +I tell you, Mary Martha Cary had what you could truly call a Time. And +Doctor Willwood said he never had enjoyed a morning in his life like +that one. Laugh? I never heard a man laugh so hearty. Half the time I +couldn't tell why. I'd be real serious, but he'd look at me and almost +die laughing. I bet I said some things I oughtn't, but I don't remember, +and I couldn't take them back if I did. + + * * * * * + +It's over. The wedding is over. Everything is after a while in this +life, even death; and time is the only thing that keeps on just the +same. + +They're gone. Gone on their bridal tour, and the happiness that's left +Yorkburg would run a family for a long life. I wish everybody could have +seen that wedding. It's going to be long remembered, for the earth and +sky, and birds and flowers, and trees and sunshine all took part. +Everything tried to help, and as for blessings on them, they took away +enough for the human race. But now it's over I feel like my first +balloon looked when I stuck a pin in it to see what would happen. I saw. + +I had a telegram from them to-day. It said: + + We sail at eleven o'clock. Love to all, and hearts full for Mary + Cary. + + UNCLE PARKE and AUNT KATHERINE. + +Well, she's my Aunt now. That's fixed, anyhow, and the marriage that +fixed it was a beauty. Every bird in Yorkburg was singing, every flower +was blooming, and every heart was blessing; and when those fifty-eight +orphans walked in, all in white and two by two, every hand was dropping +roses. And that is what each girl was wishing: Roses, roses all her +life! + +After the ushers, I came in all alone by myself; that is, my shape did. +Mary was really inside the altar looking at me coming up slow and easy, +and Martha was ordering me to keep step to the music. "All right, I'm +doing my best," I was saying to both. And I was, but I was thankful when +I got to where I could stop, for my legs were so excited I wouldn't have +been surprised if they'd turned and run out. + +Behind me came Miss Katherine, on her Army brother's arm. He's as nice +as the other isn't. He hasn't got the money-making disease. When Uncle +Parke and Doctor Willwood came out of the vestry-room Uncle Parke gave +me one look, just one, but it was so understanding I winked back, and +then he came farther down and stood by Miss Katherine like she was his +until kingdom come, forever more. Amen. + +Then the minister began, and the music was so soft you could hear the +birds outside. The breeze through the window blew right on Miss +Katherine's veil, and I was so busy watching it I didn't know the time +had come to pray, and I hardly got my head bent before I had to take it +up again. Then the minister was through, and I was walking down the +aisle with Doctor Willwood, and in just about two minutes more we were +back at the Asylum, and it was all over--the thing we'd been looking +forward to so long. + +The Asylum looked real nice that morning. There were bushels and bushels +of flowers in it, for everybody in town who had any sent them. Flowers +cover a multitude of poverties. The reception was grand. That California +Richness called it a breakfast, but that was pure style. Yorkburg don't +have breakfast between twelve and one, and everybody else called it a +reception. As for the people at it, there were more kinds than were ever +in one dining-room before; and every single one had a good time. Every +one. + +You see, Miss Katherine, besides being who she was, was what she was. +Having known a great deal about all sorts of people since being a nurse, +and finding out that the plain and the fancy, the rich and the poor, +those who've had a chance and those who haven't, are a heap more alike +than people think, she said she was going to invite to her wedding +whoever she wanted. And she did. + +There wasn't one invited who didn't come: the bent and the broke and the +blind (that's true, for old Mr. Forbes is bent, and Mrs. Rowe's hip was +broken and she uses crutches, and Bobbie Anderson is blind); and the +old, that's the high-born coat-of-arms kind; and the new, that's the +Reagans and Hinchmans and some others, and Mr. Pinkert the shoemaker, +who, she says, is a gentleman if he don't remember his grandfather's +name; and Miss Ginnie Grant, who made her underclothes--all were there. +All. It was a different wedding from any that was ever before in +Yorkburg, and if any feelings were hurt it was because they were trying +to be. Some feelings are kept for that purpose. + +Of course, Mrs. Christopher Pryor had remarks to make. "Katherine always +was too independent," I heard her tell Miss Queechy Spence. "But I don't +believe in anything of the kind. If you once let people get out of the +place they were born in, there'll be no doing anything with them. You +mark me, if this wedding don't make trouble. Some of these people will +expect to be invited to my house next." And she took another helping of +salad that was enough for three. She's an awful eater. + +"Oh no, they won't," said Miss Queechy. "They know better than to expect +anything like that of you," and she gave me a little wink and walked off +with Mr. Morris, who's her beau. I went off, too. It isn't safe for +Martha Cary to be too near Mrs. Pryor, for Mary never knows what she +may do. + +And, oh, you ought to have seen Miss Bray! She was stepsister to the +Queen of Sheba. Solomon never had a wife arrayed like she was on that +twenty-seventh day of June. I believe she is engaged to Doctor Rudd. I +really do. + +You see, after people got over teasing him about that make-believe +wedding, he got to thinking about her. He's bound to know he isn't much +of a man, and no young girl would have him, so lately he's been ambling +'round Miss Bray. If he can stand her, he'll do well to get her. She's a +grand manager on little. + +He was at the wedding, too. His beard was flowinger and redder, and the +part in the back of his head shininger than ever. He had an elegant +time. He was so full of himself you would have thought it was his own +party. + +Uncle Parke and Aunt Katherine have been on the ocean three days. I +wonder if they are sick. I don't think I will go to Europe with my +children's father. I was seasick once on land, and there wasn't a human +being I even liked that day. It would be bad to find out so soon that +the very sight of your husband makes you ill. After you know him +better, you could tell him to go off somewhere; but at first I suppose +you have to be polite. + +They were awful nice about wanting me to go with them. The bride and +groom were. They said I had to, and they were so surprised when I said I +couldn't that they didn't think I meant it. When they found out I did, +they were dreadfully worried, and didn't know what to do next. There +wasn't anything to do, and here I am. Here I'm going to be, too, until +the first day of October, when they will be back, and we will start for +the West, for Michigan. + +I'm going to like Michigan. I've decided before I get there. I know +there will be something to like, there always is in every place and +every person, Miss Katherine says, if you just will see it instead of +the all wrong. I was by nature born critical. There are a lot of things +I don't like in this world, but there's no use in mentioning them. As +for opinions, if they're not pleasant they'd better be kept to yourself. +I learned that early in life and forget it every day. + +I'm going to try and think Michigan is a grand place, and next to +Virginia the best to live in. They couldn't, _couldn't_ expect me to +think it was like Virginia! + +Perhaps, after a while, Uncle Parke may come back. For over two hundred +years his people have lived here, and sometimes I believe he feels just +like that dog did who had his call in him. The call of the place that +the first dogs came from, that wild, free place, and I think Uncle Parke +wants to come back, wants to be with his own people. + +Out West is very convenient, though, Peggy Green says. She has an aunt +who used to live out there, and she told her you could do as you choose +in almost everything. If husbands and wives didn't like each other, +there was no trouble in getting new ones. They could get a divorce and +marry somebody else. + +I wonder what a divorce is. We've never had one in Yorkburg, and I never +knew until the other day that when you got married it wasn't really +truly permanent. I thought it was for ever and ever and until death +parted. The prayer-book says so, and I thought it meant it. + +By the time I'm grown I guess I'll find a lot of things are said and not +meant. Maybe when I find out I will be all the gladder to come back to +Yorkburg, where people don't seem to know much about these new-fashioned +things. Where they still believe in the old ones, and just live on and +don't hurry, and are kind and polite and dear, if they are slow and +queer and proud a little bit. + +It makes me have such a funny feeling in my throat when I think about +going away. I'm trying not to think. But I do. Think all the time. I +want this summer to be the happiest the children ever had. It's the last +for me. That sounds consumptive, but I don't mean that way. I mean it's +my last Orphan summer. + +Of course, I'm glad, awful glad; but I'm so sorry the other children +aren't going, too. For them it's prunes and blue-and-white calico to +look forward to until they're eighteen. Year in and year out, prunes and +calico. + +But maybe it isn't. If Mary Cary will do her part something nicer may +happen. She doesn't know yet the way to make it happen, having nothing +much to send back but love. Somebody says love finds the way. Oh, Mary +Cary, you and Love _must_ find a way! + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mary Cary, by Kate Langley Bosher + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARY CARY *** + +***** This file should be named 15571-8.txt or 15571-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/5/7/15571/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Melissa Er-Raqabi and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Mary Cary + "Frequently Martha" + +Author: Kate Langley Bosher + +Release Date: April 6, 2005 [EBook #15571] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARY CARY *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Melissa Er-Raqabi and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. + + + + + + +</pre> + +<hr style="width: 95%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" +alt="Cover" title="Cover" /> +</div> + + +<h1>MARY CARY</h1> +<h1><i>"FREQUENTLY MARTHA"</i></h1> + +<h3>BY</h3> +<h2>Kate Langley Bosher</h2> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h4>FRONTISPIECE BY</h4> +<h3>FRANCES ROGERS</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/001.png" +alt="mark" title="mark" /> +</div> + + +<p class="center">NEW YORK<br /> +GROSSET & DUNLAP<br /> +PUBLISHERS<br /><br /></p> +<p class="center">Published By Arrangement With Harper & Brothers +</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center">COPYRIGHT, 1910 BY HARPER & BROTHERS<br /><br /> +PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA +</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>TO</h3> +<h2>VIRGINIA</h2> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/frontis.jpg" +alt="They Didn't Meet at All Like I Expected" title="They Didn't Meet at All Like I Expected" /><br /><br /><br /> +<span class="caption">"THEY DIDN'T MEET AT ALL LIKE I EXPECTED"</span> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Table of Contents"> +<tr><td align='right'>CHAP.</td><td align='left'></td><td align='right'>PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>I.</td><td align='left'><a href="#I">AN UNTHANKFUL ORPHAN</a></td><td align='right'>1</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>II.</td><td align='left'><a href="#II">THE COMING OF MISS KATHERINE</a></td><td align='right'>14</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>III.</td><td align='left'><a href="#III">MARY, FREQUENTLY MARTHA</a></td><td align='right'>27</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IV.</td><td align='left'><a href="#IV">THE STEPPED-ON AND THE STEPPERS</a></td><td align='right'>39</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>V.</td><td align='left'><a href="#V">"HERE COMES THE BRIDE!"</a></td><td align='right'>50</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VI.</td><td align='left'><a href="#VI">"MY LADY OF THE LOVELY HEART"</a></td><td align='right'>61</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VII.</td><td align='left'><a href="#VII">"STERILIZED AND FERTILIZED"</a></td><td align='right'>70</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VIII.</td><td align='left'><a href="#VIII">MARY CARY'S BUSINESS</a></td><td align='right'>75</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IX.</td><td align='left'><a href="#IX">LOVE IS BEST</a></td><td align='right'>85</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>X.</td><td align='left'><a href="#X">THE REAGAN BALL</a></td><td align='right'>97</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XI.</td><td align='left'><a href="#XI">FINDING OUT</a></td><td align='right'>103</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XII.</td><td align='left'><a href="#XII">A TRUE MIRACLE</a></td><td align='right'>120</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIII.</td><td align='left'><a href="#XIII">HIS COMING</a></td><td align='right'>133</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIV.</td><td align='left'><a href="#XIV">THE HURT OF HAPPINESS</a></td><td align='right'>141</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XV.</td><td align='left'><a href="#XV">A REAL WEDDING</a></td><td align='right'>155</td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>MARY CARY</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I</h2> + +<h2>AN UNTHANKFUL ORPHAN</h2> + + + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="images/m.png" alt="M" title="M" /></div> +<p> +y name is Mary Cary. I live in the +Yorkburg Female Orphan Asylum. +You may think nothing happens in +an Orphan Asylum. It does. The +orphans are sure enough children, and +real much like the kind that have +Mothers and Fathers; but though they don't +give parties or wear truly Paris clothes, things +happen, and that's why I am going to write +this story.</p> + +<p>To-day I was kept in. Yesterday, too. I +don't mind, for I would rather watch the lightning +up here than be down in the basement +with the others. There are days when I love +thunder and lightning. I can't flash and crash, +being just Mary Cary; but I'd like to, and when +it is done for me it is a relief to my feelings.</p> + +<p>The reason I was kept in was this. Yesterday +Mr. Gaffney, the one with a sunk eye and +cold in his head perpetual, came to talk to us +for the benefit of our characters. He thinks +it's his duty, and, just naturally loving to talk, +he wears us out once a week anyhow. Yesterday, +not agreeing with what he said, I +wouldn't pretend I did, and I was punished +prompt, of course.</p> + +<p>I don't care for duty-doers, and I tried not +to listen to him; but tiresome talk is hard not +to hear—it makes you so mad. Hear him I did, +and when, after he had ambled on until I +thought he really was castor-oil and I had +swallowed him, he blew his nose and said:</p> + +<p>"You have much, my children, to be thankful +for, and for everything you should be thankful. +Are you? If so, stand up. Rise, and +stand upon your feet."</p> + +<p>I didn't rise. All the others did—stood on +their feet, just like he asked. None tried their +heads. I was the only one that sat, and when +he saw me, his sunk eye almost rolled out, and +his good eye stared at me in such astonishment +that I laughed out loud. I couldn't help it, +I truly couldn't.</p> + +<p>I'm not thankful for everything, and that's +why I didn't stand up. Can you be thankful +for toothache, or stomachache, or any kind of +ache? You cannot. And not meant to be, +either.</p> + +<p>The room got awful still, and then presently +he said:</p> + +<p>"Mary Cary"—his voice was worse than his +eye—"Mary Cary, do you mean to say you have +not a thankful heart?" And he pointed his +finger at me like I was the Jezebel lady come +to life.</p> + +<p>I didn't answer, thinking it safer, and he +asked again:</p> + +<p>"Do I understand, Mary Cary"—and by +this time he was real red-in-the-face mad—"do +I understand you are not thankful for all that +comes to you? Do I understand aright?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, you understand right," I said, +getting up this time. "I am not thankful for +everything in my life. I'd be much thankfuller +to have a Mother and Father on earth +than to have them in heaven. And there are +a great many other things I would like different." +And down I sat, and was kept in for +telling the truth.</p> + +<p>Miss Bray says it was for impertinence (Miss +Bray is the Head Chief of this Institution), +but I didn't mean to be impertinent. I truly +didn't. Speaking facts is apt to make trouble, +though—also writing them. To-day Miss Bray +kept me in for putting something on the blackboard +I forgot to rub out. I wrote it just for +my own relief, not thinking about anybody else +seeing it. What I wrote was this:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Some people are crazy all the time;<br /></span> +<span>All people are crazy sometimes."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>That's why I'm up in the punishment-room +to-day, and it only proves that what I wrote is +right. It's crazy to let people know you know +how queer they are. Miss Bray takes personal +everything I do, and when she saw that blackboard, +up-stairs she ordered me at once. She +loves to punish me, and it's a pleasure I give +her often.</p> + +<p>I brought my diary with me, and as I can't +write when anybody is about, I don't mind +being by myself every now and then. Miss +Bray don't know this, or my punishment would +take some other form.</p> + +<p>I just love a diary. You see, its something +you can tell things to and not get in trouble. +When writing in it I can relieve my feelings by +saying what I think, which Miss Katherine says +is risky to do to people, and that it's safer to +keep your feelings to yourself. People don't +really care about them, and there's nothing +they get so tired of hearing about. A diary +doesn't talk, neither do animals; but a diary +understands better than animals, and you can +call things by their right name in a book which +it isn't safe to do out loud, even to a dog.</p> + +<p>I know I am not unthankful, and I would +much rather have a Father and Mother on +earth than to have them in heaven, but I guess +I should have kept my preferences to myself. +Somehow preferences seem to make people mad.</p> + +<p>But a Mother and Father in heaven <i>are</i> too +far away to be truly comforting. I like the +people I love to be close to me. I guess that +is why, when I was little, I used to hold out my +arms at night, hoping my Mother would come +and hold me tight. But she never came, and +now I know it's no use.</p> + +<p>There are a great many things that are no +use. One is in telling people what they don't +want to know. I found that out almost two +years ago, when I wasn't but ten. The way +I found out was this.</p> + +<p>One morning, it was an awful cold morning, +Miss Bray came into the dining-room just as +we were taking our seats for breakfast, and she +looked so funny that everybody stared, though +nobody dared to even smile visible. All the +children are afraid of Miss Bray; but at that +time I hadn't found out her true self, and, not +thinking of consequences, I jumped up and ran +over to her and whispered something in her ear.</p> + +<p>"What!" she said. "What did you say?" +And she bent her head so as to hear better.</p> + +<p>"You forgot one side of your face when fixing +this morning," I said, still whispering, not +wanting the others to hear. "Only one side is +pink—" But I didn't get any further, for she +grabbed my hand and almost ran with me out +of the room.</p> + +<p>"You piece of impertinence!" she said, and +her eyes had such sparks in them I knew my +judgment-day had come. "You little piece +of impertinence! You shall be punished well +for this." I was. I didn't mean to be impertinent. +I thought she'd like to know. I +thought wrong.</p> + +<p>I loathe Miss Bray. The very sight of her +shoulders in the back gets me mad all over +without her saying a word, and everything in +me that's wrong comes right forward and +speaks out when she and I are together. She +thinks she could run this earth better than it's +being done, and she walks like she was the +Superintendent of most of it. But I could +stand that. I could stand her cheeks, and her +frizzed front, and a good many other things; +but what I can't stand is her passing for being +truthful when she isn't. She tells stories, and +she knows I know it; and from the day I found +it out I have stayed out of her way; and were +she the Queen of Europe, Asia, and Africa, and +the United States I'd want her to stand out of +mine. I truly would.</p> + +<p>Her outrageousest story I heard her tell myself. +It was over a year ago, and we were in +the room where the ladies were having a +Board meeting. I had come in to bring some +water, and had a waiter full of glasses in my +hands, and was just about to put them on the +table when I heard Miss Bray tell her Lie.</p> + +<p>That's what she did. She Lied!</p> + +<p>Those glasses never touched that table. +My hands lost their hold, and down they came +with a crash. Every one smashed to smithereens, +and I standing staring at Miss Bray. +The way she told her story was this. The +Board deals us out for adoption, and that +morning they were discussing a request for +Pinkie Moore, and, as usual, Miss Bray didn't +want Pinkie to go. You see, Pinkie was very +useful. She did a lot of disagreeable things for +Miss Bray, and Miss Bray didn't want to lose +her. And when Mrs. Roane, who is the only +Board lady truly seeing through her, asked, real +sharplike, why Pinkie shouldn't go this time, +Miss Bray spoke out like she was really grieved.</p> + +<p>"I declare, Mrs. Roane," she said—and she +twirled her keys round and round her fingers, +and twitched the nostril parts of her nose +just like a horse—"I declare, Mrs. Roane, I +hate to tell you, I really do. But Pinkie Moore +wouldn't do for adoption. She has a terrible +temper, and she's so slow nobody would keep +her. And then, too"—her voice was the +Pharisee kind that the Lord must hate worse +than all others—"and then, too, I am sorry +to say Pinkie is not truthful, and has been +caught taking things from the girls. I hope +none of you will mention this, as I trust by +watching over her to correct these faults. She +begs me so not to send her out for adoption, +and is so devoted to me that—" And just +then she saw me, which she hadn't done before, +I being behind Mrs. Armstead, and she stopped +like she had been hit.</p> + +<p>For a minute I didn't breathe. I didn't. +All I did was to stare—stare with mouth open +and eyes out; and then it was the glasses went +down and I flew into the yard, and there by +the pump was Pinkie.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Pinkie!" I said. "Oh, Pinkie!" And I +caught her round the waist and raced up and +down the yard like a wild man from Borneo. +"Oh, Pinkie, what do you think?" Poor Pinkie, +thinking a mad dog had bit me, tried to make +me stop, but stop I wouldn't until there was +no more breath. And then we sat down on +the woodpile, and I hugged her so hard I +almost broke her bones.</p> + +<p>First I was so mad I couldn't cry, and then +crying so I couldn't speak. But after a while +words came, and I said:</p> + +<p>"Pinkie Moore, are you devoted to Miss +Bray? Are you? I want the truest truth. +Are you devoted to her?"</p> + +<p>"Devoted to Miss Bray? Devoted!" And +poor little Pinkie, who has no more spirit than +a poor relation, spoke out for once. "I hate +her!" she said. "I hate her worse than prunes; +and if somebody would only adopt me, I'd be +so thankful I'd choke for joy, except for leaving +you." Then she boohoo'd too, and the +tears that fell between us looked like we were +artesian wells—they certainly did.</p> + +<p>But Pinkie didn't know what caused my +tears. Mine were mad tears, and not being +able to tell her why they came, I had to send +her to the house to wash her face. I washed +mine at the pump, and then worked off some +of my mad by sweeping the yard as hard as I +could, wishing all the time Miss Bray was the +leaves, and trying to make believe she was. I +was full of the things the Bible says went into +swine, and I knew there would be trouble for +me before the day was out. But there wasn't. +Not even for breaking the pump-handle was I +punished, and Miss Bray tried so hard to be +friendly that at first I did not understand. I +do now.</p> + +<p>That was my first experience in finding out +that some one who looked like a lady on the +outside was mean and deceitful on the inside, +and it made me tremble all over to find it could +be so. Since then I have never pretended to +be friends with Miss Bray. As for her, she +hates me—hates me because she knows I know +what sort of a person she is, a sort I loathe +from my heart.</p> + +<p>When I first got my diary I thought I was +going to write in it every day. I haven't, and +that shows I'm no better on resolves than I +am on keeping step. I never keep step. Sometimes +I've thought I was really something, but +I'm not. Nobody much is when you know +them too well. It is a good thing for your +pride when you keep a diary, specially when +you are truthful in it. Each day that you +leave out is an evidence of character—poor +character—for it shows how careless and put-off-y +you are; both of which I am.</p> + +<p>But it isn't much in life to be an inmate of a +Humane Association, or a Home, or an Asylum, +or whatever name you call the place where job-lot +charity children live. And that's what I +am, an Inmate. Inmates are like malaria and +dyspepsia: something nobody wants and every +place has. Minerva James says they are like +veterans—they die and yet forever live.</p> + +<p>Well, anyhow, whenever I used to do wrong, +which was pretty constant, I would say to +myself it didn't matter, nobody cared. And +if I let a chance slip to worry Miss Bray I was +sorry for it; but that was before I understood +her, and before Miss Katherine came. Since +Miss Katherine came I know it's yourself that +matters most, not where you live or where +you came from, and I'm thinking a little more +of Mary Cary than I used to, though in a different +way. As for Miss Bray, I truly try at +times to forget she's living.</p> + +<p>But she's taught me a good deal about Human +Nature, Miss Bray has. About the side +I didn't know. It's a pity there are things +we have to know. I think I will make a special +study of Human Nature. I thought once I'd +take up Botany in particular, as I love flowers; +or Astronomy, so as to find out all about those +million worlds in the sky, so superior to earth, +and so much larger; but I think, now, I'll settle +on Human Nature. Nobody ever knows what +it is going to do, which makes it full of surprises, +but there's a lot that's real interesting +about it. I like it. As for its Bray side, I'll +try not to think about it; but if there are +puddles, I guess it's well to know where, so as +not to step in them. I wish we didn't have +to know about puddles and things! I'd so +much rather know little and be happy than +find out the miserable much some people do.</p> + +<p>Anyhow, I won't have to remember all I +learn, for Miss Katherine says there are many +things it's wise to forget, and whenever I can +I'll forget mean things. I'd forget Miss Bray's +if she'd tell me she was sorry and cross her +heart she'd never do them again. But I don't +believe she ever will. God is going to have a +hard time with Miss Bray. She's right old to +change, and she's set in her ways—bad ways.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II</h2> + +<h2>THE COMING OF MISS KATHERINE</h2> + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="images/n.png" alt="N" title="N" /></div><p> +ow, why can't I keep on at a thing +like Miss Katherine? Why? Because +I'm just Mary Cary, mostly Martha; +made of nothing, came from nowhere, +and don't know where I'm going, and +have no more system in my nature +than Miss Bray has charms for gentlemen.</p> + +<p>But Miss Katherine—well, there never was +and never will be but one Miss Katherine, and +there's as much chance of my being like her as +there is of my reaching the stars. I'll never +be like her, but she's my friend. That's the +wonderful part of it. She's my friend. And +when you've got a friend like Miss Katherine +you've got strength to do anything. To stand +anything, too.</p> + +<p>The beautiful part of it is that I live with +her; that is, she lives in the Asylum, and I +sleep in the room with her.</p> + +<p>It happened this way. Last summer I didn't +want to do anything but sit down. It was the +funniest thing, for before that I never did like +to sit down if I could stand up, or skip around, +or climb, or run, or dance, or jump. I never +could walk straight or slow, and I never can +keep step.</p> + +<p>Well, last summer I didn't want to move, +and I couldn't eat, and I didn't even feel like +reading. I'd have such queer slipping-away +feelings right in my heart that I'd call myself +a drop of ink on a blotter that was spreading +and spreading and couldn't stop. Sometimes I +would think I was sinking down and down, +but I really wasn't sinking, for I didn't move. +I only felt like I was, and I was afraid to go +to sleep at night for fear I would die, and I +stayed awake so as to know about it if I did.</p> + +<p>And then I began to be afraid of dying, and +my heart would beat so I thought it would wear +out. But I didn't tell anybody how I felt. I +was ashamed of being afraid, and I just told +God, because I knew He could understand better +than anybody else; and I asked Him please +to hold on to me, I not being able to do much +holding myself, and He held. I know it, for I +felt it.</p> + +<p>You see, Mrs. Blamire—she's Miss Bray's assistant—was +away; Miss Bray was busy getting +ready to go when Mrs. Blamire came back; and +Miss Jones was pickling and preserving. I +didn't want to bother her, so I dragged on, and +kept my feelings to myself.</p> + +<p>The girls were awful good to me. Real many +have relations in Yorkburg, and if I'd eaten all +the fruit they sent me I'd been a tutti-frutti; +but I couldn't eat it. And then one day I began +to talk so queer they were frightened, and +told Miss Bray, and she sent for the doctor +quick. That afternoon they took me to the +hospital, and the last thing I saw was little +Josie White crying like her heart would break +with her arms around a tree.</p> + +<p>"Please don't die, Mary Cary, please don't +die!" she kept saying over and over, and when +they tried to make her go in she bawled worse +than ever. I tried to wave my hand.</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to die, I'm coming back," I +said, and that's all I remember.</p> + +<p>I knew they put me in something and drove +off, and then I was in a little white bed in a big +room with a lot of other little beds in it; and +after that I didn't know I was living for three +weeks. But I talked just the same. They told me I +made speeches by the hour, and read books +out loud, and recited poems that had never +been printed. But when I stopped and lay like +the dead, just breathing, the girls say they heard +there were no hopes, and a lot of them just +cried and cried. It was awful nice of them, +and if they hadn't cut my hair off I would have +made a real pretty corpse.</p> + +<p>The day I first saw Miss Katherine really +good she was standing by my bed, holding my +wrist in one hand and her watch in another, +and I thought she was an angel and I was in +heaven. She was in white, and I took her +little white cap for a crown, and I said:</p> + +<p>"Are you my Mother?"</p> + +<p>She nodded and smiled, but she didn't speak, +and I asked again:</p> + +<p>"Are you my Mother?"</p> + +<p>"Your right-now Mother," she said, and she +smiled so delicious I thought of course I was +in heaven, and I spoke once more.</p> + +<p>"Where's God?"</p> + +<p>Then she stooped down and kissed me.</p> + +<p>"In your heart and mine," she answered. +"But you mustn't talk, not yet. Shut your +eyes, and I will sing you to sleep." And I +shut them. And I knew I was in heaven, for +heaven isn't a place; it's a feeling, and I had it.</p> + +<p>And that's how I met Miss Katherine.</p> + +<p>Her father and mother are dead, just like mine. +Her father was Judge Trent, and his father +once owned half the houses in Yorkburg, but +lost them some way, and what he didn't lose +Judge Trent did after the war.</p> + +<p>When her father died Miss Katherine wouldn't +live with either of her brothers, or any of her +relations, but went to Baltimore to study to be +a nurse. After she graduated she didn't come +back for three or four years, and she hadn't +been back six months when I was taken sick. +And now I sing:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Praise God from whom that sickness flew."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Sing it inside almost all the time.</p> + +<p>Miss Katherine don't have to be a nurse. +She has a little money. I don't know how +much, she never mentioning money before me; +but she has some, for I heard Miss Bray and +Mrs. Blamire talking one night when they +thought I was asleep; and for once I didn't interrupt +or let them know I was awake.</p> + +<p>I had been punished so often for speaking +when I shouldn't that this time I kept quiet, +and when they were through I couldn't sleep. +I was so excited I stayed awake all night. And +from joy—pure joy.</p> + +<p>I had only been back from the hospital a +week, and was in the room next to Mrs. Blamire's, +where the children who are sick stay, +when I heard Miss Bray talking to Mrs. Blamire, +and at something she said I sat up in bed. +Right or wrong, I tried to hear. I did.</p> + +<p>They were sitting in front of the fire, and +Miss Bray leaned over and cracked the coals.</p> + +<p>"Have you heard that Miss Katherine Trent +is coming here as a trained nurse?" she said, +and she put down the poker, and, folding her +arms, began to rock.</p> + +<p>"You don't mean it!" said Mrs. Blamire, and +her little voice just cackled. "Coming here? +To this place? I do declare!" And she drew +her chair up closer, being a little deaf.</p> + +<p>"That's what she's going to do." Miss Bray +took off her spectacles. "The Board can't +afford to pay her a salary, but she's offered to +come without one, and next week she'll start +in."</p> + +<p>"Katherine Trent always was queer," she +went on, still rocking with all her might. "She +can get big prices as a nurse, though she doesn't +have to nurse at all, having money enough to +live on without working. And why she wants +to come to a place like this and fool with fifty-odd +children and get no pay for it is beyond +my understanding. It's her business, however, +not mine, and I'm glad she's coming."</p> + +<p>"I do declare!" And Mrs. Blamire clapped +her hands like she was getting religion. "My, +but I'm glad! Miss Katherine Trent coming +here! And next week, you say? I do declare!" +And her gladness sounded in her +voice. It was a different kind from Miss +Bray's. Even in the dark I could tell, for +hers was thankfulness for the children. Miss +Bray was glad for herself.</p> + +<p>That was almost a year ago, and now my +hair has come out and curls worse than ever. +It's very thick, and it's brown—light brown.</p> + +<p>I'm always intending to stand still in front +of the glass long enough to see what I do look +like, but I'm always in such a hurry I don't +have time. I know my eyes are blue, for Miss +Katherine said this morning they got bigger +and bluer every day, and if I didn't eat more +I'd be nothing but eyes. If you don't like a +thing, can you eat it? You cannot. That is, in +summer you can't. In winter it's a little easier.</p> + +<p>I never have understood how Miss Katherine +could have come to an Orphan Asylum to live +and to eat Orphan Asylum meals when she +could have eaten the best in Yorkburg. And +Yorkburg's best is the best on earth. Everybody +says that who's tried other places, even +Miss Webb, who gets right impatient with +Yorkburg's slowness and enjoyment of itself.</p> + +<p>And Miss Katherine is living here from pure +choice. That's what she is doing, and she's +made living creatures of us, just like God did +when He breathed on Adam and woke him up.</p> + +<p>At the hospital she used to ask me all about +the Asylum, and, never guessing why, I told +her all I knew, except about Miss Bray. Miss +Katherine had known the Asylum all her life, +but had only been in it twice—just passing it +by, not thinking. When I got better and +could talk as much as I pleased, she wanted +to know how many of us there were, what we +did, and how we did it: what we ate, and +what kind of underclothes we wore in winter, +and how many times a week we bathed all +over; when we got up, and what we studied, +and how long we sewed each day, and how long +we played, and when we went to bed—and all +sorts of other things. I wondered why she +wanted to know, and when I found out I could +have laid right down and died from pure gladness. +I didn't, though.</p> + +<p>Once I asked her what made her do it, and +she laughed and said because she wanted to, and +that she was much obliged to me for having found +her work for her. But I believe there's some +other reason she won't tell.</p> + +<p>And why I believe so is that sometimes, when +she thinks I am asleep, I see her looking in the +fire, and there's something in her face that's +never there at any other time. It's a remembrance. +I guess most hearts have them if they +live long enough. But you'd never think Miss +Katherine had one, she's so glad and cheerful +and busy all the time. I wonder if it's a sweetheart +remembrance? I know three of her +beaux; one in Yorkburg and two from away, +who have been to see her frequent times; but +a beau is different from a sweetheart. I'm sure +that look means something secret, and I bet +it's a man. Who is he? I don't know. I +wish he was dead. I do!</p> + +<p>When I first came back from the hospital +my little old sticks of legs wouldn't hold me +up, and down I would go. But I didn't mind +that. I just minded not going to sleep at +night. But sleep wouldn't come, and I'd get +so wide awake trying to make it that I began +to have a teeny bit of fever again, and then it +was Miss Katherine asked if she might take +me in her room. I was nervous and still needed +attention, she said, and—magnificent gloriousness!—I +was sent to her room to stay until perfectly +well, and I'm here yet. Perfectly well +because I am here!</p> + +<p>That first night when I got into the little +white bed next to her bed, and knew she was +going to be there beside me, I couldn't go to +sleep right off. I kept wishing I was King +David, so I could write a book of gratitudes +and psalms and praises, and that was the first +night I ever really prayed right. I didn't ask +for a thing except for help to be worth it—the +trouble she was taking for just little me, a +charity child. Just me!</p> + +<p>And oh, the difference in her room and the +room I had left! She had had it painted and +papered herself, for it hadn't been used since +kingdom come, and the cobwebs in it would +have filled a barrel. It had been a packing-room, +and when Miss Katherine first saw it +she just whistled soft and easy; but when she +was through, it was just a dream.</p> + +<p>It is a big room at the end of the wing, and +it has three windows in it: one in the front and +one in the back and one opposite the door you +come in. And when the paper was put on +you felt like you were in a great big garden of +roses; pink roses, for they were running all +over the walls, and they were so natural I +could smell them. I really could.</p> + +<p>Miss Katherine brought her own furniture +and things, and she put a carpet on the floor, +all over, not just strips. And the windows had +muslin curtains at them with cretonne curtains +just full of pink roses, looped back from the +muslin ones; and the couch and the cushions +and some chairs were all covered with the same +kind of pink roses. And as for the bed, it was +too sweet for anybody to lie on—that is, for +anybody but Miss Katherine to lie on.</p> + +<p>There was a big closet for her clothes, and +a writing-desk which had been in the family a +hundred years—maybe a thousand. I don't +know. And one side of the room was filled +with books in shelves which old Peter Sands +made and painted white for her. She lets me +look at them as much as I want, and says I can +read as many as I choose when I am old enough +to understand them. She didn't mention any +time to begin trying to understand, and so I +started at once, and I've read about forty +already.</p> + +<p>There aren't a great many pictures on Miss +Katherine's walls. Just a few besides the portraits +of her father and mother, oil paintings. +And oh, dear children what are to be, I'm going +to have my picture painted as soon as I marry +your father, so you can know what I looked +like in case I should die without warning. I +want you to have it, knowing so well what it +means to have nothing that belonged to your +mother, I not having anything—not even a +strand of hair or a message.</p> + +<p>Sometimes I wonder if I ever really did have +a Mother, or if the doctor just left me somewhere +and nobody wanted me. I must have +had one, for Betty Johnson says a baby's bound +to. That a father isn't so specially necessary, +but you've got to have a Mother. Mine died +when I was born. I wonder how that happened +when there wasn't anybody in all this great +big earth to take care of me except my father, +who didn't know how. He died, too, and then +I was an Orphan.</p> + +<p>This is a strange world, and it's better not to +try to understand things.</p> + +<p>In the winter time Miss Katherine always +has a beautiful crackling fire in her room, and +some growing flowers and green things. It was +a revelation to the girls, her room was. Not +fine, and it didn't cost much, but you felt nicer +and kinder the minute you went in it. And +it made Mrs. Reagan's grand parlors seem like +shining brass and tinkling cymbals. I wonder +why?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III</h2> + +<h2>MARY, FREQUENTLY MARTHA</h2> + + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="images/i.png" alt="I" title="I" /></div><p> + am going to write a history of my +life. The things that happen in this +place are the same things, just like +our breakfasts, dinners, and suppers. +They wouldn't be interesting to hear +about, so while waiting for something +real exciting to put down, I am going to write +my history.</p> + +<p>I don't know very much about who I am. I +wish my Mother had left a diary about herself, +but she didn't. Nobody, not even Miss Katherine, +will tell me who I was before I came here, +which I did when I was three. I know my +nurse brought me, but I can't remember what +she looked like, and when she went away without +me: I never saw nor heard of her again. +I don't even know her name. I thought it was +fine to play in a big yard with a lot of children, +and I soon stopped crying for my nurse.</p> + +<p>I never did see much sense in crying. Everybody +was good to me, and not being old enough +to know I was a Charity child, and by nature +happy, they used to call me Cricket. Sometimes +some of them call me that now.</p> + +<p>A hundred dozen times I have asked Miss +Katherine to tell me something about myself, +but in some way she always gets out of it. I +know my mother and father are dead, but that's +all I do know; and I wouldn't ask Miss Bray +if I had to stand alone for ever and ever.</p> + +<p>Sometimes I believe Miss Katherine knows +something she won't tell me, but since I found +out she don't like me to ask her I've stopped. +And not being able to ask out what I'd like, I +think a lot more, and some nights when I can't +go to sleep, it gives me an awful sinking feeling +right down in my stomach, to think in all this +great big world there isn't a human that's any +kin to me.</p> + +<p>I might have come from the heavens above +or the depths below, only I didn't, and being +like other girls in size and shape and feelings, +I know I once did have a Mother and Father. +But if they had relations they've kept quiet, +and it's plain they don't want to know anything +about me, never having asked.</p> + +<p>It would make me miserable—this aloneness +would, if I let it. I won't let it. I have got +to look out for Mary Cary, frequently Martha, +and when you're miserable you don't get much +of anything that's going around. I won't be +unhappy. I just won't. I haven't enough +other blessings.</p> + +<p>But not being able to speak out as much as +I would like on some things personal, I got +into the habit of talking to my other self, which +I named Martha, and which I call my secret +sister. Martha is my every-day self, like the +Bible Martha who did things, and didn't worry +trying to find out what couldn't be found out, +specially about why God lets Mothers die.</p> + +<p>Mary is my Sunday self who wonders and +wonders at everything and asks a million questions +inside, and goes along and lets people +think she is truly Martha when she knows all +the time she isn't. And if I do hold out and +write a history of my life, it's going to be a +Martha and Mary history; for some days I'm +one, some another, and whichever I happen +to be is plain to be seen.</p> + +<p>When I grow up I am going to marry a +million-dollar man, so I can travel around the +world and have a house in Paris with twenty +bath-rooms in it. And I'm going to have horses +and automobiles and a private car and balloons, +if they are working all right by that time. I +hope they will be, for I want something in +which I can soar up and sit and look down on +other people.</p> + +<p>All my life people have looked down on me, +passing me by like I was a Juny bug or a +caterpillar, and I don't wonder. I'm merely +Mary Cary with fifty-eight more just like me. +Blue calico, white dots for winter, white calico, +blue dots for summer. Black sailor hats and +white sailor hats with blue capes for cold +weather, and no fire to dress by, and freezing +fingers when it's cold, and no ice-water when +it's hot.</p> + +<p>Yes, dear Mary, you and I are going to marry +a rich man. (Martha is writing to-day.) I +will try to love him, but if I can't I will be +polite to him and travel alone as much as possible. +But I am going to be rich some day. +I am. And when I come back to Yorkburg +eyes will bulge, for the clothes I am going to +wear will make mouths water, they're going to +be so grand. Miss Katherine would be ashamed +of that and make me ashamed, but this writing +is for the relief of feelings.</p> + +<p>But there's one thing I'm surer of than I +am of being rich, and that is that there are +to be no secrets about my children's mother. +They are to know all about me I can tell, which +won't be much or distinguished, but what there +is they're to know. And that's the chief reason +I'm going to write my history, so as to remember +in case I forget.</p> + +<p>Well, now I will begin. I am eleven years +and eleven months and three days old. I don't +have birthday parties. The Yorkburg Female +Orphan Asylum is a large house with a wide +hall in the middle, and a wing on one side that +makes it look like Major Green, who lost one +arm in the war.</p> + +<p>There are large grounds around the house, +and around the grounds is a high brick wall +in front and a wooden fence back and sides. +The children and the chickens use the grounds +at the back; the front has grass and flowers, and +is for company, which is seldom. Sometimes, +just because I can't help it, I chase a chicken +through the front so as to know how it feels to +run in the grass, which it is forbidden to do.</p> + +<p>Forbidden things are so much nicer than unforbidden. +I love to do them until they're +done.</p> + +<p>The Asylum is on King Street, almost at the +very end, and there isn't much passing, just +the Tates and the Gordons and a few others +living farther on. The dining-room is in the +basement, half below the ground, and on cloudy +days the lamps have to be lighted—that is, they +used to. Now we have electric lights, and I +just love to turn them on. It's such a grand +way to get a thing done, just to press a button.</p> + +<p>The dining-room has a picture over the +mantel of a cow standing in yellow-brown +grass, and, though hideous, it's a great comfort. +That cow understands our feelings at mealtimes, +and we understand hers.</p> + +<p>Humane meals are very much like yellow-brown +grass, and our clothes are on the same +order as our meals. As for our days, if it wasn't +for calendars we wouldn't know one from the +other, except Sundays, for, unlike the stars +mentioned by St. Paul, they differ not.</p> + +<p>The rising-bell rings at five o'clock, and all +except the very littlest get up and clean up +until seven, when we march into the dining-room. +At 7.25 we rise at the tap of Miss Bray's +bell, and those who have more cleaning up-stairs +march out; those who clear the table +and wash the dishes stay behind. At 8.30 we +march into the school-room, where we have +prayers and calisthenics. The calisthenics are +fine. At nine we begin recitations.</p> + +<p>We have a teacher who lives in town, Miss +Elvira Strother. She's a good teacher. The +older girls help teach the little ones, and next +year I'm to help.</p> + +<p>This Asylum is over ninety (90) years old, +but looks much older. There is just money +enough to run it, and it hasn't had any paint +or improvements in the memory of man, except +the electric lights. The town put those +in for safety, and don't charge for them.</p> + +<p>I wish the town would put in bath-tubs for +the same reason. It would make the children +much nicer. They just naturally don't like to +wash, and one small pitcher of water for two +girls don't allow much splashing.</p> + +<p>But Yorkburg hasn't any water-works, not +being born with them. I mean, water-works +not being the fashion when Yorkburg was first +begun, nobody has ever thought of putting +them in. Mr. Loyall, he's the mayor, says +everybody has gotten on very well for over +two hundred years without them, and he don't +see any use in stirring up the subject. So +there'll never be any change until he's dead, +and in Yorkburg nobody dies till the last +thing.</p> + +<p>There wouldn't be any electric lights if the +shoe factory hadn't come here. The men who +brought it came from New Jersey, and they +wanted light, and got it. And Yorkburg was +so pleased that it moved a little and made +some light for itself; and now everything in +town just blazes, even the Asylum.</p> + +<p>I used to sleep in No. 4, but I don't sleep +there now. It is a big room, and has six windows +in it, and in winter we children used to +play we were arctic explorers and would search +for icebergs. The North Pole was the Reagan's +house, half-way down the street, and it might +as well have been, for it was as much beyond +our reach.</p> + +<p>But it was the one thing we were all going +to get some day when we married rich. And +when we got it, we were going to drive up to +the Galt House—that's the Home for Poor +and Proud Ladies—and ask for Mrs. Reagan, +who was to be in it in the third floor back, +and leave her some old clothes with the buttons +off, and old magazines. None of us could bear +Mrs. Reagan—not a single one.</p> + +<p>It is a beautiful house, Mrs. Reagan's is. It +has large white pillars in the front and back, +and it's got three bath-rooms, and a big tank +in the back yard. And it has velvet curtains +over the lace ones, and gold furniture and pictures +with gold frames a foot wide.</p> + +<p>I heard Miss Katherine talking about it to +Miss Webb one night. They were laughing +about something Miss Katherine said was the +most impossible of all, and Miss Webb said it +was desecrating for such a stately old house to +fall into the hands of such bulgarians. What +are bulgarians? I don't know. But they're not +ladies.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Reagan is not a lady. The way I found +it out was this. Miss Jones, she's our housekeeper, +sent a message to her one day by +Bertha Reed and me about some pickles. +Bertha is awful timid, and she didn't know +whether or not we ought to go to the front +door; but I did, and I told her to come on.</p> + +<p>"I don't go to back doors, if I don't know +my family history," I said. "I know who I +am, and something inside of me tells me where +to go." And I pressed the button so hard I +thought I'd broken it unintentional.</p> + +<p>The man-servant opened the door and looked +at us as if weary and surprised, and said nothing.</p> + +<p>"Is Mrs. Reagan in?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"She is."</p> + +<p>That's all he said. He waited. I waited. +Then I stepped forward.</p> + +<p>"We will come in," I said. "And you go +and tell her Mary Cary would like to see her, +having a message from Miss Jones." And he +was so surprised he moved aside, and in I +walked.</p> + +<p>I had heard so much about this house that I +wasn't going to miss seeing what was in it, if +that fool man was rude; so while he was gone +to get Mrs. Reagan I counted everything in the +front parlor as quick as I could, and told +Bertha to count everything in the back.</p> + +<p>There were three sofas and two mirrors and +nine chairs and six rugs and six tables and +two pianos, one little old-fashioned one and a +big new one; and three stools and seventeen +candlesticks and four pedestals with statuary +on them, some broken, all naked; and seven +palms and twenty-three pictures and two lamps +and five red-plush curtains, three pairs over the +lace ones and two at the doors; and as for +ornaments, it was a shop. And not one single +book.</p> + +<p>I am sure I got the things right, for I'd been +practising remembering at observation parties, +in case I ever got a chance to see inside this +house; and I looked hard so I could tell the +girls.</p> + +<p>Poor Bertha was so frightened she didn't remember +anything but the clock and a china +cat and an easel and picture, and before I +could count Mrs. Reagan came in.</p> + +<p>She stopped in the doorway, and had we +come from leper-land she couldn't have held +herself farther off.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing in here?" she asked, +and she tried the haughty air—"What are you +doing in here?"</p> + +<p>"We were waiting for you," I said. "We +have a message from Miss Jones."</p> + +<p>"Well, another time don't wait in here, and +don't come to the front door if you have a +message from Miss Jones or Miss Any-body-else. +I don't want any pickles this year. Had I +wanted any I would have sent her word. +You understand? Don't ever come here again +in this way!" And she waved us out as if we +were flies.</p> + +<p>For a minute I looked at her as if she were +a Mrs. Jorley's wax-works, and then I made a +bow like I make in charades.</p> + +<p>"We understand," I said. "And we will +not come again. We've heard a good many +people in Yorkburg have been once and no +more." And I bowed again and walked past +her like she was a stage character, which she +was, being a pretence and nothing else.</p> + +<p>Mad? I tell you, I was Martha for a week, +and then I saw, real sudden, how silly I was to +let a bulgarian make me mad.</p> + +<p>But if I'm ever expected to love anything +like that, it will be expecting too much of Mary +Cary, mostly Martha, for she isn't an enemy. +She's just a make-believe of something she +wasn't born into being and don't know how +to make herself. She don't agree with my +nature, and if I had a parlor she couldn't come +into it either. She could not.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV</h2> + +<h2>THE STEPPED-ON AND THE STEPPERS</h2> + + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="images/i.png" alt="I" title="I" /></div><p> + don't believe I ever have written +anything about my first years at this +Asylum. I am naturally a wandering +person. Well, I was happy. I +know I've said that before, but Miss +Katherine says that's one of the few +things you can say often.</p> + +<p>I had a kitten, and a chicken which I killed +by mistake. I took it to the pump to wash it, +and it lost its breath and died. I still put +flowers on the place where its grave was.</p> + +<p>It was my first to die. I have lost many +others since: a cat, and a rabbit, and a rooster +called Napoleon because he was so strutty and +domineering to his wives. I didn't put up anything +to his grave. I didn't think the hens +would like it. They just despised him.</p> + +<p>Then there were the remains of Rebecca +Baker. She was of rags, with button eyes and +no teeth, just marks for them; but I loved her +very much. I kept her as long as there was +anything to hold her by; but after legs and +arms went, and the back of her head got so +thin from lack of sawdust that she had neuralgia +all the time, I found her dead one morning, +and buried her at once.</p> + +<p>I loved Rebecca Baker: not for looks, but +for comfort. I could talk to her without fear +of her telling. She always knew how hungry +I was, and how I hated oatmeal without sugar, +and she never talked back.</p> + +<p>During the years from three to nine I lived +just mechanical, except on the inside. I got +up to a bell and cleaned to a bell, and sat +down to eat to a bell; rose to a bell, went to +school to a bell, came out to a bell, worked to +a bell, sewed to a bell, played to a bell, said +my prayers to a bell, got in bed to a bell, and +the next day and every day did the same thing +over to the same old bell.</p> + +<p>But when I marry my children's father there +are to be no bells in the house we live in. Only +buttons, with no particular time to be pressed.</p> + +<p>We go to church to a bell, too; that, is to +Sunday-school. We always go to St. John's +Sunday-school—Episcopal. The man who left +this place put it in his will that we had to, but +we go to all the other churches. Episcopal the +first Sunday, Methodist the second, Presbyterian +the third, and Baptist the fourth, and when we +get through we begin all over again.</p> + +<p>We go to church like we do everything else, +two by two. Start at a tap of that same old +bell, and march along like wooden figures +wound up; and the people who see us don't +think we are really truly children or like theirs, +except in shape inside. They think we just +love our hideous clothes, and that we ought +to be thankful for molasses and bread-and-milk +every night in the week but one, and if +we're not, we're wicked. Rich people think +queer things.</p> + +<p>Sundays at the Humane are terribly religious.</p> + +<p>They begin early and last until after supper, +and if anybody is sorry when Sunday is over, +it's never been mentioned out loud. We have +prayers and Bible-reading before breakfast +every day, but on Sundays longer. Then we +go to Sunday-school, where some of the children +stare at us like we were foreign heathen who +have come to get saved. Some nudge each +other and laugh. But real many are nice and +sweet, and I just love that little Minnie Dawes, +who sits in front of me. She wears the prettiest +hats in Yorkburg, and I get lots of ideas from +them. I trim hats in my mind all the time +Miss Sallie is talking—- Miss Sallie is our teacher.</p> + +<p>She is a good lady, Miss Sallie Ray is. Her +chief occupation is religion, and as for going to +church, it's the true joy of her life. She's in +love with Mr. Benson, the Superintendent, and +very regular at all the services. So is he.</p> + +<p>But for teaching children Miss Sallie wasn't +meant. She really wasn't. She never surely +knows the lesson herself, and it was such fun +asking her all sorts of questions just to see +her flounder round for answers that I used to +pretend I wanted to know a lot of things I +didn't. But I don't do that now. It was like +punching a lame cat to see it hop, and I +stopped.</p> + +<p>She don't ask me anything, either. Never +has since the day Mr. Benson came in our +class and asked for a little review, and Martha +Cary made trouble, of course.</p> + +<p>Miss Sallie was so red and excited by Mr. +Benson sitting there beside her that she didn't +know what she was doing. She didn't, or she +wouldn't have asked me questions, knowing I +never say the things I ought. But after a +minute she did ask me, fanning just as hard +as she could. It was in January.</p> + +<p>"Now, Mary Cary, tell us something of the +people we have been studying about this winter," +she said, "Mention something of Abraham, +Isaac, and Jacob, and Peter and Paul. +Who was Abraham?"</p> + +<p>"Abraham was a coward," I said.</p> + +<p>"A what?" And her voice was a little +shriek. "A what?"</p> + +<p>"A coward. He was! He passed his wife +off for his sister, fearing trouble for himself, +and not thinking of consequences for her."</p> + +<p>"That will do," she said, and she fanned +harder than ever, and looked real frightened at +Mr. Benson, who was blowing his nose. "Susie +Rice, who was Jacob?"</p> + +<p>Susie didn't know. Nobody knew, so I spoke +again.</p> + +<p>"Jacob was a rascal. He deceived his father +and stole from his brother. But he prospered +and repented, and died prominent."</p> + +<p>Mr. Benson got up and said he believed his +nose was bleeding, and went out quick, and +since then Miss Sallie has never asked me a +single question. Not one.</p> + +<p>Now I wonder what made Martha speak out +like that? Abraham and Jacob were good men +who did some bad things, but generally only +their goodness is mentioned. While you're living +it's apt to be the other way.</p> + +<p>But I'm glad the bad is overlooked in time. +Maybe that is what God will do with everybody. +He'll wipe out all the wrongness and +meanness, and see through it to the good. I +hope that's the way it's going to be, for that's +my only chance.</p> + +<p>Since Miss Sallie stopped asking me anything, +and I her, I have a lovely time in my +mind taking things off the other children and +putting them on the Orphans. There's Margaret +Evans. In the winter she's always blue +and frozen, and I'd give her that Mallory +child's velvet coat and gray muff and tippet, +and put Margaret's blue cape and calico dress +on her.</p> + +<p>Poor little Margaret! She's so humble and +thankful she gets even less than the rest, it +looks like, though I suppose in clothes she has +the same allowance, and the difference, maybe, +is in herself.</p> + +<p>Some people are born to be stepped on, and +of steppers there are always a-plenty.</p> + +<p>After Sunday-school we walk to the church +we're going to, two by two, just alike and all +in blue. The minister always mentions us in +his prayers, except at St. John's, the prayer-book +not providing for Orphans in particular.</p> + +<p>When church is over we march home and +have dinner, and after dinner we study the +lesson for next Sunday and practise hymns +until time for the afternoon service. That begins +at four, and some of the town ministers +preach or talk, generally preach, long and +wearisome.</p> + +<p>The Episcopal minister gets through in a +hurry. We love to have him. He talks so +fast we don't half understand, and before we +know it he's got his hand up and we hear him +saying: "And now to the Father and to the +Son—." And the rest is mumbled, but we +know he's through and is glad of it, and so +are we.</p> + +<p>The Presbyterian Sunday is the longest and +solemnest, and I always write a new story in +my mind when Dr. Moffett preaches. He is +very learned, and knows Hebrew and Latin and +Greek, but not much about little girls.</p> + +<p>Poor Mrs Blamire; she tries to keep awake, +but she can't do it; and after the first five +minutes she puffs away just as regular as if +she were wound up. Once I shut my eyes and +tried to puff like her, but I forgot to be careful, +and did it so loud the girls came near getting +in trouble. Dr. Moffett is deaf, and didn't +hear. Miss Bray heard.</p> + +<p>But the Baptist minister don't let you sleep +on his Sunday. He used to try to make the +girls come up and profess, but now he don't +ask even that. Just sit where you are and +hold up your hand, and when you join the +church—any church will answer—you are +saved. I don't understand it.</p> + +<p>We all like the Methodist minister. I don't +think he knows many dead languages. He +don't have much time to study, being so busy +helping people; but he knows how to talk to +us children, and he always makes me wish I +wasn't so bad. He always does, and the Mary +part of me just rises right up on his Sunday, +and Martha is ashamed of herself. He believes +in getting better by the love way. So +do I.</p> + +<p>Miss Katherine is going away next week to +stay two months. Going to her army brother's +first, and then to the California brother, who's +North somewhere. And from the time she told +me I've felt like Robinson Crusoe's daughter +would have felt, if he'd had one, and gone off +and left her on that desert island.</p> + +<p>I don't know what we're going to do when +she goes away. I could shed gallons of tears, +only I don't like tears, and then, too, she might +see me. I want her to think I'm glad she's +going, for she needs a change. But, oh, the difference +her going will make!</p> + +<p>I will be nothing but Martha. I know it. +Nothing but Martha until she comes back. +The Mary part of me is so sick at the thought +she hasn't any backbone, and Martha is showing +signs already.</p> + +<p>And that shows I'm just nothing, for Miss +Katherine has taught us, without exactly telling, +how we can't do what we ought by wanting. +We've got to work. In plain words, its +watch and pray, and with me it's the watching +that's most important. If I'm not on the lookout, +and don't nab Martha right away, praying +don't have any effect. I'm a natural pray-er, +but on watching I'm poor.</p> + +<p>I couldn't make any one understand what +Miss Katherine has done for us since she's been +here. Some words don't tell things. The +nursing when we're sick is only a part, and +though she's fixed up one of the rooms just +like a hospital-room, with everything so white +and clean and sweet in it that it's real joy to be +sick, we're not sick often.</p> + +<p>It's the keeping us well that's kept her so +busy. She's explained so many things to us +we didn't know before, she's almost made +me like my body. I didn't use to. Not +a bit.</p> + +<p>It's such a nuisance, and needs so much attention +to keep it going right. So often it was +freezing cold, or blazing hot, or hungry, and +had to be dressed in such ugly clothes that I +was ashamed of it. And if ever I could have +hung it up in the closet or put it away in a +bureau-drawer, I would have done it while I +went out and had a good time. But I couldn't +do it. I had to take it everywhere I went, +and until Miss Katherine came I had mighty +little use for it.</p> + +<p>But since she's been here the girls are much +cleaner, and we don't mind so much not having +the things to eat that we like. That is, not +quite so much. But almost. When you're +downright hungry for the taste of things, it +don't satisfy to say to yourself "You don't +really need it. Be quiet." And being made +of flesh and blood, most of us would rather eat +the things we want to than the things we +ought to.</p> + +<p>But the dining-room is much nicer. We have +flowers on the table, and the cooking is better, +though we still have prunes.</p> + +<p>I loathe prunes.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V</h2> + +<h2>"HERE COMES THE BRIDE!"</h2> + + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="images/i.png" alt="I" title="I" /></div><p> + knew when Miss Katherine left I'd +be nothing but Martha. That's what +I've been—Martha.</p> + +<p>She hadn't been gone two days when +Mary gave up, and as prompt as possible +Martha invented trouble.</p> + +<p>It was this way. In the summer we have +much more time than in the winter, and the +children kept coming to me asking me to make +up something, and all of a sudden a play came +in my mind. I just love acting. The play was +to be the marriage of Dr. Rudd and Miss Bray.</p> + +<p>You see, Miss Bray is dead in love with Dr. +Rudd—really addled about him. And whenever +he comes to see any of the children who +are sick she is so solicitous and sweet and +smiley that we call her, to ourselves, Ipecac +Mollie. Other days, plain Mollie Cottontail. It +seemed to me if we could just think him into +marrying her, it would be the best work we'd +ever done, and I thought it was worth trying.</p> + +<p>They say if you just think and think and +think about a thing you can make somebody +else think about it, too. And not liking Dr. +Rudd, we didn't mind thinking her on him, +and so we began. Every day we'd meet for +an hour and think together, and each one +promised to think single, and in between times +we got ready.</p> + +<p>Becky Drake says love goes hard late in life, +and sometimes touches the brain. Maybe that +accounts for Miss Bray.</p> + +<p>She is fifty-three years old, and all frazzled +out and done up with adjuncts. But Dr. +Rudd, being a man with not even usual sense, +and awful conceited, don't see what we see, +and swallows easy. Men are funny—funny as +some women.</p> + +<p>I don't think he's ever thought of courting +Miss Bray. But she's thought of it, and for +once we truly tried to help her.</p> + +<p>Well, we got ready, beginning two days after +Miss Katherine left, and the play came off +Friday night, the third of July. In consequence +of that play I have been in a retreat, +and on the Fourth of July I made a New-Year +resolution.</p> + +<p>I resolved I would do those things I should not +do, and leave undone the things I should. I +would not disappoint Miss Bray. She looked for +things in me to worry her. She should find them.</p> + +<p>Well, I was in that top-story summer-resort +for ten days. Put there for reflection. I reflected. +And on the difference between Miss +Katherine and Miss Bray.</p> + +<p>But the play was a corker; it certainly was. +We chose Friday night because Miss Jones always +takes tea with her aunt that night, and +Miss Bray goes to choir practising. I wish +everybody could hear her sing! Gabriel ought +to engage her to wake the dead, only they'd +want to die again.</p> + +<p>Dr. Rudd is in the choir, and she just lives +on having Friday nights to look forward to.</p> + +<p>The ceremony took place in the basement-room +where we play in bad weather. It's +across from the dining-room, the kitchen being +between, and it's a right nice place to march +in, being long and narrow.</p> + +<p>I was the preacher, and Prudence Arch and +Nita Polley, Emma Clark and Margaret Witherspoon +were the bridesmaids.</p> + +<p>Lizzie Wyatt was the bride, and Katie Freeman, +who is the tallest girl in the house, though +only fourteen, was the groom.</p> + +<p>Katie is so thin she would do as well for one +thing in this life as another, so we made her +Dr. Rudd.</p> + +<p>We didn't have but two men. Miss Webb says +they're really not necessary at weddings, except +the groom and the minister. Nobody notices +them, and, besides, we couldn't get the pants.</p> + +<p>I was an Episcopal minister, so I wouldn't +need any. Mrs. Blamire's raincoat was the +gown, and I cut up an old petticoat into strips, +and made bands to go down the front and +around my neck. Loulie Prentiss painted some +crosses and marks on them with gilt, so as to +make me look like a Bishop. I did. A little +cent one.</p> + +<p>There wasn't any trouble about my costume, +because I could soap my hair and make it lie +flat, and put on the robe, and there I was. +But how to get a pair of pants for Katie Freeman +was a puzzle.</p> + +<p>Nothing male lives in the Humane. Not +even a billy-goat. We couldn't borrow pants, +knowing it wouldn't be safe; and what to do +I couldn't guess.</p> + +<p>Well, the day came, and, still wondering +where those pants were to come from, I went +out in the yard where a man was painting a +window-shutter that had blown off a back +window. Right before my eyes was the woodhouse +door wide open, and something said to +me:</p> + +<p>"Walk in."</p> + +<p>I walked in; and there in a corner on a woodpile +was a real nice pair of pants, and a collar +and cravat, and a coat and a tin lunch-bucket, +which had been eaten—the lunch had. And +when I saw those pants I knew Katie Freeman +was fixed.</p> + +<p>They belonged to the man who was painting +the shutter.</p> + +<p>It was an awful hot day, and he had taken +them off in the woodhouse and put on his overalls, +and when he wasn't looking I slipped out +with them, and went up to Miss Bray's room. +She was down-stairs talking to Miss Jones, and +I hid them under the mattress of her bed.</p> + +<p>I knew when she found they were missing +she'd turn to me to know where they were. +No matter what went wrong, from the cat +having kittens or the chimney smoking, she +looked to me as the cause. And if there was +to be any searching, No. 4—I sleep in No. 4 +when Miss Katherine is away—would be the +first thing searched. So I put them under her +bed.</p> + +<p>I wish Miss Katherine could have seen that +man about six o'clock, when the time came for +him to go home. She would have laughed, too. +She couldn't have helped it.</p> + +<p>He is young, and Bermuda Ray says he is in +love with Callie Payne, who lives just down +the street. He has to pass her house going +home, and I guess that's the reason he wore +his good clothes and took them off so carefully. +But whether that was it or not, he was the +rippenest, maddest man I ever saw in my life +when he went to put on his pants and there +were none to put.</p> + +<p>I almost rolled off the porch up-stairs, where +I was watching. I never did know before how +much a man thinks of his pants.</p> + +<p>He soon had Miss Bray and Miss Jones and a +lot of the girls out in the yard, and everybody +was talking at once; and then I heard him say:</p> + +<p>"But I tell you, Miss Bray, I put 'em here, +right on this woodpile. And where are they? +You run this place, and you are responsible +for—"</p> + +<p>"Not for pants." And Miss Bray's voice +was so shrill it sounded like a broken whistle. +"I'm responsible for no man's pants. When +a man can't take care of his pants, he shouldn't +have them. Besides, you shouldn't have left +yours in the woodhouse when working in a +Female Orphan Asylum." And she glared so +at him that the poor male thing withered, and +blushed real beautiful.</p> + +<p>He's a pretty young man, and I felt sorry for +him when Miss Bray snapped so. I certainly did.</p> + +<p>"My overalls are my working-pants," he +said, real meek-like, and his voice was trembling +so I thought he was going to cry. "It's very +strange that in a place like this a man's clothes +are not safe. I thought—"</p> + +<p>"Well, you had no business thinking. Next +time keep your pants on." And Miss Bray, +who's good on a bluff, pretended like she had +been truly injured, and the poor little painter +sat down.</p> + +<p>Presently his face changed, as if a thought +had come into his mind from a long way off, +and he said, in another kind of voice:</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, Miss Bray. I believe +I know who done it. It's a friend of mine who +tries to be funny every now and then, and +calls it joking. I'll choke his liver out of him!" +And he settled himself on the woodpile to wait +until dark before he went home.</p> + +<p>If anybody thinks that wedding was slumpy, +they think wrong. It was thrilly. When the +bride and groom and the bridesmaids came in, +all the girls were standing in rows on either +side of the walk, making an aisle in between, +and they sang a wedding-song I had invented +from my heart.</p> + +<p>It was to the Lohengrin tune, which is a little +wobbly for words, but they got them in +all right, keeping time with their hands. These +are the words:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>1<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Here comes the Bride,<br /></span> +<span>God save the Groom!<br /></span> +<span>And please don't let any chil-i-il-dren come,<br /></span> +<span>For they don't know<br /></span> +<span>How children feel,<br /></span> +<span>Nor do they know how with chil-dren to deal.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>2<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>She's still an old maid,<br /></span> +<span>Though she would not have been<br /></span> +<span>Could she have mar-ri-ed any kind of man.<br /></span> +<span>But she could not.<br /></span> +<span>So to the Humane<br /></span> +<span>She came, and caus-ed a good deal of pain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>3<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But now she's here<br /></span> +<span>To be married, and go<br /></span> +<span>Away with her red-headed, red-bearded beau.<br /></span> +<span>Have mercy, Lord,<br /></span> +<span>And help him to bear<br /></span> +<span>What we've been doing this many a year!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And such singing! We'd been practising in the +back part of the yard, and humming in bed, so +as to get the words into the tune; but we hadn't +let out until that night. That night we let go.</p> + +<p>There's nothing like singing from your heart, +and, though I was the minister and stood on a +box which was shaky, I sang, too. I led.</p> + +<p>The bride didn't think it was modest to +hold up her head, and she was the only silent +one. But the bridegroom and bridesmaids sang, +and it sounded like the revivals at the Methodist +church. It was grand.</p> + +<p>And that bride! She was Miss Bray. A +graven image of her couldn't have been more +like her.</p> + +<p>She was stuffed in the right places, and her +hair was frizzed just like Miss Bray's. Frizzed +in front, and slick and tight in the back; and +her face was a purple pink, and powdered all +over, with a piece of dough just above her +mouth on the left side to correspond with +Miss Bray's mole.</p> + +<p>And she held herself so like her, shoulders +back, and making that little nervous sniffle +with her nose, like Miss Bray makes when she's +excited, that once I had to wink at her to stop.</p> + +<p>The groom didn't look like Dr. Rudd. But +she wore men's clothes, and that's the only +way you'd know some men were men, and +almost anything will do for a groom. Nobody +noticed him.</p> + +<p>We were getting on just grand, and I was +marrying away, telling them what they must +do and what they mustn't. Particularly that +they mustn't get mad and leave each other, +for Yorkburg was very old-fashioned and didn't +like changes, and would rather stick to its mistakes +than go back on its word. And then I +turned to the bride.</p> + +<p>"Miss Bray," I said, "have you told this +man you are marrying that you are two-faced +and underhand, and can't be trusted to tell the +truth? Have you told him that nobody loves +you, and that for years you have tried to pass +for a lamb, when you are an old sheep? And +does he know that though you're a good manager +on little and are not lazy, that your temper's +been ruined by economizing, and that at +times, if you were dead, there'd be no place +for you? Peter wouldn't pass you, and the +devil wouldn't stand you. And does he know +he's buying a pig in a bag, and that the best +wedding present he could give you would be +a set of new teeth? And will you promise to +stop pink powder and clean your finger-nails +every day? And—"</p> + +<p>But I got no further, for something made me +look up, and there, standing in the door, was +the real Miss Bray.</p> + +<p>All I said was—"Let us pray!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI</h2> + +<h2>"MY LADY OF THE LOVELY HEART"</h2> + + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="images/b.png" alt="B" title="B" /></div><p> +eautiful gloriousness! Miss Katherine +has come back!</p> + +<p>What a different place some people +can make the same place!</p> + +<p>Yesterday there wasn't an interesting +thing in Yorkburg. Nothing but +dust and shabby old houses and poky people +who knew nothing to talk about, and to-day—oh, +to-day it's dear! I love it!</p> + +<p>You see, after that wedding everything went +wrong. The girls said it wasn't fair for me to +be punished so much more than the rest, and +they wanted to tell the Board about it; but +for once I agreed with Miss Bray.</p> + +<p>"I did it. I made it up and fixed everything, +and you all just agreed," I said. "And if anybody +has to pay, I'm the one to do it." And +I paid all right. Paid to the full. +But it's over now, and I'm not going to think +about it any more. When a thing is over, that +should be the end of it, Miss Katherine says, +and with me what she says goes.</p> + +<p>Miss Bray is away. If some of her relations +liked her well enough to have her stay a few +months with them, she could get leave of +absence; but she's never been known to stay +but four weeks. She's gone to visit her sister +somewhere in Fauquier County. Her sister's +husband always leaves home for his health +when she arrives, and Miss Bray says she thinks +it's so queer he has the same kind of spells +at the same time every year.</p> + +<p>But now Miss Katherine's back, nothing matters. +Nothing!</p> + +<p>Yesterday I was just a squirrel in a cage. +All day long I was saying: "Well, Squirrel, turn +your little wheel. That's all you can do; turn +your little wheel." And inside I was turning +as hard and fast as a sure-enough squirrel turns; +but outside I was just mechanical.</p> + +<p>I wonder sometimes I don't blaze up right +before people's eyes. I'm so often on fire—that +is, my mind and heart are—that I think at times +my body will surely catch. Thus far it hasn't, +but if I don't go somewhere, see something, do +something different, it's apt to, and the doctors +won't have a name for the new kind of inflammation.</p> + +<p>I'm going to die after a while, and I'm so +afraid I will do it before I travel some that +if I were a boy child I'd go anyhow. But I +can't go. That is, not yet.</p> + +<p>Miss Katherine has been travelling for two +months up North. She's been with her brother +and his wife. The wife is sick, or she thinks +she is, which Miss Katherine says is a hard +disease to cure, and she's kept them moving +from place to place.</p> + +<p>They wanted Miss Katherine to go to Europe +with them this fall, but she isn't going. She's +been twice, and says she don't want to go. +But I don't believe it's that. I believe it's +something else.</p> + +<p>But sufficient unto the day is the happiness +thereof! I'm going to enjoy her staying, and +already everything seems different.</p> + +<p>You see, Miss Katherine lives here just for +love, and when you do things for love you do +them differently from the way you do them +for money.</p> + +<p>We are just Charity children, some not knowing +who they are, I being one of that kind; but +she never treats us as if she thinks of that. If +we were relations she liked, she couldn't be +kinder or nicer, and when a child is in trouble +Miss Katherine is the one that's gone to at +once.</p> + +<p>She is never too tired or too busy to listen, +but she's awful firm; and there's no nonsense +or sullenness or shamming where she is. She +can see through the insides of your soul, up +to the top and down to the tip, and in front +of her eyes you are just your plain self. Only +that, and nothing more. They are gray, her +eyes are, with a dark rim around the gray part; +and she has the longest black lashes I ever saw. +Her hair is black, too, like an Eastern Princess +and in the morning when she puts her cap on +and her nurse's white dress, which she wears +when on duty, I call her to myself, "My Lady +of the Lovely Heart," and I could kneel down +and say my prayers to her.</p> + +<p>I don't, though, for she would tell me pretty +quick to get up. She doesn't like things like +that, and, of course, it would look queer.</p> + +<p>But I don't know anybody who isn't queer +about something. Either stupid queer, or silly +queer, or smart queer, or beautiful queer, or religious +queer, or selfish queer, or some other kind.</p> + +<p>Miss Bray is the Queen of Queers.</p> + +<p>But Miss Katherine is queer, too. If she wasn't, +she wouldn't stay at this Orphan Asylum, just +to help us children, and doing it as cheerfully +as if she were happier here than she would be +anywhere else. If her staying isn't queerness, +beautiful queerness, what is it?</p> + +<p>I don't understand it, and I don't believe I +ever will understand how any one who can get +ice-cream will take prunes.</p> + +<p>But Miss Katherine has got a way of seeing +the funny side of things, and sometimes I +can't tell whether she minds prunes and pruny +things or not.</p> + +<p>I'm sure she does, but she says, when you can't +change a thing, don't let it change you, and that +an inward disposition is hard on other people.</p> + +<p>I don't know what that means, but I think +it's the same as saying there's no use in always +chewing the rag. Martha is right much inclined +to be a chewer.</p> + +<p>Miss Webb is, too. She is Miss Katherine's +best friend, and I just love to hear her talk.</p> + +<p>She always comes once a week, often twice, +to spend the evening at the Asylum with Miss +Katherine, and sometimes when they think I'm +asleep, I'm not. I'd be a nuisance if I kept popping +up and saying, "I'm not asleep, speak low." +So when I can't, really can't, sleep, though I do +try, I hear them talking, and the things Miss +Webb says are a great relief to my feelings.</p> + +<p>She doesn't come to supper, orphan-asylum +suppers being refreshments to stay from, not +come to, but nearly always they make something +on a chafing-dish. Something that's good, +painful good.</p> + +<p>Miss Webb says Miss Katherine's stomach +has some rights, which is true; and when they +begin to cook, I just sleep away, breathing +regular and easy, so they won't know I am +awake, for fear they might think I am not +asleep on purpose.</p> + +<p>But I have to hold on to the bed and stuff +my ears and nose so as not to hear and smell, +for I am that hungry I could eat horse if it had +Worcestershire sauce on it. And that is what +they put in their things, which shows that in +eating, even, Miss Katherine preaches sense and +practises taste.</p> + +<p>Miss Webb just laughs at theories, and brings +all sorts of good things with her. She says +doctors have wronged more stomachs than +they've ever righted by all this dieting business, +and, while there's sense in some of it, there's more +nonsense; and as for her, she don't believe in it. +I don't know anything about it; but I don't, +either.</p> + +<p>They always save me some of whatever they +make, which I get the next day. But if I could +rise out of bed and eat as much as I want out +of that chafing-dish, there would be a funeral +Miss Bray would like to attend. The corpse +would be Mary Cary, died Martha.</p> + +<p>There is a screen at the foot of my bed, put +there so the light won't bother me and so I +won't be seen. And, thinking I am asleep, +Miss Katherine and Miss Webb talk on as if I +were dead; and it's very interesting the things +they talk about.</p> + +<p>Of course, Miss Webb came over last night, +and, after talking about two hours, she said: +"Oh, I forgot to tell you. Lizzie Lane is going +to marry Bob Rogers, and right away. I don't +suppose you've heard."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have; Lizzie wrote me." And Miss +Katherine took the hair-pins out of her hair +and let it fall down her back. "What made +her change her mind? What is she marrying +him for?"</p> + +<p>"How do I know?" And Miss Webb tasted +the chocolate to see if it was sweet enough.</p> + +<p>"How does anybody know what a man is +married for? In most cases you can't risk a +guess. Lizzie is a woman, therefore 'hath reason +or unreason for her act.'"</p> + +<p>"How did it happen? What made her change +her mind?" and Miss Katherine threw her hair-pins +on the bureau and stooped down to get her +slippers. "How does Lizzie explain it?"</p> + +<p>"She says she was so sleepy she doesn't remember +whether she said yes or no. But Bob +remembers, and the wedding is to be week after +next. He's courted her three times a year for +seven years; but since he's been living North +he hasn't even written to her, and she didn't +know he was in town until he came up that +night to see her.</p> + +<p>"He stayed until after one o'clock, and didn't +mention marriage. But as he got up to go he +told her his house was going to send him on a +six months' trip to Japan. If she would marry +him and go, say so. If not, say that, too, but +for the last time. Lizzie said she'd go."</p> + +<p>Miss Katherine fastened her kimono, put her +feet up on the chair in front of her, and clasped +her hands behind her head.</p> + +<p>"I don't wonder at the unhappy marriages," +she said. "The queer part is there aren't more +of them. Why did Bob wait eight years to talk +to Lizzie like this? Why is it a man has so +little understanding of a woman?"</p> + +<p>"Why? Because he's a Man. The Lord made +him, and there must be some reason for him; +but even the Lord must sometimes get worn +out at his dumbness. However—"</p> + +<p>She stopped, for the chocolate was boiling +over; then she began to sing:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Before marriage, men love most.<br /></span> +<span>After marriage, women best.<br /></span> +<span>Marriage many changes makes—<br /></span> +<span>Heart is happy or heart breaks."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And she sang it so many times that I went +to sleep and dreamed the dream I love most.</p> + +<p>I see hundreds and hundreds of little creatures +(they are the Mary part of little children), +and they are afraid and shivering and standing +about, not knowing where to go or what to +do. And then Miss Katherine is in the midst +of them, smiling and beckoning, and they follow +and follow, and wings come out. Just tiny +ones at first, and then larger and larger, and +presently they fly all around her, and she points +the way, smiling and cheering.</p> + +<p>And then they rise higher and higher, and off +they go, and she is alone. Tired out but glad, +because she taught them how to use their wings.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII</h2> + +<h2>"STERILIZED AND FERTILIZED"</h2> + + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="images/t.png" alt="T" title="T" /></div><p> +his is Sunday, and we have done all +the usual Sunday things. There won't +be another for seven days. For that +we give thanks in our hearts, but not +out loud.</p> + +<p>This was Presbyterian Sunday. Miss +Bray is a Presbyterian.</p> + +<p>It is a solemn thing to be a Presbyterian, +and easy for the mind, too. Everything is +fixed, and there is no unfixing. You are saved +or you are not saved, and you will never know +which it is until after you are dead and find out. +Miss Bray believes she is saved, and she takes +liberties. She also thinks everything is as God +ordered it, and she believes God ordered poor +Mrs. Craddock to die—that is, took her away. +I don't. I think it was that last baby.</p> + +<p>She had had twelve, and the thirteenth just +wore her out at the thought. There being nobody +to do anything for her, she got up and +cooked breakfast in her stocking feet when the +baby was only a week old, and that night she +had the influenza, and the next pneumonia. +On the sixth day she was dead, and so was the +baby. They forgot to feed it.</p> + +<p>I don't believe God ever took any mothers +away intentional. He never would have made +them so necessary if He had meant to take them +away when they were most needed. When +they go I believe He is sorry.</p> + +<p>I don't know how to explain it. Nobody +does, though a lot try. But I know He sees it +bigger than we do, and maybe He is working at +something that isn't finished yet.</p> + +<p>Minnie Peters is real sick. Miss Katherine +has put her in the hospital-room, and is staying +in there with her.</p> + +<p>I am all alone by myself to-night. I don't +like aloneness at night. It makes you pay too +much attention to your feelings, which Miss +Katherine says is the cause of more trouble in +this world than all other diseases put together.</p> + +<p>She says, too, that what we feel about a thing +is very often different from the way other people +feel about it. And when you don't agree +with people, the only thing you can be sure +about is that they don't agree with you. +I believe that's true. Not being by nature +much of an agree-er, and having feelings I hope +others don't, I would be a walking argument if +Miss Katherine hadn't stopped me and explained +some things I didn't realize before.</p> + +<p>Last night, being by myself, and not being +able to go to sleep, I wrote a piece of poetry.</p> + +<p>Miss Katherine says it's hard to forgive people +who think they write poetry, so I won't show +her this. But it does relieve you to write down +a lot of woozy nothing that is somehow like +you feel. This is the poem—I mean the verses:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>1<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Out upon life's ocean vast,<br /></span> +<span>With the current drifting fast,<br /></span> +<span>I am sailing. Oh, alas,<br /></span> +<span>'Tis a lonely feeling!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>2<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Why was such a trip e'er started<br /></span> +<span>On a pathway all uncharted?<br /></span> +<span>Why from loved ones was I parted?<br /></span> +<span>Who will answer? Who?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>3<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>None will answer. So I'll see<br /></span> +<span>What there is on this journey (journee)<br /></span> +<span>That will bring good-luck to me—<br /></span> +<span>I'll look out and see!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>I hope Minnie isn't going to be sick long. +She is the first girl to be really ill since Miss +Katherine came. It makes you feel so queer +in the throat to know somebody is truly sick.</p> + +<p>A lot of the girls have been sick a little with +colds and small and unserious diseases in the +past year. But Miss Katherine says it's her +business to keep us well, not just get us well +after we're sick, and she's certainly done it. +We've been weller than we ever were in our +lives, and no medicine taken. Just plain common-sense +regulations.</p> + +<p>I wonder what's the matter with Minnie? +The doctor hasn't said, but Miss Katherine is +uneasy, and she won't let anybody come in +the room. She hasn't been out herself since +yesterday.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>My, but we've had a time lately!</p> + +<p>We've been fumigated and sterilized and +fertilized so much that we are better prepared +for the happy-land than we ever were before. +But the danger of anybody going to it right +away is over.</p> + +<p>Minnie Peters has had scarlet fever, and the +commotion made her real famous.</p> + +<p>Miss Katherine knew it from the first, but +Dr. Rudd wouldn't believe it until he had to, +and Yorkburg got so excited it hasn't talked +of anything else for weeks.</p> + +<p>Minnie was awful ill. Two days and two +nights they didn't think she would live, and +for three weeks Miss Katherine didn't leave the +room. If it hadn't been for her Minnie would +be dead.</p> + +<p>Miss Katherine's room has been closed since +they first found out it was really scarlet fever +Minnie had, and I have been in No. 4 again. +She is going away to spend a week with Miss +Webb. Going to-morrow.</p> + +<p>I am so glad she is going. All of us are +glad, for she has had to do something which +shows whether you are a Christ-kind Christian +or the usual kind, and she is tired out. She +won't admit it, though, and laughs and kisses +her hand over the banister, which is all the +closer we have seen her yet.</p> + +<p>Miss Bray was scared to death. She didn't +offer to share the nursing, but she made excuses +a-plenty for not doing it. Miss Bray is a +church Christian. You couldn't make her miss +going to church. She thinks she'd have bad +luck if she did.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII</h2> + +<h2>MARY CARY'S BUSINESS</h2> + + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="images/t.png" alt="T" title="T" /></div><p> +his is a busy time of the year, and +things are moving. I'm in business. +The Apple and Entertainment business.</p> + +<p>The reason I went in business was +to make money, and the money was +to buy Christmas presents with.</p> + +<p>I didn't have a cent. Not one. Christmas +was coming. Money wasn't. And what's the +use of Christmas if you can't give something +to somebody?</p> + +<p>Religion is the only thing I know of that you +can get without money and without price, and +even that you can't keep without both. Not +being suitable to the season, I couldn't give that +away, even if I had it to spare, and wondering +what to do almost made me sick.</p> + +<p>I thought and thought until my brain curdled. +I looked over everything I had to see if there +was a thing I could sell. There wasn't. I +couldn't tell Miss Katherine, knowing she'd fix +up some way to give me some and pretend I +was earning it; and then, one day, when she +was out, I locked myself in her room, and +Martha gave Mary such a spanking talk that +Mary moved.</p> + +<p>Everything Martha had suggested before, +Mary had some excuse for not doing. Mary is +lazy at times, and, as for pride, she's full of it. +Martha generally gives the trouble, but Mary +needs plain truth every now and then, and that +day she got it. When the talk was over, there +was a plan settled on, and the plan was this.</p> + +<p>Each day in December we have an apple for +dinner. Mr. Riley sends us several barrels +every winter, and, as they won't keep, we have +one apiece until they're gone.</p> + +<p>We don't have to eat them at the table, and +when Martha told Mary you could do anything +you wanted if you wanted to hard +enough—except raise the dead, of course—the +idea came that I could sell my apple. And +right away came the thought of the boy I could +sell it to. John Maxwell is his name.</p> + +<p>He goes to our Sunday-school and is fifteen, +and croaks like a bull-frog. Ugly? Pug-dog +ugly; but he's awful nice, and for a boy has +real much sense.</p> + +<p>His father owns the shoe-factory, and has +plenty of money. I know, for he told me he +had five cents every day to get something for +lunch, and fifty cents a week to do anything +he wants with. His mother gives it to him.</p> + +<p>Well, the next Sunday he came over to talk, +like he always does after Sunday-school is out, +and I said, real quick, Mary giving signs of +silliness:</p> + +<p>"I'm in business. Did you know it?"</p> + +<p>"No," he said. "What kind? Want a +partner?"</p> + +<p>"I don't. I want customers. I'm in the +Apple business. I have an apple every day. +It's for sale. Want to buy it?"</p> + +<p>"What's the price?" Then he laughed. +"I'm from New Jersey. What's it worth?"</p> + +<p>"It's worth a cent. As you're from New +Jersey, I charge you two. Take it?"</p> + +<p>"I do." And he started to hand the money +out.</p> + +<p>But I told him I didn't want pay in advance. +And then we talked over how the apple could +be put where he could get it, and the money +where I could. We decided on a certain hole +in the Asylum fence John knew about, and +every evening that week I put my apple there +and found his two pennies. On Saturday night +I had fourteen cents. Wasn't that grand? +Fourteen cents!</p> + +<p>But the next Sunday there came near being +trouble. Roper Gordon—he's John Maxwell's +cousin—had heard about the apple selling. +He told me I wasn't charging enough, and +that he'd pay three cents for it.</p> + +<p>"I'll be dogged if you will," said John. "I'm +cornering that apple, and I'll meet you. I'll +give four."</p> + +<p>"All right," I said. "I'm in business to +make money. I'm not charging for worth, but +for want. The one who wants it most will +pay most. It can go at four."</p> + +<p>"No, it can't!" said Roper. His father is +rich, too. He's the Vice-President of the +Factory, and Roper puts on lots of airs. He +thinks money can do anything.</p> + +<p>"I'll give five. Apples in small lots come +high, and selected ones higher. John is a close +buyer, and isn't toting square."</p> + +<p>"That's a lie!" said John, and he lit out with +his right arm and gave Roper such a blow that +my heart popped right out on my tongue and +sat there. Scared? I was weak as a dead +cat.</p> + +<p>But I grabbed John and pulled him behind +me before Roper could hit back, and then in +some way they got outside, and I heard afterward +John beat Roper to a jelly.</p> + +<p>I don't blame him. If any one were to say +I wasn't square, I'd fight, too.</p> + +<p>When you don't fight, it's because what is +said is true, and you're afraid it will be found +out. And a coward. Good Lord!</p> + +<p>Anyhow, after that I got five cents a day +for my apple. John put six cents in, raising +Roper, he said, but I wouldn't keep but five.</p> + +<p>"I can't," I said. "I hate my conscience, +for even in business it pokes itself in. But +five cents is all I can take."</p> + +<p>"Which shows you're new in business, or +you'd take the other fellow's skin if he had to +have what you've got. And I'm bound to have +that apple. Bound to!" And he dug the toe +of his shoe so deep in the dirt he could have +put his foot in. We were down at the fence, +where I went to tell him he mustn't leave but +five cents any more.</p> + +<p>The Apple business was much easier than +the Entertainment business; but I enjoyed +both. Making money is exciting. I guess +that's why men love to make it.</p> + +<p>I made in all $2.34. One dollar and fifty +cents on entertaining, and eighty-four cents +on apples.</p> + +<p>The entertaining was this way. Mrs. Dick +Moon is twin to the lady who lived in a shoe. +Her house isn't far from the Asylum, and I like +her real much; but she isn't good on management. +Everything on the place just runs over +everything else, and nothing is ever ready on +time.</p> + +<p>She has money—that is, her husband has, +which Miss Katherine says isn't always the +same thing. And she has servants and a graphophone +and a pianola, but she doesn't really +seem to have anything but children, and they +are everywhere.</p> + +<p>They are the sprawly kind that lie on their +stomachs and kick their heels, and get under +your feet and on your back. And their mouths +always have molasses or sugar in the corners, +and their noses have colds, and their hands are +that sticky they leave a print on everything +they touch.</p> + +<p>But they aren't mean-bad, just bad because +they don't know what to do, and they beg me +to stay and play with them when Miss Jones +sends me over with a message. Sometimes I +do, and the day Martha gave Mary such a +rasping about making money, another thought +came besides the apples, and I went that afternoon +to see Mrs. Moon.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Moon," I said, "the children have +colds and can't go out. If Miss Bray will let +me, would you like me to come over and entertain +them during our play-hour? It's from +half-past four to half-past five. I'll come every +day from now until Christmas, and I charge +twenty-five cents a week for it."</p> + +<p>I knew my face was rambler red. I hated +to mention money, but I hated worse not to +have any to buy Miss Katherine a present +with. If she thought twenty-five cents a +week too high she could say so. But she +didn't.</p> + +<p>"Mercy, Mary Cary!" she said, "do you +mean it? Would I like you to come? Would I? +I wish I could buy you!" And she threw her +arms around me and kissed me so funny I +thought she was going to cry.</p> + +<p>"Of course I want you," she went on, after +wiping her nose. She had a cold, too. "You +can manage the children better than I, and if +you knew what one quiet hour a day meant to +the mother of seven, all under twelve, you'd +charge more than you're doing. I'll see Miss +Bray to-morrow."</p> + +<p>She saw, and Miss Bray let me come.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Moon is a member of the Board, and +Mr. Moon is rich. Miss Bray never sleeps in +waking time.</p> + +<p>Well, when Mrs. Moon paid me for the first +week, she gave me fifty cents instead of twenty-five, +and I wouldn't take it.</p> + +<p>"But you've earned it," she said, putting it +back in my hand, and giving it a little pat—a +little love pat. "You didn't say you were +coming on Sundays, and you came. Sunday is +the worst day of all. I nearly go crazy on Sunday. +No, child, don't think you're getting too +much. One doctor's visit would be two dollars, +and the prescription forty cents, anyhow. The +children would be on the bed, and my head +splitting, and Mammy as much good in keeping +them quiet as a cackling hen. I feel like +I'm cheating in only paying fifty cents. Each +nap was worth that. I wish I could engage +you by the year!" And she gave me such a +squeeze I almost lost my breath.</p> + +<p>But they are funny, those Moon children. +Sarah Sue is the oldest, and nobody ever knows +what Sarah Sue is going to say.</p> + +<p>Yesterday I made them tell me what they +were going to buy for their mother's and +father's Christmas presents, and the things +they said were queer. As queer as the presents +some grown people give each other.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to give father a set of tools," +said Bobbie. "I saw 'em in Mr. Blakey's window, +and they'll cut all right. They cost +eighty-five cents."</p> + +<p>"What are you going to give your father tools +for?" I asked. "He's not a boy."</p> + +<p>"But I am." And Bobbie jumped over a +chair on Billy's back. "You said yourself you +ought always to give a person a thing you'd +like to have, and I'd like those tools. They're +the bulliest set in Yorkburg. I'm going to give +mother a little yellow duck. That's at Mr. +Blakey's, too."</p> + +<p>"It don't cost but five cents," said Sarah +Sue, and she looked at Bobbie as if he were +not even the dust of the earth. Then she +handed me her list.</p> + +<p>"But, Sarah Sue," I said, after I'd read it, +"you've got seventy-five cents down here for +your mother and only fifty for your father. +Do you think it's right to make a difference?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do." And Sarah Sue's big brown +eyes were as serious as if 'twere funeral flowers +she was selecting. "You see, it's this way. +I love them both seventy-five cents' worth, +but I don't think I ought to give them the +same. Father is just my father by marriage, +but Mother's my mother by bornation. I think +mothers ought always to have the most."</p> + +<p>I think so, too.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>IX</h2> + +<h2>LOVE IS BEST</h2> + + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="images/c.png" alt="C" title="C" /></div><p> +hristmas is over. I feel like the +parlor grate when the fire has gone +out.</p> + +<p>But it was a grand Christmas, the +grandest we've ever known. It came +on Christmas Day. From the time +we got up until we went to bed we were so +happy we forgot we were Charity children; and +no matter whatever happens, we've got one +beautiful time to look back on.</p> + +<p>Miss Katherine says a beautiful memory is +a possession no one can take from you, and it's +one of the best possessions you can have. I +think so, too. She's made all my memories. +All. I mean the precious ones.</p> + +<p>Everybody in this Orphan Asylum had a +present from somebody outside. Even me, +who might as well be that man in the Bible, +Melchesey something, who didn't have beginning +or end, or any relations.</p> + +<p>I had fourteen from outside. Some I hid, +because I didn't want the girls to know, several +not getting more than one, and hardly any +more than three or four.</p> + +<p>Those who had the heart to give them didn't +have the money, and those who had the money +didn't have the heart. Being so busy with their +own they forgot to remember, and if it hadn't +been for Miss Katherine and her friends this +last Christmas would have been like all others.</p> + +<p>Her Army brother's wife sent a box full of +all sorts of pretty Indian things, she being in +the wild West near the Indians who made them. +And she sent ten dolls, all dressed, for the ten +youngest girls.</p> + +<p>She is awful busy, having three children and +not much money; but Miss Katherine says busy +people make time, and those who have most to +do, do more still.</p> + +<p>She sent me the darlingest little bedroom +slippers with fur all around the top. And in +them she put a little note that made me cry +and cry and cry, it was so dear and mothery. +I don't know what made me cry, but I couldn't +help it. I couldn't.</p> + +<p>She doesn't know me except from what Miss +Katherine writes, and I wonder why she wrote +that note. But everybody is good to me—that +is, nearly everybody.</p> + +<p>It certainly makes a difference in your backbone +when people are kind and when they are +not. I don't believe unkindness and misfortune +and suffering will ever make me good. +If anybody is mean to me, I'm stifferer than a +lamp-post, and you couldn't make me cry. +But when any one is good to me, I haven't a +bit of firmness, and am no better than a caterpillar.</p> + +<p>I got thirty-one presents this year. Thirty-one! +I didn't know I had so many friends in +Yorkburg, and my heart was so bursting with +surprise and gratitude it just ached. Ached +happy.</p> + +<p>We are not often allowed to make regular +visits, but I have lots of little talks informal +on errands, or messages, or passing; and as I +know almost everybody by sight, I have a right +large speaking acquaintance. With some people, +Miss Katherine says, that's the safest kind +to have.</p> + +<p>You see, Yorkburg is a very small place. +Just three long streets and some short ones +going across. Scratching up everything, it +hasn't got three thousand people in it. A lot +of them are colored.</p> + +<p>But it's very old and historic. Awful old; +so is everything in it. As for its blue blood, +Mrs. Hunt says there's more in Yorkburg than +any place of its size in America.</p> + +<p>Most of the strangers who come here, though, +seem to prefer to pass on rather than stop, and +Miss Webb thinks it's on account of the blood. +A little red mixed in might wake Yorkburg up, +she says, and that's what it needs—to know +the war is over and the change has come to +stay.</p> + +<p>But I love Yorkburg, and most of the people +are dear. Some queer. Old Mrs. Peet is. +Her husband has been dead forty years, but +she still keeps his hat on the rack for protection, +and whenever any one goes to see her +after dark she always calls him, as if he were +upstairs.</p> + +<p>She lives by herself and is over seventy, and +she's pretended so long that he's living that +they say she really believes he is. She almost +makes you believe it, too.</p> + +<p>Miss Bray sent me there one night. She +wanted some cherry-bounce for Eliza Green, +who had an awful pain, and after I'd knocked, +I'd have run if I'd dared.</p> + +<p>In the hall I could hear Mrs. Peet pounding +on the floor with her stick. Then her little +piping voice:</p> + +<p>"Mr. Peet, Mr. Peet, you'd better come down! +There's some one at the door! You'd better +come down, Mr. Peet!"</p> + +<p>"It's just Mary Cary!" I called. "Miss Bray +sent me, Mrs. Peet. She wants some cherry-bounce."</p> + +<p>"Oh, all right, Mr. Peet. You needn't bother +to come down. It's just little Mary Cary." +And she opened the door a tiny crack and +peeped through.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Peet isn't very well to-night," she said. +"He's taken fresh cold. But you can come in."</p> + +<p>I came; but I didn't want to. And if Mr. +Peet had come down those steps and shaken +hands I wouldn't have been surprised. It's +certainly strange how something you know +isn't true seems true; and Mr. Peet, dead +forty years, seemed awful alive that night. +Every minute I thought he'd walk in.</p> + +<p>She likes you to think he's living at night. +Every day she goes to his grave, which is in +the churchyard right next to where she lives; +but at night he comes back to life to her. +She's so lonely, I think it's beautiful that he +comes.</p> + +<p>I make out like I think he comes, too, and +I always send him my love, and ask how his +rheumatism is. I tell you, Martha don't dare +smile when I do it. She don't even want to.</p> + +<p>And, don't you know, old Mrs. Peet sent me +a Christmas present, too. A pair of mittens. +She knit them herself. It was awful nice of +her.</p> + +<p>I don't know how big the check was that +Miss Katherine's billionaire brother sent her +to spend on the children's Christmas, but it +must have been a corker. The things she +bought with it cost money, and the change it +made in the Asylum was Cinderellary. It +was.</p> + +<p>She bought a carpet for the parlor, and some +curtains for the windows, and a bookcase of +books.</p> + +<p>For the dining-room she bought six new +tables and sixty chairs. They were plain, but +to sit at a table with only ten at it instead of +forty, as I'd been sitting for many years, was +to have a proud sensation in your stomach. +Mine got so gay I couldn't eat at the first meal.</p> + +<p>To have a chair all to yourself, after sitting +on benches so old they were worn on both +edges, was to feel like the Queen of Sheba, and +I felt like her. I could have danced up and +down the table, but instead I said grace over +and over inside. I had something to say it +for. All of us did.</p> + +<p>Besides a present, each of us had a new +dress. It was made of worsted—real worsted, +not calico; and that morning after breakfast, +and after everything had been cleaned up, we +put on our new dresses and came down in the +parlor.</p> + +<p>And such a fire as there was in it!</p> + +<p>It sputtered and flamed, and danced and +blazed, and crackled and roared. Oh, it knew +it was Christmas, that fire did, and the mistletoe +and holly and running cedar knew it, too!</p> + +<p>At first, though, the children felt so stiff +and funny in their new-shaped dresses made +like other children's that they weren't natural, +so I pretended we were having a soirée, and I +went round and shook hands with every one.</p> + +<p>They got to laughing so at the names I gave +them—names that fit some, and didn't touch +others by a thousand years—that the stiffness +went. And if in all Yorkburg there was a +cheerfuller room or a happier lot of children +that Christmas Day than we were, we didn't +hear of it. I don't believe there was, either.</p> + +<p>The reason we enjoyed this Christmas so was +because it was on Christmas Day.</p> + +<p>Our celebrations had always been after +Christmas, and Christmas after Christmas is like +cold buckwheat cakes and no syrup. Like an +orange with the juice all gone.</p> + +<p>As for the tree, it was a spanker. We were +dazed dumb for a minute when the parlor doors +leading into the sewing-room were opened. +But never being able to stay dumb long, I +commenced to clap. Then everybody clapped. +Clapped so hard half the candles went out.</p> + +<p>There wasn't a soul on the place that didn't +get a present. This tree was Miss Katherine's, +not the Board's, and the presents bought with +the brother's money were things we could keep. +Not things to put away and pass on to somebody +else next year. I almost had a fit when +I found I had roller-skates and a set of books +too. Think of it! Roller-skates and books! +The rich brother sent those himself, and I'm +still wondering why.</p> + +<p>This was Miss Katherine's second Christmas +with us, but the first she had managed herself. +Last Christmas she had been at the Asylum +such a short time she kept quiet, and just saw +how things were done. And not done. But +this year she asked if she could provide the +entertainment, and the difference in these last +two Christmases was like the difference in the +way things are done from love and duty.</p> + +<p>And oh! love is so much the best!</p> + +<p>I do believe I was the happiest child in all +the world that day, and I didn't come out of +that cloud of glory until night. Mrs. Christopher +Pryor took me out.</p> + +<p>She had come over with some of the Board +ladies to see the tree and things, and as she +was going home I heard her say:</p> + +<p>"I don't approve of all this. Not at all. +Not at all. These children have had a more +elaborate Christmas than mine. They've had +as good a dinner, a handsomer tree, and as +many presents as some well-off people. It's +all nonsense, putting notions in their heads +when they're as poor as poverty itself and have +their living to make. I don't approve of it. +Not at all."</p> + +<p>She bristled so stiff and shook her head so +vigorous that the little jet ornaments on her +bonnet just tinkled like bells, and one fell off.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Christopher Pryor is one of the people +who would like to tell the Lord how to run +this earth. She could run it. That He lets +the rain fall and sun shine on everybody alike +is a thing she don't approve of either. As +for poor people, she thinks they ought to be +thankful for breath, and not expect more +than enough to keep it from going out for +good.</p> + +<p>She's very decided in her views, and never +keeps them to herself. It's the one thing she +gives away. Everything else she holds on to +with such a grip that it keeps her upper lip so +pressed down on her under lip that she breathes +through her nose most of the time.</p> + +<p>She's a very curious shape. Being stout, she +has to hold her head up to keep her chin off +her fatness; and she goes in so at the waist, +coming out top and bottom, that you would +think something in her would get jammed out +of place. You really would.</p> + +<p>There are seven daughters. No sons. The +boys call their place Hen-House. There is a +husband, but nobody seems to notice him; and +when with his wife, he always walks behind.</p> + +<p>Miss Webb says she's sorry for a man whose +wife is too active in the church. Mrs. Pryor is. +She leads all the responses; and as for the +chants, she takes them right out of the choir's +mouth and soars off with them.</p> + +<p>I never could bear her; and when I heard her +say those words to Mrs. Marsden, I came right +down to earth and was Martha Cary in a minute. +I'd been Mary all day, and, like a splash +in a mud-puddle, she made me Martha; and I +heard myself say:</p> + +<p>"No, Mrs. Pryor, we know you don't approve. +You never yet have let a child here +forget she was a Charity child, and only people +who make others happy will approve."</p> + +<p>Then I walked away as quiet as a Nun's +daughter. But I was burning hot all the same, +and so surprised at the way Martha spoke, so +serious and unlike the way she usually speaks +when mad, that I had to go on the back porch +and make snowballs and throw hard at something +before I was all right again.</p> + +<p>But I wouldn't let it ruin my beautiful day. +I wouldn't.</p> + +<p>That night, when I went to bed, I was so +tired out with happiness I couldn't half say +my prayers. But I knew God understood. +He let the Christ-child be born poor and lowly, +so He could understand about Charity children, +and everybody else who goes wrong because +they don't know how to go right. So I just +thanked Him, and thanked Him in my heart.</p> + +<p>And when Miss Katherine kissed me good-night +and tucked me in bed, she said I'd made +her have a beautiful Christmas. That I'd +helped everybody and kept things from dragging, +because I had enjoyed it so myself, and +been so enthusiastic, and she was so glad I +was born that way.</p> + +<p>I thought she was making fun, it was so +ridiculous, thanking me, little Mary Cary, who +hadn't done a thing but be glad and seen that +nobody was forgot.</p> + +<p>But she wasn't making fun, and I went off +to sleep and dreamed I was in a place called +the Love-Land, where everybody did everything +just for love. Which shows it was a dreamland, +for on earth there're Brays and Pryors, +and people too busy to be kind. And in that +Love-Land everything was done the other way, +just backward from our way, and yourself came +second instead of first.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="X" id="X"></a>X</h2> + +<h2>THE REAGAN BALL</h2> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/i.png" alt="I" title="I" /></div><p> +t is snowing fast and furious to-day. +It's grand to watch it. I love miracles, +and it's a miracle to see an ugly +place turn into a palace of marble +and silver with diamond decorations. +That's what the Asylum is to-day. +I certainly would like to have seen the +Reagan ball. Miss Webb says it was the best +show ever given in Yorkburg, and she enjoyed +it, being particular fond of freaks.</p> + +<p>Miss Katherine didn't want to go, but Miss +Webb made her. For weeks that Reagan ball +had been talked about, and Yorkburg knew +things about it that had never been known +about parties before, money not often being +mentioned here.</p> + +<p>Everybody knew what this ball was going +to cost. Knew the supper was coming from +New York, with white waiters and kid gloves. +And what Mrs. Reagan and her daughters were +going to wear. That their dresses had been +made in Europe, and that Mrs. Hamner hadn't +been invited, and that more money was coming +to Yorkburg in the shape of one man than had +ever been in it altogether before.</p> + +<p>If I just could have put myself invisible on +a picture-frame and looked down on that fleeting +show I would have done it. But not being +able to work that miracle, I just heard what +was going round, and it was very interesting, +the things I heard.</p> + +<p>Miss Webb and Miss Katherine and I think +just alike about Mrs. Reagan. I know, for I +heard them talking one night just before the +ball.</p> + +<p>"But why in the name of Heaven should I go +if I don't want to?" said Miss Katherine, and +she put her feet on the fender and lay back in +her big rose-covered chair. "I don't like her, +or her family, the English she speaks, or the +books she reads. Why, then, should I go to +her parties? I'm not going!"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, you are." And Miss Webb put some +more coal on the fire and made it blaze. "Knowledge +of life requires a knowledge of humanity +In all its subdivisions. Mrs. Reagan is a new +sub. As a curio, she's worth the price. You +couldn't keep me from her show."</p> + +<p>"But she's such a snob. When a woman does +not know her grandfather's first name on her +mother's side and talks of people not being in +her set, Christian charity does not require you +to visit her. I agree with Mrs. Rodman. People +like that ought to be let alone."</p> + +<p>"But Mrs. Rodman isn't going to let them +alone. Not for a minute. The only thing that +goes on among them that she doesn't know is +what she can't find out. She met me this +morning, and asked me if I'd heard how many +people had gotten here, and when I said no, +she made me come in Miss Patty's store, and +told me all she'd been able to discover.</p> + +<p>"'There are eighteen guests already,' she +said, 'and nearly all have rooms to themselves. +They tell me it's the fashion now for +husbands and wives not to see each other until +breakfast, and not then if the wife wants hers +in bed.' And the way she lifted her chin +and eyebrows would be dangerous for you to +try.</p> + +<p>"'I tell you it's a reflection on Yorkburg's +mode of life,' she went on. 'For two +hundred years people have come and gone in +this town, and rooms have never been mentioned. +But this is a degenerate age. Degenerate! +Scandalous wealth shouldn't be recognized, +and I don't intend to countenance it +myself!'</p> + +<p>"But she will." And Miss Webb took up +her muff to go. "She bought a pair of cream-colored +kid gloves from Miss Patty, and she's +going to wear them at that ball. You couldn't +keep her away."</p> + +<p>And she was there. The first one, they say. +She had on the dress her Grandmother wore +when her great-grandfather was minister to +something in Europe; and when she sailed +around the rooms with the big, high comb in +her hair that was her great-great-grandmother's, +Miss Webb says she was the best +side-show on the grounds.</p> + +<p>But if you were to take a gimlet and bore a +hole in Mrs. Rodman's head, you couldn't make +her believe anybody would smile at Her.</p> + +<p>She was Mrs. General Rodman, born Mason, +and the best blood in Virginia was in her veins. +Also in her father's, as she put on his tombstone.</p> + +<p>Outside of Virginia she didn't think anybody +was really anything. Of course, she knew +there were other states where things were done +that made money, but she'd just wave her hand +if you mentioned them.</p> + +<p>As for a Yankee! I wouldn't like to put in +words what she does think of a Yankee.</p> + +<p>She lost a husband and two brothers and a +father and four nephews and an uncle in the +war; and all her money; and her house had +to be sold; and her baby died before its father +saw it; and, of course, that makes a difference. +It makes a Yankee real personal.</p> + +<p>But Miss Katherine don't feel that way about +Yankees. Each of her brothers married one, +and she don't seem to mind.</p> + +<p>Miss Katherine went to the ball, too. She +gave in, after all, and went.</p> + +<p>I wish you could have seen her when she was +dressed and all ready to go. She had on a long, +white satin dress, low neck and short sleeves, +with little trimming and no jewelry. And she +looked so tall and beautiful, and so something I +didn't have a name for, that I was afraid, and my +heart beat so thick and fast I thought she'd hear.</p> + +<p>I hated it. Hated that satin dress, and the +places where she wore it when away from the +Asylum; and I sat up in bed, for lying down +it was hard to breathe.</p> + +<p>Presently she turned from the fire where +she had been standing, looking in, and came +toward me and kissed me good-night.</p> + +<p>In her face was something I had never seen +before—something so quiet and proud that I +couldn't sleep for a long time after she went +away.</p> + +<p>It wasn't just the same as the remembrance +look I had seen several times before, when she +forgot she wasn't by herself. It was prouder +than that, and it meant something that didn't +get better—just worse.</p> + +<p>What was it? If it's a man, who is he? He +must be living, for it isn't the look that means +something is dead. It means something that +won't die, but is never, never going to be told.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XI" id="XI"></a>XI</h2> + +<h2>FINDING OUT</h2> + + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="images/t.png" alt="T" title="T" /></div><p> +his world is a hard place to live in. +I wish somebody would tell me what +we are born for anyway, and what's +the use of living.</p> + +<p>There are so many things that hurt, +and you get so mixed up trying to +understand, that if you don't keep busy you'll +spend your life guessing at a puzzle that hasn't +any answer.</p> + +<p>Miss Katherine has gone away. Gone to +stay two months, anyhow. Maybe three.</p> + +<p>Her Army brother, the one who is a Captain, +has been sent to Texas, and his wife and children +were taken ill as soon as they got there.</p> + +<p>Of course, they sent for Miss Katherine; +that is, asked her by telegraph if she wouldn't +come. She went. And she'll be going to +somebody all her life, for she's the kind that is +turned to when things go wrong.</p> + +<p>Miss Webb is awful worried. She says a cool +head and a warm heart are always worked to +death, and the person who has them is forever +on call.</p> + +<p>Miss Katherine has them.</p> + +<p>She had to go, of course. We were not sick, +except a few snifflers. We didn't exactly need +her, and her brother did; but oh the difference +her being away makes!</p> + +<p>Three months of doing without her is like +three months of daylight and no sunlight. It's +like things to eat that haven't any taste; like a +room in which the one you wait for never comes.</p> + +<p>I am back in No. 4, in one of the thirteen +beds. My body goes on doing the same things. +Gets up at five o'clock. Dresses, cleans, prays, +eats, goes to school, eats, sews, plays, eats, +studies, goes to bed. And that's got to be done +every day in the same way it was done the day +before.</p> + +<p>But it's just my body that does them. Outside +I am a little machine wound up; inside I +am a thousand miles away, and doing a thousand +other things. Some day I am going to +blow up and break my inside workings, for I +wasn't meant to run regular and on time. I +wasn't.</p> + +<p>What was I meant for? I don't know. But +not to be tied to a rope. And that's what I +am. Tied to a rope. If I were a boy I'd cut it.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>I am almost crazy! A wonderful thing has +happened. I am so excited my breathing is as +bad as old Miss Betsy Hays's. I believe I +know who I am.</p> + +<p>My heart is jumping and thumping and carrying +on so that it makes my teeth chatter; and +as I can't tell anybody what I've heard, I am +likely to die from keeping it to myself.</p> + +<p>I am <i>not</i> going to die until I find out. If I +did I would be as bad off in heaven as on earth. +Even an angel would prefer to know something +about itself.</p> + +<p>I'm like Miss Bray now. I'm counting on +going to heaven. Otherwise it wouldn't make +any difference who I was, as one more misery +don't matter when you're swamped in miserableness. +I suppose that's what hell is: +Miserableness.</p> + +<p>What are you when you don't go to heaven?</p> + +<p>But that's got nothing to do with how I +found out who I am. It's like Martha, though: +always butting in with questions no Mary on +earth could answer.</p> + +<p>Well, the way I found out was one of those +mysterious ways in which God works his wonders. +Yesterday afternoon I asked Miss Bray +if I could go over and play with the Moon children, +three of whom are sick, and she said I +might. We were in the nursery, which is next +to Mrs. Moon's bedroom, and she and the lady +from Michigan, who is visiting her, were talking +and paying no attention to us. Presently something +the lady said—her name is Mrs. Grey—made +everything in me stop working, and my +heart gave a little click like a clock when the +pendulum don't swing right.</p> + +<p>She was sitting with her back to the door, +which was open, and I could see her, but she +couldn't see me. All of a sudden she put down +her sewing and looked at Mrs. Moon as if something +had just come to her.</p> + +<p>"Elizabeth Moon, I believe I know that +child's uncle," she said. "Ever since you told +me about her something has been bothering +me. Didn't you say her mother had a brother +who years ago went West?"</p> + +<p>"Hush," said Mrs. Moon, and she nodded +toward me. "She'll hear you, and the ladies +wouldn't like it."</p> + +<p>She lowered her voice so I couldn't hear all +she said, but I heard something about its being +the only thing Yorkburg ever did keep quiet +about. And only then because everybody felt +so sorry for her. In a flash I knew they were +talking about me.</p> + +<p>After the first understanding, which made +everything in me stop, everything got moving, +and all my inward workings worked double +quick. Why my heart didn't get right out on +the floor and look up at me. I don't know. I +kept on talking and making up wild things just +to keep the children quiet, but I had to hold +myself down to the floor. To help, I put Billy +and Kitty Lee both in my lap.</p> + +<p>What I wanted to do was to go to Mrs. Moon +and say: "I am twelve and a half, and I've got +the right to know. I want to hear about my +uncle. I don't want to know him, he not caring +to know me." But before I could really think +Mrs. Grey spoke again.</p> + +<p>"He has no idea his sister left a child. He +told me she married very young, and died a +year afterward; and he had heard nothing +from her husband since. As soon as I go home +I am going to tell him. I certainly am."</p> + +<p>"You had better not," said Mrs. Moon. +"It's been thirteen years since he left Yorkburg, +and, as he has never been back, he evidently +doesn't care to know anything about it. +I don't think the ladies would like you to tell. +They are very proud of having kept so quiet +out of respect to her father's wishes. If Parke +Alden had wanted to learn anything, he could +have done it years ago."</p> + +<p>"But I tell you he doesn't know there's anything +to learn." And the Michigan lady's voice +was as snappy as the place she came from. +"I know Dr. Alden well," she went on. "He's +operated on me twice, and I've spent weeks in +his hospital. When he tells me it's best for +my head to come off—off my head is to come. +And when a man can make people feel that +way about him, he isn't the kind that's not +square on four sides.</p> + +<p>"I tell you, he doesn't know about this child. +He's often talked to me about Yorkburg, knowing +you were my cousin. He told me of his +sister running away with an actor and marrying +him, and dying a year later. Also of his +father's death and the sale of the old home, +and of many other things. There's no place +on earth he loves as he does Virginia. He +doesn't come back because there's no one to +come to see specially. No real close kin, I +mean. The changes in the place where you +were born make a man lonelier than a strange +city does, and something seems to keep him +away."</p> + +<p>"You say he doesn't know his sister left a +child?" Mrs. Moon put down the needle she +was trying to thread, and stuck it in her work. +"Why doesn't he know?"</p> + +<p>"Why should he? Who was there to tell +him, if a bunch of women made up their minds +he shouldn't know? He wrote to his sister +again and again, but whether his letters ever +reached her he never knew. He thinks not, as +it was unlike her not to write if they were +received.</p> + +<p>"Travelling from place to place with her +actor husband, who, he said, was a 'younger son +Englishman,' the letters probably miscarried, +and not for months after her death did he +know she was dead."</p> + +<p>"We didn't, either," interrupted Mrs. Moon. +"In fact, we heard it through Parke, who went +West after his father's death. He wrote Roy +Wright, telling him about it."</p> + +<p>"Who is Roy Wright, and where is he, that +he didn't tell Dr. Alden about the child?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Roy's dead. I believe Mary Alden's +marriage broke Roy's heart; that is, if a +man's heart can be broken. He had been in +love with her all her life. Not just loved her, +but in love with her. His house was next to +the Aldens', where the Reagans now live, and +Major Alden and General Wright were old +friends, each anxious for the match. When +Mary ran away at seventeen and married a +man her father didn't know, I tell you Yorkburg +was scared to death."</p> + +<p>"Do you remember it?"</p> + +<p>"Remember! I should think I did. I cried +for two weeks. Nearly ruined my eyes. Mary +and I were deskmates at Miss Porterfield's +school, and I adored her. I really did. So +did Dick Moon." She stopped. Then: "Like +most women, I'm a compromise," and she +laughed. But it was a happy laugh. Mrs. Grey +smiled too.</p> + +<p>"Was Mary Alden engaged to Roy Wright +when she married the other man?" she asked. +"Tell me all about her."</p> + +<p>"No, she wasn't. Mary Alden was incapable +of deceit, and Roy Wright knew she didn't +love him. He knew she was never going to +marry him. Poor Roy! He was as gentle and +sweet and patient as Mary was high-spirited and +beautiful, and the last type on earth to win a +woman of Mary's temperament. She wanted +to be mastered, and Roy could only worship."</p> + +<p>"And her father—what did he do?"</p> + +<p>"Do? The Aldens are not people who 'do' +things. The day after the news came, he and +General Wright walked arm and arm all over +Yorkburg, and their heads were high; but oh, +my dear, it was pitiful. They didn't know, but +they were clinging to each other, and the Major's +face was like death."</p> + +<p>"Didn't some one say he had been pretty +strict with her? Held too tight a rein?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, he had, and he deserved part of his +suffering. His pride was inherited, and Mary +could go with no one whose great-grandparents +he didn't know about. But Mary cared no +more for ancestors than she did for Hottentots. +When she met this Mr. Cary, a young English +actor, at a friend's house in Baltimore, she made +no inquiry as to whether he had any, and fell +in love at once. He was a gentleman, however. +That was as evident as Major Alden's rage +when he went to see the latter, and asked for +Mary. Mrs. Rodman happened to be in the +house at the time, and what she didn't see +she heard. She says the one thing you can't +fool her about is a counterfeit gentleman. And +Ralston Cary was no counterfeit."</p> + +<p>"For Heaven's sake, don't get on what Mrs. +Rodman thinks or says. Tell me about the +marriage. I'm asking a lot of questions, but +you're so slow."</p> + +<p>"I'm telling as fast as I can. You interrupt +so much with questions I can't finish." And +Mrs. Moon's voice was real spunky.</p> + +<p>"They were married in Washington," she +began again. "The morning after the interview +with the Major they caught the five-o'clock +train, and that afternoon there was a telegram +telling of the marriage.</p> + +<p>"Her father never forgave Mary. Seven +months later he died, and after settling up +affairs there was nothing left. Alden House +was mortgaged to the limit. There were a +number of small debts as well as two or three +large ones, and when these were paid and all +accounts squared there was barely enough +left for Parke to buy his railroad ticket to some +city out West, where he had secured a place +as resident physician in a hospital. That was +thirteen years ago." She took a deep breath, +as if thinking. "Thirteen years. Since then +we've known little about him. You say he is +a famous surgeon? We've never heard it in +Yorkburg."</p> + +<p>"Of course you haven't. Yorkburg has heard +nothing since 1865. But there are a good many +things it could hear." And Mrs. Grey laughed, +but with her forehead wrinkled, as if she were +trying to understand something that was +puzzling her.</p> + +<p>And then it was Mrs. Moon said something +that made understanding come rolling right in +on me. The answer to that look on Miss +Katherine's face the night of the Reagans' ball +was as plain as Jimmie Jenkins's nose, which is +most all you see when you see Jimmie. It was +like I thought. It was a man.</p> + +<p>"Ophelia," said Mrs. Moon, and she moved +her chair closer to Mrs. Grey, and leaned forward +with her hands clasped, "did you ever +hear Doctor Alden speak of a Miss Trent—Miss +Katherine Trent?"</p> + +<p>"No. You mean—"</p> + +<p>"Yes; she's the one. Parke Alden and +Katherine Trent were sweethearts from children. +Shortly after Mary's marriage something +happened. There was a misunderstanding +of some kind, and they barely bowed when +they met. Everybody was sorry, for it was +one of the matches Heaven might have made +without discredit. Soon after Parke went +away, Katherine went off to some school just +outside of Philadelphia, and, so far as is known, +they've never seen each other since."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grey brought both hands down on her +knees. "I knew it was something like that. +I knew it! Doctor Alden is just that sort of +a man. And it's Katherine Trent? I wish I'd +known it before she went away."</p> + +<p>"What would you have done?" Mrs. Moon +looked frightened. She's very timid, Mrs. Moon +is, and always afraid of telling something she +oughtn't. "What could you have done?"</p> + +<p>"Looked at her better. She's certainly good +to look at. Not beautiful, but a face you never +forget. And Doctor Alden is the kind that +never forgets. But tell me something about +the child. How did she get here?"</p> + +<p>"Her nurse brought her. Her father kept +her after her mother's death, taking her about +from place to place with this old negro mammy +until she was three, when he died suddenly, +strange to say, in the same place his wife died, +Mobile, Alabama."</p> + +<p>"Why did the nurse bring her here? Was +she a Yorkburg darkey?"</p> + +<p>"No; but she had heard Mr. Cary say there +was an Orphan Asylum here, and not knowing +what else to do, she came on with her. She +told the Board ladies she had heard the child's +father say a hundred times he would rather +see her dead than have her mother's family +take her. And she begged them not to let it +be known who she was until she was old enough +to understand."</p> + +<p>Just then Bobbie Moon laid out flat on his back +and kicked up his heels. And Billie looked so +disgusted, I stopped the story I was trying to tell.</p> + +<p>"You ain't talking sense," he said. "And +I'm not going to listen any more. An ant +can't eat an elephant in half an hour and leave +no scraps." And he rolled over and began to +fight Bobbie.</p> + +<p>Sarah Sue and Myrtle, who'd been playing +with their mother's muff and tippet, got to +fussing so about which should have her hat +that Mrs. Moon, hearing it, jumped up, and I +heard her say:</p> + +<p>"Mercy me! Do you suppose she heard?"</p> + +<p>I never was so glad of a fight in my life. The +more fuss was made the more chance there was +of my being forgot, and presently I told Mrs. +Moon I had to go home. The boys said they +didn't care, my stories were rotten anyhow, +and out I went and ran so fast I had such a pain +in my side I could hardly breathe.</p> + +<p>But I didn't go in right away. I couldn't. +Inside of me everything was thumping: "Mary +Alden, your Mother; Mary Alden, your Mother; +Mary Alden, your Mother." There was no +other thought but that.</p> + +<p>Presently I turned and went down to King +Street, to where the Reagans live, and in the +dark I stood there and shook my fist at my +dead grandfather. I hated him for treating +my mother so. Hated him! Then I burst out +crying, and cried so awful my eyes were nearly +washed out.</p> + +<p>There were twelve and a half years' worth of +tears that had to come out, and I let them +come. After they were out I felt lighter.</p> + +<p>But sleep? There wasn't a blink of it for +me all night. I was so mixed up with new +feelings that I was sick in my stomach, and +my old conscience got so sanctimonious that +if I could have spanked it I would.</p> + +<p>I wasn't eavesdropping; I know that's +nasty. But forty times I'd been punished for +speaking when I shouldn't, and, besides, it was +my duty to find myself. They saw me, and then +forgot. If they hadn't wanted me to know what +they were saying, they shouldn't have said it.</p> + +<p>But that didn't do my conscience any good. +I hate a conscience. It's always making you +feel low down and disreputable. I don't believe +I will say anything to my children about +one, and let them have some peace.</p> + +<p>For two days I didn't have any. Then I +decided I'd wait until Miss Katherine came, +and not say anything to her or to anybody +about what I'd heard until I found out a little +more about that remembrance in her face. +But the waiting for her is the longest wait I've +ever waited through yet.</p> + +<p>It certainly is queer what a surprise you are +to yourself. Before I knew that my mother +and her father and his father and some other +fathers behind him had lived in the Alden +House, I would have given all I own, which +isn't much, just my body, to have known it. +And I guess I would have been that airy Martha +couldn't have lived with me, and would have +had to take Mary to the pump to bring her +senses back with water. Mary is my best part, +but at times she hasn't half the common sense +she needs, and frequently has a pride Martha +has to attend to.</p> + +<p>But after I found out I had the same kind +of blood in me that Mrs. General Rodman had +in her, though I'm thankful it isn't mentioned +on the family's tombstones, it didn't seem half +as big a thing as I thought.</p> + +<p>I was ashamed of the way it had acted, and +of the way it had treated my father. He was +too much of a gentleman to talk about his, +whether high or low, and I know nothing about +him. But I adore his memory! I am his +child as well as Mary Alden's, and that's a +thing my children are never going to forget. +Never.</p> + +<p>And now the part I'm thinking of most is +what was said about Miss Katherine and Dr. +Parke Alden being sweethearts when they were +young. He has been away thirteen years, Mrs. +Moon said, and Miss Katherine is now twenty-eight. +I know she is, because she told me so.</p> + +<p>Thirteen from twenty-eight leaves fifteen, so +she was fifteen when they had that fuss and he +went off. Fifteen was awful young to love +hard and permanent; but Miss Webb says Miss +Katherine was born grown and stubborn, and +when she once takes a stand she keeps it.</p> + +<p>I wonder what she took the stand with Uncle +Parke for? She is right quick and outspoken +at times, and I bet he made her mad about +something.</p> + +<p>But she ought to have known he was a man, +and not expected much. I know my children's +father is going to make me so hopping at times +I could shake him. If he didn't, he would be +terrible stupid to live with, and nothing wears +you out like stupidness. I don't really mind +a scrap. It's so nice to make up.</p> + +<p>But I believe that's the reason Miss Katherine +don't get married. Because in her secret heart +Dr. Parke Alden is still her sweetheart. I know +in his secret heart she is still his. She's bound +to be if she ever once was.</p> + +<p>Glorious superbness! Wouldn't that be +grand? If they were to get married she would +be my really, truly Aunt! The very thought +makes me so full of thrills I can't sit still when +it comes over me.</p> + +<p>Oh, Mary Martha Cary, what a beautiful +place this world could be!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XII" id="XII"></a>XII</h2> + +<h2>A TRUE MIRACLE</h2> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/a.png" alt="A" title="A" /></div><p> + secret isn't any pleasure. What's +the use of knowing a thing you can't +let anybody know you know? If +I can't tell soon what I've heard +about myself something is liable to +happen.</p> + +<p>Nearly three months have passed, and I +haven't told yet. I'm still holding out, but it's +the most awful experience I ever had.</p> + +<p>Another idea has come to me, and if I could +see Miss Katherine I could tell whether to do +it or not. If she don't come soon I will do it, +anyhow. I won't be able to help it.</p> + +<p>The girls say if I were a darkey they'd think +I was seeking. That's because some days I'm +so unnatural quiet and stay so much by myself. +I do that for safety, fearing otherwise I'd +speak.</p> + +<p>They don't know what's going on inside of +me. If they could see they'd find nothing but +quiverings and questions, and if I don't do +anything really violent it's all I ask.</p> + +<p>Every morning and every night my prayers +are just this: "O Lord, help Mary Cary through +this day. I'm not asking for to-morrow, it not +being here yet. But <i>This Day</i> help me to hold +out." And all day long I'm saying under my +breath:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Hold on, Mary Cary, hold on, hold on.<br /></span> +<span>There never was a night that didn't have a dawn.<br /></span> +<span>There never was a road that didn't have an end.<br /></span> +<span>Wait awhile, wait awhile, and then the letter send."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>I say that so often to myself that I'm afraid +somebody will hear me think it. If that letter +isn't sent soon, the answer will be received by a +corpse.</p> + +<p>I'm never again going to have a secret. It's +worse than a tumor or dropsy. Mrs. Penick +has a tumor. I've never seen the dropsy, but +a secret is more dangerous, for it dries you up. +Dropsy has water to it.</p> + +<p>We had apple-dumplings for dinner. I +sold mine to Lucy Pyle for two cents, and +bought a stamp with it. The stamp is for +The Letter.</p> + +<p>Miss Katherine has come back. Came night +before last, but I've been too excited to write +anything down. Everything I do is done in +dabs these days, and few lines at the time is +all I'm equal to.</p> + +<p>She looks grand. And oh, what a difference +her being here makes! We are children, not +just orphans, when she is with us; and it's because +she loves us, trusts us, brings our best +part to the top that we are different when she +is about. The very way she laughs—so clear +and hearty—makes you think things aren't so +bad, and already they have picked up. Like +my primrose does when I give it water, after +forgetting it till it is as limp as old Miss Sarah +Cone's crêpe veil.</p> + +<p>I haven't told her anything yet, but I've +been watching good. I haven't seen any particular +signs of memories and regrets, she being +too busy to have them since she got back. +Still, I believe they are there, and I'm that +afraid I'll say Parke Alden in my sleep I put the +covering over my head, for fear she'd hear me +if I did.</p> + +<p>I am back in her room, and this afternoon +she asked me what I was looking at her so hard +for. I told her she was the best thing to look +at that came my way, and she laughed and +called me a foolish child. But Mary Cary is +thinking, and she isn't telling all she thinks +about, either.</p> + +<p>Well, it's written. That letter is written and +gone. It was to Dr. Parke Alden. I sent it +to his hospital in Michigan. I made it short, +because by nature I write just endless, having +gotten in the habit from making up stories for +the girls and scribbling them off when kept in, +which in the past was frequent. This is what +I wrote:</p> + +<blockquote><p>DR. PARKE ALDEN:</p> + +<p><i>Dear Sir</i>,—Eleven weeks and two days ago I heard +you did not know I was living. I am. I live in the +Yorkburg Female Orphan Asylum, and have been +living here for nine years and four months and almost +a week. If you had known I was living all +these years and had not made yourself acquainted +with me, I would not now write you. But I heard, +by accident, you did not know I had been born, so +I am writing to tell you I was. It happened in +Natchez, Miss. I know that much, but little more, +except my father was an actor. I worship his memory. +My mother was named Mary Alden, and you +are her brother. If you would like to know more, +and will write and ask me, I think you will learn +something of interest. Not about me, but there are +other people in this world.</p> + +<p>Respectfully,</p> + +<p>MARY CARY.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Three days have passed since I sent that +letter off secret. I wouldn't let Miss Katherine +know for a billion dollars that I'd sent it, but +I'm glad I did. I'm sure she's got something +in her heart she don't talk about, for last night, +when she didn't know I was looking, I saw that +same quiet proudness come in her face I saw +the night of the ball.</p> + +<p>I don't know how long it takes to go to +Michigan, not knowing much about travelling, +as I've never been out of Yorkburg since I +came in. But some day I'm going around the +world, and I'm going to see everything anybody +else has ever seen before I marry my +children's father. Of course, after I get married +he will be busy, and there will be always +some excuse that will make you tired. I'm +going beforehand. Miss Webb says marriage +is very uncertain.</p> + +<p>This is a grand day. The crocuses are peeping +up just as pert and pretty. The little brown +buds on the trees have turned green and getting +bigger every day, and even the air feels like +it's had a bath. I just love the spring. Everything +says to you: "Good-morning! Here we +are again. Let's begin all over." And inside +I say, "All right," and I mean it; but oh, Mary +Cary, you're so unreliable. There are times +when your future looks very much like a worm +of the dust.</p> + +<p>Miss Bray is real sick. She hasn't been well +for a long time, and she looks like she's shrivelling, +though still fat. She has nervous dyspepsia, +which they say is ruinous to dispositions, +and Miss Bray's isn't the kind for any sort of +sickness to be free with.</p> + +<p>It certainly is making her queer, for she's +changed from sharpness to tearfulness, and she +weeps any time. A thing I never thought I'd +live to see.</p> + +<p>Poor creature, I feel real sorry for her. Miss +Jones says she's worn out, but I don't believe +it's that. I believe it's conscience and coffee. +Miss Bray isn't an all-over bad person. If it +wasn't I knew she told stories, I could have +stood the other things. But when a person +tells stories, what have you got to hold on to? +Nothing.</p> + +<p>I believe it's those stories that's giving her +trouble in her stomach. Anything on your +mind does, and Miss Bray looks at me so curious +and so nervous, sometimes, that I can't +help feeling sorry for her.</p> + +<p>I don't believe she will ever get well until +she repents and confesses and crosses her heart +that she won't do it again. A confession is a +grand relief.</p> + +<p>Suppose Dr. Parke Alden don't write, don't +notice me! I will be that mad and mortified +I will wish I was dead. But if he don't answer +that letter, I will write a few more things to +him before dying, for, if I am an Orphan, I +oughtn't to be treated like a piece of imagination.</p> + +<p>The black hen has got a lot of little chickens +and the jonquils are in bloom. The sun is as +warm as June, but I'm shivering all the time, +and Miss Katherine says she don't understand +me. She gave me a tonic to make me eat +more. I don't want to eat. I want a letter.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Jerusalem the Golden! Now, what do you +reckon has happened! Nothing will evermore +surprise Mary Cary, mostly Martha.</p> + +<p>If the moon ever burns, or the stars come to +town, or the Pope marries a wife, or the dead +come to life, I will just say, "Is that so?" and +in my heart I will know a stranger thing than +that.</p> + +<p>Yesterday Miss Bray sent for me to come to +her room. She was sick in bed, and her frizzes +weren't frizzed, and she looked so old and +pitiful that I took hold of her hand and said, +"I'm awful sorry you are sick, Miss Bray."</p> + +<p>And what did she do but begin to cry, and +such a long crying I never saw anybody have. +I knew there was a lot to come out and she'd +better get rid of it, so I let it keep on without +remarks, and after a while she told me to shut +the door, and get her a clean handkerchief out +of her top bureau-drawer.</p> + +<p>I did it. Then she told me to sit down. I +did that, too, and it's well I did. If I hadn't +I'd have fell. Her words would have made +me.</p> + +<p>"Mary Cary," she said, "you have given me +a great deal of trouble, and at times you've +nearly worried me to death. But never since +you've been here have you ever told a story, +and that's what I've done." And she put her +head down in her pillow, and I tell you she +nearly shook herself, out of bed she cried so.</p> + +<p>I was so surprised and confused I didn't +know whether I was awake or asleep. But all +of a sudden it came to me what she meant, and +I put my arms around her neck and kissed her. +That's what I did, Martha or no Martha; I +kissed her. Then I said:</p> + +<p>"Miss Bray, I'm awful glad you are sorry +you did it. If you're sorry it's like a sponge +that wipes it off, and don't anybody but you +and me and God know about that particular +one. And we can all forget it, if there's never +any more."</p> + +<p>And then she cried harder than ever. Regular +rivers. I didn't know the top of your head +could hold so much water.</p> + +<p>But she said there would never be any more, +for she'd never had any peace since the way I +looked at her that day, and she couldn't stand +it any longer. She didn't know why I had +that effect on her, but I did, and she'd sent for +me to talk about it.</p> + +<p>Well, we talked. I told her I didn't think +just being sorry was enough, and I asked her +how sorry was she.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," she said, and then she began +on tears again, so I thought I'd better be +quick while the feeling lasted.</p> + +<p>"Well, you know, Miss Bray," I began, +"Pinkie Moore hasn't been adopted yet. She +never will be while the ladies think what you +told them is true. You ought to write a letter +to the Board and tell them what you said +wasn't so."</p> + +<p>"I can't!" she said; and then more fountains +flowed. "I can't tell them I told a story!"</p> + +<p>"But that's what you did," I said. "And +when you've done a mean thing, there isn't but +one way to undo it—own up and take what +comes. But it's nothing to a conscience that's +got you, and is never going to let you go until +you do the square thing. If you want peace, +it's the only way to get it."</p> + +<p>"But I can't write a letter; I'm so nervous +I couldn't compose a line." And you never +would have known her voice. It was as quavery +as old Doctor Fleury's, the Methodist preacher +who's laid off from work.</p> + +<p>"I'll write it for you." And I hopped for +the things in her desk. "You can copy it +when you feel better." And, don't you know, +she let me do it! After three tryings I finished +it, then read it out loud:</p> + +<blockquote><p>DEAR LADIES,—If any one applies for Pinkie Moore, +I hope you will let her go. Pinkie is the best and +most useful girl in the Asylum. More than two years +ago I said differently. It was wrong in me, and Pinkie +isn't untruthful. She hasn't a bad temper, and never +in her life took anything that didn't belong to her. +I am sorry I said what I did. She don't know it +and never will, and I hope you will forgive me for +saying it.</p> + +<p>Respectfully,</p> + +<p>MOLLIE E. BRAY.</p></blockquote> + +<p>When I was through she cried still harder, +and said she'd lose her place. She knew she +would. I told her she wouldn't. I knew she +wouldn't. And after a while she sat up in +bed and copied it. Some of her tears blotted +it, but I told her that didn't matter, and when +I got up to go she looked better already.</p> + +<p>I knew how she felt. Like I did when my +tooth that had to come out was out. And a +thing on your mind is worse than the toothache. +One you can tell, the other you can't. +A thing you can't tell is like a spook that's +always behind you, and right in the bed with +you when you wake up sudden, and lies down +with you every time you go to sleep. I know, +for that letter is on my mind.</p> + +<p>When I got out of Miss Bray's room I ran +in mine, Miss Katherine being out, and locked +the door, and I said:</p> + +<p>"Mary Martha Cary, don't ever say again +there's no such things as modern miracles. +There's been a miracle to-day, and you have +seen it. Somebody has been born over." And +then, because I couldn't help it, I cried almost +as bad as Miss Bray.</p> + +<p>But, oh, nobody can ever know how much +harm it had done me to believe a lady could go +through life telling stories, and doing mean, dishonorable +things, and not minding. And people +treating her just the same as if she were honest!</p> + +<p>When I found out it wasn't so—that your sin +did make you suffer, and that it did make a +difference trying to do right—I felt some of +my old Martha-ry scornfulness slipping away. +And I got down on my knees, no words, but +God understanding why.</p> + +<p>I don't like any kind of bitterness in my +heart. I'd rather like people. But can you +like a deceiver? You can't.</p> + +<p>Dr. Parke Alden has taken no more notice +of me than if I were a Juney-bug.</p> + +<p>I wonder if Miss Katherine will ever marry. +She wasn't meant to live in an Orphan Asylum. +She was meant to be the Lady of the House, +and to wear beautiful clothes, and have horses +and carriages and children of her own, and to +give orders. Instead of that, she is here; but +sometimes she has a look on her face which I +call "Waiting." Last week I wrote a poem +about it. This is it:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"In the winter, by the fireside, when the snow falls soft and white,<br /></span> +<span>I am waiting, hoping, longing, but for what I don't know quite.<br /></span> +<span>And when summer's sunshine shimmers, and the birds sing clear and sweet,<br /></span> +<span>I am waiting, always waiting, for the joy I hope to meet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>It will be, I think, my husband, and the home he'll make for me;<br /></span> +<span>But of his coming or home-making, I as yet no signs do see.<br /></span> +<span>But I still shall keep on waiting, for I know it's true as fate,<br /></span> +<span>When you really, truly hustle, things will come if just you'll wait."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>I don't think much of that. It sounds like +"Dearest Willie, thou hast left us, and thy loss +we deeply feel." But I wasn't meant for a +poet any more than Miss Katherine for an old +maid.</p> + +<p>Dr. Parke Alden must be dead. Either that +or he's no gentleman, or he didn't get my letter. +I wish I hadn't written it. I wish I hadn't let +him know I was living. But it was Miss +Katherine I was thinking about. Thank Heaven, +I didn't mention her name! He isn't worth +thinking about, and I think of nothing else.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XIII" id="XIII"></a>XIII</h2> + +<h2>HIS COMING</h2> + + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="images/i.png" alt="I" title="I" /></div><p> +f I could get out on the roof and shake +hands with the stars, or dance with +the man in the moon, I might be able +to write it down; but everything in +me is bubbling and singing so, I can't +keep still to write. But I'm bound +to put down that he's come. He's come!</p> + +<p>He came day before yesterday morning about +ten o'clock. I was in the school-room, and +Mrs. Blamire opened the door and looked in. +"Mary Cary can go to the parlor," she said. +"Some one wishes to see her."</p> + +<p>I got up and went out, not dreaming who it +was, as I was only looking for a letter; and +there, standing by a window with his back to +me, was a man, and in a minute I knew.</p> + +<p>I couldn't move, and I couldn't speak, and +Lot's wife wasn't any stiller than I was.</p> + +<p>But he heard me come in, and turned, and, +oh! it is so strange how right at once you know +some things. And the thing I knew was it was +all true. That he'd never known about me +until he got my letter. For a minute he just +looked at me. We didn't either of us say a +word, and then he came toward me and held +out his hands.</p> + +<p>"Mary Cary," he said. And the first thing +I knew I was crying fit to break my heart, with +my arms around his neck, and he holding me +tight in his. His eyes were wet, too. They +were. I saw them. He kissed me about fifty +times—though maybe not more than twenty—and +I had such a strange feeling I didn't know +whether I was in my body or not. It was the +first time that any one who was really truly my +own had ever come to see me since I'd been an +Orphan, and every bit of sense I ever had rolled +away like the Red Sea waters. Rolled right away.</p> + +<p>I don't remember what happened next. +Everything is a jumble of so many kinds of +joys that I've been crazy all day. But I wasn't +too crazy to see the look on his face, I mean on +my Uncle Dr. Parke Alden's face, when he saw +Miss Katherine coming across the front yard. +We were standing by the window, and as he +saw her he looked again, as if he didn't see +good, and then his face got as white as whitewash. +He took out his handkerchief and wiped +his lips and his forehead that were real perspiring, +and I almost danced for joy, for I +knew in his secret, secret heart she was his +sweetheart still. But I didn't move even a +toe. I just said:</p> + +<p>"That's Miss Katherine Trent. She's the +trained nurse here. Did you know her when +she lived in Yorkburg?"</p> + +<p>And he said yes, he knew her. Just that, +and nothing else. But I knew, and for fear I'd +tell him I knew, I flew out of the room like I +was having a fit, and met Miss Katherine coming +in the front door.</p> + +<p>"Miss Katherine," I said, "there's a friend +of yours in the parlor who wants to see you. +Will you go in?"</p> + +<p>She walked in, just as natural, humming a +little tune, and I walked behind her, for I +wanted to see it. I will never be as ready for +glory as I was that minute. I could have +folded my hands and sailed up, but I didn't sail. +It's well I didn't, for they didn't meet at all +like I expected, and I was so surprised I just +said, "Well, sir!" and sat right down on the +floor and looked up at them.</p> + +<p>They didn't see me. They didn't see anything +but each other; but if they'd had the +smallpox they couldn't have kept farther apart, +just bowing formal, and not even offering to +shake hands.</p> + +<p>My, I was set on! I didn't think they'd meet +that way; but Miss Becky Cole, who's kinder +crazy, says God Almighty don't know what a +woman is going to do or when she's going to +do it. Miss Katherine proved it. She didn't +fool me, though, with all her quietness and coolness. +I knew her heart was beating as hard +as mine, and I jumped up and said:</p> + +<p>"I think you all have been waiting long +enough to make up, and it's no use wasting any +more time." And I flew out, slamming the +door tight, and shut them in.</p> + +<p>I don't know what happened after I shut that +door. But, oh, he's grand! He is thirty-six, +and big and splendid. He and Miss Katherine +are in the parlor now. Miss Jones says everybody +in Yorkburg knows he's here, and all +talking. All!</p> + +<p>I've been so excited since the first day he +came that I've had little sense. But my natural +little is coming back, and I'm trying not to talk +too much. Of course, I had to say a good +deal, because everybody had to know how it +happened that Doctor Alden came back to +Yorkburg so suddenly after thirteen years' being +away. And why he hadn't been before, and +what he came for and when he was going away, +and if he were going to take me with him.</p> + +<p>And then everybody remembered how he +and Miss Katherine used to be sweethearts +when they were young. I tell you, the talking +that's been going on in Yorkburg in the last +few days would fill a barrel of books. By the +end of the week a whole lot more will be known +about Uncle Parke than he knows about himself. +If Yorkburg had a coat of arms it ought +to be a question-mark.</p> + +<p>They've had time to talk over everything +that ever happened since Adam and Eve left +Paradise, in the long walks they take, and in the +evenings when he calls, which he does as regular +as night comes. And now I'm waiting for +the news. I'll have to be so surprised. And +I guess I will be. Love does very surprising +things.</p> + +<p>Miss Katherine knew where Uncle Parke was +all the time. She knew who I was, too; that is, +she found out after she nursed me at the +hospital. But what that fuss was about I don't +know. Nothing much, I reckon; but the more +you love a person the madder you can get with +them. And from foolishness they've wasted +years and years of together-ness.</p> + +<p>But it's all explained now, and I don't think +there's going to be any more nonsense. They +are going to be married as sure as my name +isn't in a bank-book; and if signs are anything, +it's going to be soon.</p> + +<p>Miss Bray is better, though she looks pretty +bad still. She's been awfully excited about +Uncle Parke's coming, and she says she hears +he's very distinguished and real rich. Isn't it +strange how quick some people hear about +riches? I don't know anything of his having +any. He hasn't mentioned money to me; but +oh, I feel so safe with him! He's so strong +and quiet and easy in his manners, and he's +been so splendid and beautiful to me. He +don't use many words. Just makes you understand.</p> + +<p>I wonder what a man says to a lady when +he wants her to marry him? I know Dr. Parke +Alden isn't the kind to get down on his knees. +If he were, Miss Katherine would certainly tell +him to get up and say what he had to say +standing, or sitting, if it took long. But I'll +never know what he said. They're not the +kind to tell; but they can't hide Love. It's +just like the sun. It can't help shining.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Land of Nippon, I'm excited! I believe he's +said it!</p> + +<p>The reason I think so is, I saw them late +yesterday evening coming in from a long walk +down the Calverton road, where there's a beautiful +place for courters. When they got to the +gate they stopped and talked and talked. +Then he walked to the door with her, still +holding his hat in his hand, and though it was +dark I could feel something different. I was +so nervous you would have thought I was the +one.</p> + +<p>I was over by the lilacs; but they didn't +see me. I didn't like to move. It might +have been ruinous, so I held my breath and +waited.</p> + +<p>When they got to the door they stopped +again, and presently he held out his hand to +say good-bye. The way he did it, the way he +looked at her made me just know, and I got +right down on my knees under the lilac-bush, +and when he'd gone I sang, "Praise God, from +whom all blessings flow." Sang it loud.</p> + +<p>I didn't care who heard. I wasn't telling +why I was thankful. Just telling I was. Oh, +Mary Martha Cary, to think of her being your +really, truly Aunt! The very next thing to a +mother!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XIV" id="XIV"></a>XIV</h2> + +<h2>THE HURT OF HAPPINESS</h2> + + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="images/i.png" alt="I" title="I" /></div><p> + wouldn't like to put on paper +how I feel to-day. Uncle Parke has +gone. Gone back to Michigan. I'm +such a mixture of feelings that I +don't know which I've got the most +of, gladness or sadness or happiness +or miserableness, and I'd rather cry as much +as I want than have as much ice-cream as I +could hold.</p> + +<p>But I'm not going to cry. I don't like cryers, +and, besides, I haven't a place to do it in private. +I wouldn't let Miss Katherine see me, not +if I died of choking. I ought to be rejoicing, +and I am; but the female heart is beyond +understanding, Miss Becky Cole says, and it is. +Mine is. I could die of thankfulness, but I'd +like first to cry as much as I could if I let go.</p> + +<p>They are engaged. Uncle Parke and Miss +Katherine are, and they are to be married on +the twenty-seventh of June. That's my birthday. +I will be thirteen on the twenty-seventh +of June.</p> + +<p>They told me about it night before last. I +was out on the porch, and Miss Katherine called +me and told me she and Doctor Alden wanted +me to go to walk with them. I knew what +was coming. Knew in a flash. But I pretended +not to, and thanked her ever so much, and +told her I'd just love to go.</p> + +<p>We walked on down to the Calverton road, +talking about nothing, and making out it was +our usual night walk, but when we got to the +seven maples Uncle Parke stopped.</p> + +<p>"Suppose we sit down," he said. "It's too +warm to walk far to-night." And after we +sat he threw his hat on the ground, then leaned +over and took my hands in his.</p> + +<p>"Mary Cary," he began. And though his +eyes were smiling, his voice was real quivering. +I was noticing, and it was. "Mary Cary, +Katherine and I have brought you with us to-night +to ask if you have any objection to our +being married. We would like to do so as +soon as possible—if you do not object."</p> + +<p>He turned my face to his, and the look in his +eyes was grand. It meant no matter who objected, +marry her he would; but it was a way to +tell me—the way he was asking, and I understood.</p> + +<p>"It depends," I said, and, as I am always +playing parts to myself, right on the spot I +was a chaperon lady. "It depends on whether +you love enough. Do you?"</p> + +<p>"I do. For myself I am entirely sure. As +to Katherine—Suppose she tells you what +she thinks."</p> + +<p>I turned toward her. "Do you, Miss Katherine? +It takes—I guess it takes a lot of love +to stand marriage. Do you think you have +enough?"</p> + +<p>In the moonlight her face changed like her +opal ring when the cream becomes pink and +the pink red.</p> + +<p>"I think there is," she said. Then: "Oh, +Mary Cary, why are you such a strange, strange +child?" And she threw her arms around me +and kissed me twenty times.</p> + +<p>After a while, after we'd talked and talked, +and they'd told me things and I'd told them +things, I said I'd consent.</p> + +<p>"But if the love ever gives out, I'm not +going to stay with you," I said. "I'm never +going to be fashionable and not care for love. +A home without it is hell."</p> + +<p>"Mercy, Mary!" Uncle Parke jumped. "Don't +use such strong language. It isn't nice."</p> + +<p>"But it's true. I read it in a book, and I've +watched the Rices. When there's love enough +you can stand anything. When there isn't, +you can stand nothing. Living together every +day you find out a lot you didn't know, and +love can't keep still. It's got to grow or +die."</p> + +<p>Then I jumped up. "I always could talk a +lot about things I didn't understand," I said. +"But I consent." And I flew down the road +and left them.</p> + +<p>I've written it out on a piece of paper, about +their being engaged, and looked at it by night +and by day since they told me about it. I've +said it low, and I've said it loud, but I can't +realize it, and the little sense the Lord gave +me He has taken away.</p> + +<p>They say I did it. Say I'm responsible for +every bit of it, and that I will have to look +after them all the rest of their lives to see that +I didn't make a mistake in writing that letter. +And that I'm to go to Europe with them on +their wedding tour and live with them always +and always. And—oh!—I believe my heart is +going to burst with miserable happiness and +happy miserableness, and my head feels like +it's in a bag.</p> + +<p>Dr. Parke Alden and Miss Katherine Trent +are the two nicest people on earth, and the two +I love best. But I don't think they know all +the time what they are doing and saying. +They are that in love they don't see but one +side—the happy side—and they think I am +going to leave this place with a skip and a +jump and run along by them, third person, +single number, and not know I'm in the way.</p> + +<p>They won't even listen when I tell them I +don't know what I'm going to do. I know +what I want to do! Everything in me gets +into shivering trembleness when I think I +could go to Europe with them on their wedding +trip. Think of it! Mary Cary could go to +E-U-R-O-P-E!</p> + +<p>They've invited me and say I'm to go, because +I'm never to leave them any more, and +they want me. But it isn't so. Mary tries to +believe it's so, but Martha knows it isn't. +They think they think they want me, but they +don't; nobody wants an outsider on a wedding +tour, and I'm not going. I can't help it. Come +on, tears! Even angels sometimes cry aloud; +and, not being a step-relation to one, I'm going +to let Mary cry if she wants to. Sometimes +Martha is real hard on Mary.</p> + +<p>There is no use studying Human Nature. +You can't study a thing that changes by day +and by night, and is so uncertain you never +know what it is going to do. Now, here is +Mary Cary, mostly Martha, who would rather +get on a train or a boat and go somewhere— +she don't care where—than to do any other +thing on earth. Who has never seen anything +and wants to see everything, and who, if anyone +had told her a year ago she could go to +New York, and then to Europe, would have +slid down every flight of stairs head foremost +from pure joy. And now she has the chance, +she is not going. She is Not.</p> + +<p>She hasn't much sense, Mary Cary hasn't, +but enough to know wedding trips are personal, +and, besides, the girls have turned into regular +weepers. Every time anything is said about +going away their eyes water up, and Martha +feels like a yellow dog with no tail. I know +they hate Miss Katherine's going; but why do +they cry about my going? Lord, this is a +strange place to live in, this world is! I wonder +what heaven will be like?</p> + +<p>Miss Bray is much better. She says Uncle +Parke has cured her. I don't believe it. I +believe it was Relief of the Mind.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>I wasn't meant to be a sad person. I was +silly sad the other day; but I've found out +when anything bothers you very much, it helps +to take it out and look at it. Walk all around +it, poke it and see if it's sure enough, and, if +it isn't, tell it you'll see it dead before you'll +let it do you that way.</p> + +<p>That's what I did with what was making +me doleful, and now I'm all right again. It +was because I did want to go to Europe awful, +and it twisted my heart like a machine had it +when I turned my back on the chance. And +then, too, it was because the girls begged me +so not to go away for good that I got so worried.</p> + +<p>They said it wouldn't be the same if I wasn't +here, and though they didn't blame me, they +begged me so not to go that I got as addled +as the old black hen that hatched ducks.</p> + +<p>Now, did you ever hear of such a thing? As +if it really mattered where Mary Cary lived! +I didn't know anybody truly cared, and finding +out made me light in the head. But I know +that's just passing—their caring, I mean. I'm +much obliged; but they'll forget it in a little +while, and I will be just a memory.</p> + +<p>I hope it will be bright. There's so much +dark you can't help that a brightness is real +enjoyable. They say what you look for you +see, and what you want to forget you mustn't +remember. There are a lot of things about my +Orphan life I'm going to try to forget. But +there are some that for the sake of sense, and +in case of airs, I had better bear in mind. I +guess Martha will see to those. Whenever +Mary gives signs of soaring, Martha brings her +straight back to earth. Martha doesn't care +for soarers, and she has a terrible bad habit of +letting them know she don't.</p> + +<p>Yorkburg hasn't settled down yet, and is still +hanging on to the last remnants of the surprise +about Uncle Parke's coming, and about his +marriage to Miss Katherine and my going +away.</p> + +<p>Of course, Miss Amelia Cokeland wanted to +know if he'd made the Asylum a present, and +how much. At first nobody would tell her. +She's got such a ripping curiosity that there +isn't a sneeze sneezed in Yorkburg, or a cake +baked, or a door shut that she doesn't want +to know why. But maybe she can't help it. +Some people are natural inquirers, and that's +the way she makes her living, telling the news.</p> + +<p>She used to work buttonholes, but since she +can't see good she just spends the day out and +tells all she hears. Nobody really likes her, +but her tongue is too sharp to fool with. To +keep from being talked about, everybody pretends +to be friendly.</p> + +<p>I don't. She shook her finger at me once +because I wouldn't tell her what was in Miss +Katherine's letter the first time she went away, +and since then she's never noticed me until +Uncle Parke came. Now every time I see her +she's awful pleasant, and tries to make me talk. +But a finger once shook is shook. I don't +talk.</p> + +<p>But Uncle Parke did make the Asylum a +present. He didn't tell me, neither did Miss +Katherine, and I don't think he wanted anybody +but the Board ladies to know. But, of +course, they couldn't keep it secret. They +told their husbands, and that meant the town. +Nothing but a dead man could keep from talking +about money.</p> + +<p>It must have been a lot he gave, for Peelie +Duke told me she heard Mrs. Carr and Mrs. +Dent talking about it the day she took some +apple-jelly for Miss Jones over to little Jessie +Carr, who was sick.</p> + +<p>"He could have kept her at a fashionable +boarding-school from the day she was born +until now for the sum he's turned over to the +Board," said Mrs. Carr, and her eyes, which +are the beaming kind, just danced, Peelie +said.</p> + +<p>"Well, he ought to," grunted Mrs. Dent, +who talks like her tongue was down her throat. +"He ought to! We've been taking care of the +child for almost ten years. I hear he wants +the house put in good condition, a new dining-room +and kitchen built and four bath-rooms. +The rest is to go to the endowment. I think +more ought to go to the endowment and less +for these luxuries. I don't approve of them. +An Orphan Asylum is not a hotel."</p> + +<p>"No, but it ought to be a home, if possible," +said Mrs. Carr, and Peelie said she looked at +Mrs. Dent like she wondered how under heaven +her husband stood her all the time.</p> + +<p>I certainly am glad to know I'm paid for. +Some day, when I'm grown and earning my +own living, before I marry my children's father, +I am going to give as much as I can of that +money back to Uncle Parke. Of course that +will be some time off, and until then I'll just +have to try to be a nice person.</p> + +<p>Miss Katherine says a whole lot of people +would pay a big price to have a nice person +in the house with them—one of those cheerful, +sunshiny kind that helps and is encouraging, +and gets up again when they fall down. +As I can't earn money yet, I'm going to try to +be something like that, so they won't be sorry +I ever was born. Uncle Parke and Miss Katherine +won't.</p> + +<p>But isn't it strange, when the time comes +for you to do a thing you are crazy to do, you +wish it hadn't come?</p> + +<p>There have been days when I hated this +Asylum. I've felt at times that I was just +one of the numbers of the multiplication +table, and in all my life I'd never be anything +else. And I'd almost sweep the bricks up out +of the yard, I'd be so mad to think I was nothing +and nobody.</p> + +<p>I wanted to be something and somebody. I +didn't want to die and be forgotten. I would +have liked to sit on St. John's Church steeple +and have everybody look at me and say:</p> + +<p>"That's Mary Cary! She's great and rich, +and gives away lots of money and sings like +an angel." That's what I once would have +liked, but I've learned a few things since I didn't +know then.</p> + +<p>One is that high places are lonely and hard +and uncomfortable, and people who have sat on +them have sometimes wished they didn't. Miss +Katherine told me that herself, also that the +place you're in is pretty near what you're +fitted to fill. Otherwise you'd get out and fill +another.</p> + +<p>I've given up steeples and superiorities. But +I'm glad I'm not going to be an orphan, just +an orphan, all my life. I'm glad; still, when I +think of going away and leaving everybody and +everything: the old pump, where I drowned +my first little chicken washing it; and the old +mulberry-tree, where my first doll was buried; +and the garret, where I made up ghost-stories +for the girls on rainy days; and the school-room; +and even No. 4—when I think of these +things, I could be like that man in the Bible +(I believe it was David, but it might have +been Jonah), I could lift up my voice and +weep.</p> + +<p>But I'm not going to. Weepers are a +nuisance.</p> + +<p>I guess that's the way with life, though. +When things are going, you try to hold them +back. And if you got them, you'd maybe wish +you hadn't.</p> + +<p>That's the way Mrs. Gaines did when her +husband died. I mean when he didn't die that +first time. She thought he was going to, and +so did everybody else. He had Fright's disease, +and it affected his heart, being liable to +take him off any time, and Mrs. Gaines just +carried on terrible.</p> + +<p>She had faintings and hysterics, and said she +couldn't live without him, though everybody +in Yorkburg knew she could, and easy enough. +He without her, too, had she gone first. She +had asthma and an outbreaking temper, and +he drank.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Mosby—she's the doctor's wife—said +she didn't blame him. No man could stand +Mrs. Gaines all the time without something to +help, and everybody hoped when he got so ill +that he'd die and have a little rest. But he +didn't. He got better.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gaines was so surprised she was downright +disagreeable about it, and how he stood +it was a wonder. He didn't long, for the next +summer he was dead sure enough, and Mrs. +Gaines put on the longest crêpe veil ever seen +in the South, she said. It touched the hem of +her skirt in front and behind; but she cut it +in half after everybody had seen it often +enough to know how long it was.</p> + +<p>If Augustus Gaines thought she was going +to ruin her eyes and choke her lungs by wearing +unhealthy crêpe over her face he thought +wrong, she said, and in a few months it was +gone and she was as gay as a girl. She's what +they call a character, Mrs. Gaines is.</p> + +<p>I don't want to be like her, and I don't expect +to do any groaning over leaving Yorkburg. +I want to live with Uncle Parke and +Miss Katherine, and I'm going to. But it's +strange how many happy things hurt.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XV" id="XV"></a>XV</h2> + +<h2>A REAL WEDDING</h2> + + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="images/i.png" alt="I" title="I" /></div><p> +t looks as if everybody who knows +Miss Katherine wants her to be married +from their house. Her brothers +want her to be married from theirs. +Her aunt, Mrs. Powhatan Bloodgood, +who lives in Loudon County, and +whose husband is as rich as a real lord, begs +her to be married in hers; and everybody in +Yorkburg—I mean the coat-of-arms everybodies—has +invited her to have the wedding +in their home.</p> + +<p>But she just smiles and says no to them all. +Says she is going to be married from her house, +which is the Orphan Asylum, though the ceremony +will be at the church. It's going to be +in the morning at twelve o'clock, so they can +take the two-o'clock train for Richmond and +go on to New York.</p> + +<p>Miss Katherine wants it to be quiet, but it +can't be quiet. There's nothing on human +legs that can use them who won't be at the +church to see that wedding take place.</p> + +<p>Everybody has been paying her a lot of +attention of late. It's real strange what a difference +a man makes in a marriage, even if he +isn't noticed much in person at the time. If +he's rich and prominent, everybody is so pleasant +and sociable you'd think they were real +intimate. If he's just good and poor, few take +notice.</p> + +<p>When Miss Vickie Toones married Mr. Joe +Blake they didn't get hardly any presents. +They had a lot of dead relations who used to +be rich and haughty, but their living ones are +as poor as the people they didn't used to know, +and hardly anybody gave them anything handsome.</p> + +<p>Miss Katherine's presents are just amazing, +and my eyes are blistered by the shine of them. +I didn't know before such things were in the +world. People say Uncle Parke has made a +lot of money in some mines out West, besides +being a doctor, and that he doesn't have to +work. "But a man who doesn't work hasn't +any excuse for living," I heard him tell somebody, +and maybe it's so, though I don't know.</p> + +<p>I don't know anything these days. I'm the +shape and size of Mary Cary, but I see and +hear so many things I never saw and heard +before that I'd like to borrow a dog to see if +he knows whether I am myself or somebody +else. And another thing I'd like to find out +is, How do other people know so much?</p> + +<p>Mrs. Philip Creekmore has a cousin whose +wife's brother lives in the same place Uncle +Parke does, and Miss Amelia Cokeland wrote +out there and found out all about him. But +it doesn't matter whether she truly knows anything +or not. Miss Webb says she is like those +fish scientists. Give her one bone, and she can +tell you all the rest. She's had a grand time +telling more things about Uncle Parke than +Miss Katherine will ever learn in this world.</p> + +<p>My dress is finished. I'm to be Maiden of +Honor. There are no bridesmaids. Think of +it! Me, Mary Cary, once just flesh and blood +mechanical, now a living creature who is to +wear a white Swiss dress and a sash with pink +rosebuds on it, and walk up the church aisle +with my arms full of roses. And—magnificent +gloriousness! most beautiful of all!—every girl +in this Asylum is to have a white dress and a +sash the color she likes best to wear to the +wedding. That's my wedding gift to the girls. +Uncle Parke gave it to me.</p> + +<p>Miss Katherine's California brother and his +wife have come. I don't like them. He looks +bored to death, and chews the end of his +mustache till you wonder there's any left. As +for her, she's the limit. Maybe that's what's +the matter with him.</p> + +<p>She seems to be afraid some of us might +touch her, and she stares as if we were figures +in a china-shop. No more says good-morning +than if we were.</p> + +<p>She wears seven rings on one hand and four +on another, and rustles so when she walks she +sounds like a churner out of order. If she isn't +a bulgarian born, she's bought herself into +being one, for she oozes money. It's the only +thing you think of when she's around. You +can actually smell it. I think Miss Katherine +is sorry they came. She don't say it, of course, +but plenty of things don't have to be said.</p> + +<p>Uncle Parke came last night, bringing his +best friend and some others. The best one is +Doctor Willwood. He's fine. He and I are +going to come down the aisle together. I +reach up to his elbow, and he says he may +put me in his pocket. I wish he would. I +know I will be that frightened I'd be glad to +get in it.</p> + +<p>He wants to know all about Yorkburg and +the people, and to-day Miss Bray let me take +him all around the town and show him the +antiquities. He asked her. I had on the white +dress Miss Katherine gave me last summer, and +I looked real nice, for I had on my company +manners, too.</p> + +<p>You see, he was from the West, and had +never been to Virginia before; and when a man +comes such a long way, one ought to put on +company manners and be extra polite. It +wouldn't be right not to. I put mine on, and +I guess I did do a lot of talking. I'm by nature +a talker, just like I can't help skipping when +my heart is happy and nothing hurts.</p> + +<p>I told him about all the places we came to, +and about who lived in them, except the Alden +house which the Reagans now possess. When +we got there he stopped in front of it.</p> + +<p>"My!" he said, "that's a beautiful old place! +Whose is it?"</p> + +<p>"Some people by the name of Reagan live +there," I said. "I don't know them." And +I started on.</p> + +<p>I came near forgetting, and saying, "That +is Alden house, where my grandfather used to +live," but I remembered in time. I don't acknowledge +my grandfather, and I knew somebody +else would tell him Uncle Parke was born +and lived there until he went West.</p> + +<p>We had a grand time. We stayed out over +four hours, and I forgot all about dinner. He +didn't want to go in when I suddenly remembered +and told him I must, and then he said +I was going to take dinner with him at the +Colonial. He'd asked Miss Bray, and it was +all right. And that's what I did. Took dinner +with him at the Colonial!</p> + +<p>I tell you, Mary Martha Cary had what you +could truly call a Time. And Doctor Willwood +said he never had enjoyed a morning in his life +like that one. Laugh? I never heard a man +laugh so hearty. Half the time I couldn't tell +why. I'd be real serious, but he'd look at me +and almost die laughing. I bet I said some +things I oughtn't, but I don't remember, and +I couldn't take them back if I did.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It's over. The wedding is over. Everything +is after a while in this life, even death; +and time is the only thing that keeps on just +the same.</p> + +<p>They're gone. Gone on their bridal tour, +and the happiness that's left Yorkburg would +run a family for a long life. I wish everybody +could have seen that wedding. It's going to +be long remembered, for the earth and sky, +and birds and flowers, and trees and sunshine +all took part. Everything tried to help, and +as for blessings on them, they took away +enough for the human race. But now it's over +I feel like my first balloon looked when I stuck +a pin in it to see what would happen. I saw.</p> + +<p>I had a telegram from them to-day. It said:</p> + +<blockquote><p>We sail at eleven o'clock. Love to all, and hearts +full for Mary Cary.</p> + +<p>UNCLE PARKE and AUNT KATHERINE.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Well, she's my Aunt now. That's fixed, anyhow, +and the marriage that fixed it was a +beauty. Every bird in Yorkburg was singing, +every flower was blooming, and every heart +was blessing; and when those fifty-eight +orphans walked in, all in white and two by +two, every hand was dropping roses. And that +is what each girl was wishing: Roses, roses all +her life!</p> + +<p>After the ushers, I came in all alone by myself; +that is, my shape did. Mary was really +inside the altar looking at me coming up slow +and easy, and Martha was ordering me to keep +step to the music. "All right, I'm doing my +best," I was saying to both. And I was, but +I was thankful when I got to where I could +stop, for my legs were so excited I wouldn't +have been surprised if they'd turned and run +out.</p> + +<p>Behind me came Miss Katherine, on her Army +brother's arm. He's as nice as the other isn't. +He hasn't got the money-making disease. +When Uncle Parke and Doctor Willwood came +out of the vestry-room Uncle Parke gave me +one look, just one, but it was so understanding +I winked back, and then he came farther down +and stood by Miss Katherine like she was his +until kingdom come, forever more. Amen.</p> + +<p>Then the minister began, and the music was +so soft you could hear the birds outside. The +breeze through the window blew right on Miss +Katherine's veil, and I was so busy watching +it I didn't know the time had come to pray, +and I hardly got my head bent before I had +to take it up again. Then the minister was +through, and I was walking down the aisle +with Doctor Willwood, and in just about two +minutes more we were back at the Asylum, +and it was all over—the thing we'd been looking +forward to so long.</p> + +<p>The Asylum looked real nice that morning. +There were bushels and bushels of flowers in it, +for everybody in town who had any sent them. +Flowers cover a multitude of poverties. The +reception was grand. That California Richness +called it a breakfast, but that was pure style. +Yorkburg don't have breakfast between twelve +and one, and everybody else called it a reception. +As for the people at it, there were more +kinds than were ever in one dining-room before; +and every single one had a good time. +Every one.</p> + +<p>You see, Miss Katherine, besides being who +she was, was what she was. Having known a +great deal about all sorts of people since being +a nurse, and finding out that the plain and the +fancy, the rich and the poor, those who've had +a chance and those who haven't, are a heap +more alike than people think, she said she was +going to invite to her wedding whoever she +wanted. And she did.</p> + +<p>There wasn't one invited who didn't come: +the bent and the broke and the blind (that's +true, for old Mr. Forbes is bent, and Mrs. Rowe's +hip was broken and she uses crutches, and +Bobbie Anderson is blind); and the old, that's +the high-born coat-of-arms kind; and the new, +that's the Reagans and Hinchmans and some +others, and Mr. Pinkert the shoemaker, who, +she says, is a gentleman if he don't remember +his grandfather's name; and Miss Ginnie Grant, +who made her underclothes—all were there. +All. It was a different wedding from any that +was ever before in Yorkburg, and if any feelings +were hurt it was because they were trying +to be. Some feelings are kept for that purpose.</p> + +<p>Of course, Mrs. Christopher Pryor had remarks +to make. "Katherine always was too +independent," I heard her tell Miss Queechy +Spence. "But I don't believe in anything of +the kind. If you once let people get out of +the place they were born in, there'll be no doing +anything with them. You mark me, if this +wedding don't make trouble. Some of these +people will expect to be invited to my house +next." And she took another helping of salad +that was enough for three. She's an awful eater.</p> + +<p>"Oh no, they won't," said Miss Queechy. +"They know better than to expect anything +like that of you," and she gave me a little wink +and walked off with Mr. Morris, who's her beau. +I went off, too. It isn't safe for Martha Cary +to be too near Mrs. Pryor, for Mary never +knows what she may do.</p> + +<p>And, oh, you ought to have seen Miss Bray! +She was stepsister to the Queen of Sheba. +Solomon never had a wife arrayed like she was +on that twenty-seventh day of June. I believe +she is engaged to Doctor Rudd. I really do.</p> + +<p>You see, after people got over teasing him +about that make-believe wedding, he got to +thinking about her. He's bound to know he +isn't much of a man, and no young girl would +have him, so lately he's been ambling 'round +Miss Bray. If he can stand her, he'll do well +to get her. She's a grand manager on little.</p> + +<p>He was at the wedding, too. His beard was +flowinger and redder, and the part in the back +of his head shininger than ever. He had an +elegant time. He was so full of himself you +would have thought it was his own party.</p> + +<p>Uncle Parke and Aunt Katherine have been +on the ocean three days. I wonder if they are +sick. I don't think I will go to Europe with +my children's father. I was seasick once on +land, and there wasn't a human being I even +liked that day. It would be bad to find out +so soon that the very sight of your husband +makes you ill. After you know him better, +you could tell him to go off somewhere; but at +first I suppose you have to be polite.</p> + +<p>They were awful nice about wanting me to +go with them. The bride and groom were. +They said I had to, and they were so surprised +when I said I couldn't that they didn't think +I meant it. When they found out I did, they +were dreadfully worried, and didn't know what +to do next. There wasn't anything to do, and +here I am. Here I'm going to be, too, until +the first day of October, when they will be back, +and we will start for the West, for Michigan.</p> + +<p>I'm going to like Michigan. I've decided +before I get there. I know there will be something +to like, there always is in every place +and every person, Miss Katherine says, if you +just will see it instead of the all wrong. I was +by nature born critical. There are a lot of +things I don't like in this world, but there's no +use in mentioning them. As for opinions, if +they're not pleasant they'd better be kept to +yourself. I learned that early in life and forget +it every day.</p> + +<p>I'm going to try and think Michigan is a +grand place, and next to Virginia the best to +live in. They couldn't, <i>couldn't</i> expect me to +think it was like Virginia!</p> + +<p>Perhaps, after a while, Uncle Parke may come +back. For over two hundred years his people +have lived here, and sometimes I believe he +feels just like that dog did who had his call in +him. The call of the place that the first dogs +came from, that wild, free place, and I think +Uncle Parke wants to come back, wants to be +with his own people.</p> + +<p>Out West is very convenient, though, Peggy +Green says. She has an aunt who used to live +out there, and she told her you could do as you +choose in almost everything. If husbands and +wives didn't like each other, there was no +trouble in getting new ones. They could get +a divorce and marry somebody else.</p> + +<p>I wonder what a divorce is. We've never +had one in Yorkburg, and I never knew until +the other day that when you got married it +wasn't really truly permanent. I thought it +was for ever and ever and until death parted. +The prayer-book says so, and I thought it +meant it.</p> + +<p>By the time I'm grown I guess I'll find a lot +of things are said and not meant. Maybe when +I find out I will be all the gladder to come back +to Yorkburg, where people don't seem to know +much about these new-fashioned things. Where +they still believe in the old ones, and just live +on and don't hurry, and are kind and polite and +dear, if they are slow and queer and proud a +little bit.</p> + +<p>It makes me have such a funny feeling in +my throat when I think about going away. +I'm trying not to think. But I do. Think all +the time. I want this summer to be the happiest +the children ever had. It's the last for +me. That sounds consumptive, but I don't +mean that way. I mean it's my last Orphan +summer.</p> + +<p>Of course, I'm glad, awful glad; but I'm so +sorry the other children aren't going, too. For +them it's prunes and blue-and-white calico to +look forward to until they're eighteen. Year +in and year out, prunes and calico.</p> + +<p>But maybe it isn't. If Mary Cary will do +her part something nicer may happen. She +doesn't know yet the way to make it happen, +having nothing much to send back but love. +Somebody says love finds the way. Oh, Mary +Cary, you and Love <i>must</i> find a way!</p> + +<h3>THE END</h3> +<hr style="width: 95%;" /> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mary Cary, by Kate Langley Bosher + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARY CARY *** + +***** This file should be named 15571-h.htm or 15571-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/5/7/15571/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Melissa Er-Raqabi and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Mary Cary + "Frequently Martha" + +Author: Kate Langley Bosher + +Release Date: April 6, 2005 [EBook #15571] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARY CARY *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Melissa Er-Raqabi and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. + + + + + + + +MARY CARY +_"FREQUENTLY MARTHA"_ + +BY +Kate Langley Bosher + +FRONTISPIECE BY +FRANCES ROGERS + +NEW YORK +GROSSET & DUNLAP +PUBLISHERS + +Published By Arrangement With Harper & Brothers + + + + +COPYRIGHT, 1910 BY HARPER & BROTHERS +PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + + + + +TO +VIRGINIA + + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAP. PAGE + I. AN UNTHANKFUL ORPHAN 1 + II. THE COMING OF MISS KATHERINE 14 + III. MARY, FREQUENTLY MARTHA 27 + IV. THE STEPPED-ON AND THE STEPPERS 39 + V. "HERE COMES THE BRIDE!" 50 + VI. "MY LADY OF THE LOVELY HEART" 61 + VII. "STERILIZED AND FERTILIZED" 70 +VIII. MARY CARY'S BUSINESS 75 + IX. LOVE IS BEST 85 + X. THE REAGAN BALL 97 + XI. FINDING OUT 103 + XII. A TRUE MIRACLE 120 +XIII. HIS COMING 133 + XIV. THE HURT OF HAPPINESS 141 + XV. A REAL WEDDING 155 + + + + +MARY CARY + + + + +I + +AN UNTHANKFUL ORPHAN + + +My name is Mary Cary. I live in the Yorkburg Female Orphan Asylum. You +may think nothing happens in an Orphan Asylum. It does. The orphans are +sure enough children, and real much like the kind that have Mothers and +Fathers; but though they don't give parties or wear truly Paris clothes, +things happen, and that's why I am going to write this story. + +To-day I was kept in. Yesterday, too. I don't mind, for I would rather +watch the lightning up here than be down in the basement with the +others. There are days when I love thunder and lightning. I can't flash +and crash, being just Mary Cary; but I'd like to, and when it is done +for me it is a relief to my feelings. + +The reason I was kept in was this. Yesterday Mr. Gaffney, the one with +a sunk eye and cold in his head perpetual, came to talk to us for the +benefit of our characters. He thinks it's his duty, and, just naturally +loving to talk, he wears us out once a week anyhow. Yesterday, not +agreeing with what he said, I wouldn't pretend I did, and I was punished +prompt, of course. + +I don't care for duty-doers, and I tried not to listen to him; but +tiresome talk is hard not to hear--it makes you so mad. Hear him I did, +and when, after he had ambled on until I thought he really was +castor-oil and I had swallowed him, he blew his nose and said: + +"You have much, my children, to be thankful for, and for everything you +should be thankful. Are you? If so, stand up. Rise, and stand upon your +feet." + +I didn't rise. All the others did--stood on their feet, just like he +asked. None tried their heads. I was the only one that sat, and when he +saw me, his sunk eye almost rolled out, and his good eye stared at me in +such astonishment that I laughed out loud. I couldn't help it, I truly +couldn't. + +I'm not thankful for everything, and that's why I didn't stand up. Can +you be thankful for toothache, or stomachache, or any kind of ache? You +cannot. And not meant to be, either. + +The room got awful still, and then presently he said: + +"Mary Cary"--his voice was worse than his eye--"Mary Cary, do you mean +to say you have not a thankful heart?" And he pointed his finger at me +like I was the Jezebel lady come to life. + +I didn't answer, thinking it safer, and he asked again: + +"Do I understand, Mary Cary"--and by this time he was real +red-in-the-face mad--"do I understand you are not thankful for all that +comes to you? Do I understand aright?" + +"Yes, sir, you understand right," I said, getting up this time. "I am +not thankful for everything in my life. I'd be much thankfuller to have +a Mother and Father on earth than to have them in heaven. And there are +a great many other things I would like different." And down I sat, and +was kept in for telling the truth. + +Miss Bray says it was for impertinence (Miss Bray is the Head Chief of +this Institution), but I didn't mean to be impertinent. I truly didn't. +Speaking facts is apt to make trouble, though--also writing them. To-day +Miss Bray kept me in for putting something on the blackboard I forgot to +rub out. I wrote it just for my own relief, not thinking about anybody +else seeing it. What I wrote was this: + + "Some people are crazy all the time; + All people are crazy sometimes." + +That's why I'm up in the punishment-room to-day, and it only proves that +what I wrote is right. It's crazy to let people know you know how queer +they are. Miss Bray takes personal everything I do, and when she saw +that blackboard, up-stairs she ordered me at once. She loves to punish +me, and it's a pleasure I give her often. + +I brought my diary with me, and as I can't write when anybody is about, +I don't mind being by myself every now and then. Miss Bray don't know +this, or my punishment would take some other form. + +I just love a diary. You see, its something you can tell things to and +not get in trouble. When writing in it I can relieve my feelings by +saying what I think, which Miss Katherine says is risky to do to +people, and that it's safer to keep your feelings to yourself. People +don't really care about them, and there's nothing they get so tired of +hearing about. A diary doesn't talk, neither do animals; but a diary +understands better than animals, and you can call things by their right +name in a book which it isn't safe to do out loud, even to a dog. + +I know I am not unthankful, and I would much rather have a Father and +Mother on earth than to have them in heaven, but I guess I should have +kept my preferences to myself. Somehow preferences seem to make people +mad. + +But a Mother and Father in heaven _are_ too far away to be truly +comforting. I like the people I love to be close to me. I guess that is +why, when I was little, I used to hold out my arms at night, hoping my +Mother would come and hold me tight. But she never came, and now I know +it's no use. + +There are a great many things that are no use. One is in telling people +what they don't want to know. I found that out almost two years ago, +when I wasn't but ten. The way I found out was this. + +One morning, it was an awful cold morning, Miss Bray came into the +dining-room just as we were taking our seats for breakfast, and she +looked so funny that everybody stared, though nobody dared to even smile +visible. All the children are afraid of Miss Bray; but at that time I +hadn't found out her true self, and, not thinking of consequences, I +jumped up and ran over to her and whispered something in her ear. + +"What!" she said. "What did you say?" And she bent her head so as to +hear better. + +"You forgot one side of your face when fixing this morning," I said, +still whispering, not wanting the others to hear. "Only one side is +pink--" But I didn't get any further, for she grabbed my hand and almost +ran with me out of the room. + +"You piece of impertinence!" she said, and her eyes had such sparks in +them I knew my judgment-day had come. "You little piece of impertinence! +You shall be punished well for this." I was. I didn't mean to be +impertinent. I thought she'd like to know. I thought wrong. + +I loathe Miss Bray. The very sight of her shoulders in the back gets me +mad all over without her saying a word, and everything in me that's +wrong comes right forward and speaks out when she and I are together. +She thinks she could run this earth better than it's being done, and +she walks like she was the Superintendent of most of it. But I could +stand that. I could stand her cheeks, and her frizzed front, and a good +many other things; but what I can't stand is her passing for being +truthful when she isn't. She tells stories, and she knows I know it; and +from the day I found it out I have stayed out of her way; and were she +the Queen of Europe, Asia, and Africa, and the United States I'd want +her to stand out of mine. I truly would. + +Her outrageousest story I heard her tell myself. It was over a year ago, +and we were in the room where the ladies were having a Board meeting. I +had come in to bring some water, and had a waiter full of glasses in my +hands, and was just about to put them on the table when I heard Miss +Bray tell her Lie. + +That's what she did. She Lied! + +Those glasses never touched that table. My hands lost their hold, and +down they came with a crash. Every one smashed to smithereens, and I +standing staring at Miss Bray. The way she told her story was this. The +Board deals us out for adoption, and that morning they were discussing a +request for Pinkie Moore, and, as usual, Miss Bray didn't want Pinkie +to go. You see, Pinkie was very useful. She did a lot of disagreeable +things for Miss Bray, and Miss Bray didn't want to lose her. And when +Mrs. Roane, who is the only Board lady truly seeing through her, asked, +real sharplike, why Pinkie shouldn't go this time, Miss Bray spoke out +like she was really grieved. + +"I declare, Mrs. Roane," she said--and she twirled her keys round and +round her fingers, and twitched the nostril parts of her nose just like +a horse--"I declare, Mrs. Roane, I hate to tell you, I really do. But +Pinkie Moore wouldn't do for adoption. She has a terrible temper, and +she's so slow nobody would keep her. And then, too"--her voice was the +Pharisee kind that the Lord must hate worse than all others--"and then, +too, I am sorry to say Pinkie is not truthful, and has been caught +taking things from the girls. I hope none of you will mention this, as I +trust by watching over her to correct these faults. She begs me so not +to send her out for adoption, and is so devoted to me that--" And just +then she saw me, which she hadn't done before, I being behind Mrs. +Armstead, and she stopped like she had been hit. + +For a minute I didn't breathe. I didn't. All I did was to stare--stare +with mouth open and eyes out; and then it was the glasses went down and +I flew into the yard, and there by the pump was Pinkie. + +"Oh, Pinkie!" I said. "Oh, Pinkie!" And I caught her round the waist and +raced up and down the yard like a wild man from Borneo. "Oh, Pinkie, +what do you think?" Poor Pinkie, thinking a mad dog had bit me, tried to +make me stop, but stop I wouldn't until there was no more breath. And +then we sat down on the woodpile, and I hugged her so hard I almost +broke her bones. + +First I was so mad I couldn't cry, and then crying so I couldn't speak. +But after a while words came, and I said: + +"Pinkie Moore, are you devoted to Miss Bray? Are you? I want the truest +truth. Are you devoted to her?" + +"Devoted to Miss Bray? Devoted!" And poor little Pinkie, who has no more +spirit than a poor relation, spoke out for once. "I hate her!" she said. +"I hate her worse than prunes; and if somebody would only adopt me, I'd +be so thankful I'd choke for joy, except for leaving you." Then she +boohoo'd too, and the tears that fell between us looked like we were +artesian wells--they certainly did. + +But Pinkie didn't know what caused my tears. Mine were mad tears, and +not being able to tell her why they came, I had to send her to the house +to wash her face. I washed mine at the pump, and then worked off some of +my mad by sweeping the yard as hard as I could, wishing all the time +Miss Bray was the leaves, and trying to make believe she was. I was full +of the things the Bible says went into swine, and I knew there would be +trouble for me before the day was out. But there wasn't. Not even for +breaking the pump-handle was I punished, and Miss Bray tried so hard to +be friendly that at first I did not understand. I do now. + +That was my first experience in finding out that some one who looked +like a lady on the outside was mean and deceitful on the inside, and it +made me tremble all over to find it could be so. Since then I have never +pretended to be friends with Miss Bray. As for her, she hates me--hates +me because she knows I know what sort of a person she is, a sort I +loathe from my heart. + +When I first got my diary I thought I was going to write in it every +day. I haven't, and that shows I'm no better on resolves than I am on +keeping step. I never keep step. Sometimes I've thought I was really +something, but I'm not. Nobody much is when you know them too well. It +is a good thing for your pride when you keep a diary, specially when you +are truthful in it. Each day that you leave out is an evidence of +character--poor character--for it shows how careless and put-off-y you +are; both of which I am. + +But it isn't much in life to be an inmate of a Humane Association, or a +Home, or an Asylum, or whatever name you call the place where job-lot +charity children live. And that's what I am, an Inmate. Inmates are like +malaria and dyspepsia: something nobody wants and every place has. +Minerva James says they are like veterans--they die and yet forever +live. + +Well, anyhow, whenever I used to do wrong, which was pretty constant, I +would say to myself it didn't matter, nobody cared. And if I let a +chance slip to worry Miss Bray I was sorry for it; but that was before I +understood her, and before Miss Katherine came. Since Miss Katherine +came I know it's yourself that matters most, not where you live or +where you came from, and I'm thinking a little more of Mary Cary than I +used to, though in a different way. As for Miss Bray, I truly try at +times to forget she's living. + +But she's taught me a good deal about Human Nature, Miss Bray has. About +the side I didn't know. It's a pity there are things we have to know. I +think I will make a special study of Human Nature. I thought once I'd +take up Botany in particular, as I love flowers; or Astronomy, so as to +find out all about those million worlds in the sky, so superior to +earth, and so much larger; but I think, now, I'll settle on Human +Nature. Nobody ever knows what it is going to do, which makes it full of +surprises, but there's a lot that's real interesting about it. I like +it. As for its Bray side, I'll try not to think about it; but if there +are puddles, I guess it's well to know where, so as not to step in them. +I wish we didn't have to know about puddles and things! I'd so much +rather know little and be happy than find out the miserable much some +people do. + +Anyhow, I won't have to remember all I learn, for Miss Katherine says +there are many things it's wise to forget, and whenever I can I'll +forget mean things. I'd forget Miss Bray's if she'd tell me she was +sorry and cross her heart she'd never do them again. But I don't believe +she ever will. God is going to have a hard time with Miss Bray. She's +right old to change, and she's set in her ways--bad ways. + + + + +II + +THE COMING OF MISS KATHERINE + + +Now, why can't I keep on at a thing like Miss Katherine? Why? Because +I'm just Mary Cary, mostly Martha; made of nothing, came from nowhere, +and don't know where I'm going, and have no more system in my nature +than Miss Bray has charms for gentlemen. + +But Miss Katherine--well, there never was and never will be but one Miss +Katherine, and there's as much chance of my being like her as there is +of my reaching the stars. I'll never be like her, but she's my friend. +That's the wonderful part of it. She's my friend. And when you've got a +friend like Miss Katherine you've got strength to do anything. To stand +anything, too. + +The beautiful part of it is that I live with her; that is, she lives in +the Asylum, and I sleep in the room with her. + +It happened this way. Last summer I didn't want to do anything but sit +down. It was the funniest thing, for before that I never did like to sit +down if I could stand up, or skip around, or climb, or run, or dance, or +jump. I never could walk straight or slow, and I never can keep step. + +Well, last summer I didn't want to move, and I couldn't eat, and I +didn't even feel like reading. I'd have such queer slipping-away +feelings right in my heart that I'd call myself a drop of ink on a +blotter that was spreading and spreading and couldn't stop. Sometimes I +would think I was sinking down and down, but I really wasn't sinking, +for I didn't move. I only felt like I was, and I was afraid to go to +sleep at night for fear I would die, and I stayed awake so as to know +about it if I did. + +And then I began to be afraid of dying, and my heart would beat so I +thought it would wear out. But I didn't tell anybody how I felt. I was +ashamed of being afraid, and I just told God, because I knew He could +understand better than anybody else; and I asked Him please to hold on +to me, I not being able to do much holding myself, and He held. I know +it, for I felt it. + +You see, Mrs. Blamire--she's Miss Bray's assistant--was away; Miss Bray +was busy getting ready to go when Mrs. Blamire came back; and Miss Jones +was pickling and preserving. I didn't want to bother her, so I dragged +on, and kept my feelings to myself. + +The girls were awful good to me. Real many have relations in Yorkburg, +and if I'd eaten all the fruit they sent me I'd been a tutti-frutti; but +I couldn't eat it. And then one day I began to talk so queer they were +frightened, and told Miss Bray, and she sent for the doctor quick. That +afternoon they took me to the hospital, and the last thing I saw was +little Josie White crying like her heart would break with her arms +around a tree. + +"Please don't die, Mary Cary, please don't die!" she kept saying over +and over, and when they tried to make her go in she bawled worse than +ever. I tried to wave my hand. + +"I'm not going to die, I'm coming back," I said, and that's all I +remember. + +I knew they put me in something and drove off, and then I was in a +little white bed in a big room with a lot of other little beds in it; +and after that I didn't know I was living for three weeks. But I talked +just the same. They told me I made speeches by the hour, and read books +out loud, and recited poems that had never been printed. But when I +stopped and lay like the dead, just breathing, the girls say they heard +there were no hopes, and a lot of them just cried and cried. It was +awful nice of them, and if they hadn't cut my hair off I would have made +a real pretty corpse. + +The day I first saw Miss Katherine really good she was standing by my +bed, holding my wrist in one hand and her watch in another, and I +thought she was an angel and I was in heaven. She was in white, and I +took her little white cap for a crown, and I said: + +"Are you my Mother?" + +She nodded and smiled, but she didn't speak, and I asked again: + +"Are you my Mother?" + +"Your right-now Mother," she said, and she smiled so delicious I thought +of course I was in heaven, and I spoke once more. + +"Where's God?" + +Then she stooped down and kissed me. + +"In your heart and mine," she answered. "But you mustn't talk, not yet. +Shut your eyes, and I will sing you to sleep." And I shut them. And I +knew I was in heaven, for heaven isn't a place; it's a feeling, and I +had it. + +And that's how I met Miss Katherine. + +Her father and mother are dead, just like mine. Her father was Judge +Trent, and his father once owned half the houses in Yorkburg, but lost +them some way, and what he didn't lose Judge Trent did after the war. + +When her father died Miss Katherine wouldn't live with either of her +brothers, or any of her relations, but went to Baltimore to study to be +a nurse. After she graduated she didn't come back for three or four +years, and she hadn't been back six months when I was taken sick. And +now I sing: + + "Praise God from whom that sickness flew." + +Sing it inside almost all the time. + +Miss Katherine don't have to be a nurse. She has a little money. I don't +know how much, she never mentioning money before me; but she has some, +for I heard Miss Bray and Mrs. Blamire talking one night when they +thought I was asleep; and for once I didn't interrupt or let them know I +was awake. + +I had been punished so often for speaking when I shouldn't that this +time I kept quiet, and when they were through I couldn't sleep. I was +so excited I stayed awake all night. And from joy--pure joy. + +I had only been back from the hospital a week, and was in the room next +to Mrs. Blamire's, where the children who are sick stay, when I heard +Miss Bray talking to Mrs. Blamire, and at something she said I sat up in +bed. Right or wrong, I tried to hear. I did. + +They were sitting in front of the fire, and Miss Bray leaned over and +cracked the coals. + +"Have you heard that Miss Katherine Trent is coming here as a trained +nurse?" she said, and she put down the poker, and, folding her arms, +began to rock. + +"You don't mean it!" said Mrs. Blamire, and her little voice just +cackled. "Coming here? To this place? I do declare!" And she drew her +chair up closer, being a little deaf. + +"That's what she's going to do." Miss Bray took off her spectacles. "The +Board can't afford to pay her a salary, but she's offered to come +without one, and next week she'll start in." + +"Katherine Trent always was queer," she went on, still rocking with all +her might. "She can get big prices as a nurse, though she doesn't have +to nurse at all, having money enough to live on without working. And why +she wants to come to a place like this and fool with fifty-odd children +and get no pay for it is beyond my understanding. It's her business, +however, not mine, and I'm glad she's coming." + +"I do declare!" And Mrs. Blamire clapped her hands like she was getting +religion. "My, but I'm glad! Miss Katherine Trent coming here! And next +week, you say? I do declare!" And her gladness sounded in her voice. It +was a different kind from Miss Bray's. Even in the dark I could tell, +for hers was thankfulness for the children. Miss Bray was glad for +herself. + +That was almost a year ago, and now my hair has come out and curls worse +than ever. It's very thick, and it's brown--light brown. + +I'm always intending to stand still in front of the glass long enough to +see what I do look like, but I'm always in such a hurry I don't have +time. I know my eyes are blue, for Miss Katherine said this morning they +got bigger and bluer every day, and if I didn't eat more I'd be nothing +but eyes. If you don't like a thing, can you eat it? You cannot. That +is, in summer you can't. In winter it's a little easier. + +I never have understood how Miss Katherine could have come to an Orphan +Asylum to live and to eat Orphan Asylum meals when she could have eaten +the best in Yorkburg. And Yorkburg's best is the best on earth. +Everybody says that who's tried other places, even Miss Webb, who gets +right impatient with Yorkburg's slowness and enjoyment of itself. + +And Miss Katherine is living here from pure choice. That's what she is +doing, and she's made living creatures of us, just like God did when He +breathed on Adam and woke him up. + +At the hospital she used to ask me all about the Asylum, and, never +guessing why, I told her all I knew, except about Miss Bray. Miss +Katherine had known the Asylum all her life, but had only been in it +twice--just passing it by, not thinking. When I got better and could +talk as much as I pleased, she wanted to know how many of us there were, +what we did, and how we did it: what we ate, and what kind of +underclothes we wore in winter, and how many times a week we bathed all +over; when we got up, and what we studied, and how long we sewed each +day, and how long we played, and when we went to bed--and all sorts of +other things. I wondered why she wanted to know, and when I found out I +could have laid right down and died from pure gladness. I didn't, +though. + +Once I asked her what made her do it, and she laughed and said because +she wanted to, and that she was much obliged to me for having found her +work for her. But I believe there's some other reason she won't tell. + +And why I believe so is that sometimes, when she thinks I am asleep, I +see her looking in the fire, and there's something in her face that's +never there at any other time. It's a remembrance. I guess most hearts +have them if they live long enough. But you'd never think Miss Katherine +had one, she's so glad and cheerful and busy all the time. I wonder if +it's a sweetheart remembrance? I know three of her beaux; one in +Yorkburg and two from away, who have been to see her frequent times; but +a beau is different from a sweetheart. I'm sure that look means +something secret, and I bet it's a man. Who is he? I don't know. I wish +he was dead. I do! + +When I first came back from the hospital my little old sticks of legs +wouldn't hold me up, and down I would go. But I didn't mind that. I just +minded not going to sleep at night. But sleep wouldn't come, and I'd +get so wide awake trying to make it that I began to have a teeny bit of +fever again, and then it was Miss Katherine asked if she might take me +in her room. I was nervous and still needed attention, she said, +and--magnificent gloriousness!--I was sent to her room to stay until +perfectly well, and I'm here yet. Perfectly well because I am here! + +That first night when I got into the little white bed next to her bed, +and knew she was going to be there beside me, I couldn't go to sleep +right off. I kept wishing I was King David, so I could write a book of +gratitudes and psalms and praises, and that was the first night I ever +really prayed right. I didn't ask for a thing except for help to be +worth it--the trouble she was taking for just little me, a charity +child. Just me! + +And oh, the difference in her room and the room I had left! She had had +it painted and papered herself, for it hadn't been used since kingdom +come, and the cobwebs in it would have filled a barrel. It had been a +packing-room, and when Miss Katherine first saw it she just whistled +soft and easy; but when she was through, it was just a dream. + +It is a big room at the end of the wing, and it has three windows in +it: one in the front and one in the back and one opposite the door you +come in. And when the paper was put on you felt like you were in a great +big garden of roses; pink roses, for they were running all over the +walls, and they were so natural I could smell them. I really could. + +Miss Katherine brought her own furniture and things, and she put a +carpet on the floor, all over, not just strips. And the windows had +muslin curtains at them with cretonne curtains just full of pink roses, +looped back from the muslin ones; and the couch and the cushions and +some chairs were all covered with the same kind of pink roses. And as +for the bed, it was too sweet for anybody to lie on--that is, for +anybody but Miss Katherine to lie on. + +There was a big closet for her clothes, and a writing-desk which had +been in the family a hundred years--maybe a thousand. I don't know. And +one side of the room was filled with books in shelves which old Peter +Sands made and painted white for her. She lets me look at them as much +as I want, and says I can read as many as I choose when I am old enough +to understand them. She didn't mention any time to begin trying to +understand, and so I started at once, and I've read about forty already. + +There aren't a great many pictures on Miss Katherine's walls. Just a few +besides the portraits of her father and mother, oil paintings. And oh, +dear children what are to be, I'm going to have my picture painted as +soon as I marry your father, so you can know what I looked like in case +I should die without warning. I want you to have it, knowing so well +what it means to have nothing that belonged to your mother, I not having +anything--not even a strand of hair or a message. + +Sometimes I wonder if I ever really did have a Mother, or if the doctor +just left me somewhere and nobody wanted me. I must have had one, for +Betty Johnson says a baby's bound to. That a father isn't so specially +necessary, but you've got to have a Mother. Mine died when I was born. I +wonder how that happened when there wasn't anybody in all this great big +earth to take care of me except my father, who didn't know how. He died, +too, and then I was an Orphan. + +This is a strange world, and it's better not to try to understand +things. + +In the winter time Miss Katherine always has a beautiful crackling fire +in her room, and some growing flowers and green things. It was a +revelation to the girls, her room was. Not fine, and it didn't cost +much, but you felt nicer and kinder the minute you went in it. And it +made Mrs. Reagan's grand parlors seem like shining brass and tinkling +cymbals. I wonder why? + + + + +III + +MARY, FREQUENTLY MARTHA + + +I am going to write a history of my life. The things that happen in this +place are the same things, just like our breakfasts, dinners, and +suppers. They wouldn't be interesting to hear about, so while waiting +for something real exciting to put down, I am going to write my history. + +I don't know very much about who I am. I wish my Mother had left a diary +about herself, but she didn't. Nobody, not even Miss Katherine, will +tell me who I was before I came here, which I did when I was three. I +know my nurse brought me, but I can't remember what she looked like, and +when she went away without me: I never saw nor heard of her again. I +don't even know her name. I thought it was fine to play in a big yard +with a lot of children, and I soon stopped crying for my nurse. + +I never did see much sense in crying. Everybody was good to me, and not +being old enough to know I was a Charity child, and by nature happy, +they used to call me Cricket. Sometimes some of them call me that now. + +A hundred dozen times I have asked Miss Katherine to tell me something +about myself, but in some way she always gets out of it. I know my +mother and father are dead, but that's all I do know; and I wouldn't ask +Miss Bray if I had to stand alone for ever and ever. + +Sometimes I believe Miss Katherine knows something she won't tell me, +but since I found out she don't like me to ask her I've stopped. And not +being able to ask out what I'd like, I think a lot more, and some nights +when I can't go to sleep, it gives me an awful sinking feeling right +down in my stomach, to think in all this great big world there isn't a +human that's any kin to me. + +I might have come from the heavens above or the depths below, only I +didn't, and being like other girls in size and shape and feelings, I +know I once did have a Mother and Father. But if they had relations +they've kept quiet, and it's plain they don't want to know anything +about me, never having asked. + +It would make me miserable--this aloneness would, if I let it. I won't +let it. I have got to look out for Mary Cary, frequently Martha, and +when you're miserable you don't get much of anything that's going +around. I won't be unhappy. I just won't. I haven't enough other +blessings. + +But not being able to speak out as much as I would like on some things +personal, I got into the habit of talking to my other self, which I +named Martha, and which I call my secret sister. Martha is my every-day +self, like the Bible Martha who did things, and didn't worry trying to +find out what couldn't be found out, specially about why God lets +Mothers die. + +Mary is my Sunday self who wonders and wonders at everything and asks a +million questions inside, and goes along and lets people think she is +truly Martha when she knows all the time she isn't. And if I do hold out +and write a history of my life, it's going to be a Martha and Mary +history; for some days I'm one, some another, and whichever I happen to +be is plain to be seen. + +When I grow up I am going to marry a million-dollar man, so I can travel +around the world and have a house in Paris with twenty bath-rooms in +it. And I'm going to have horses and automobiles and a private car and +balloons, if they are working all right by that time. I hope they will +be, for I want something in which I can soar up and sit and look down on +other people. + +All my life people have looked down on me, passing me by like I was a +Juny bug or a caterpillar, and I don't wonder. I'm merely Mary Cary with +fifty-eight more just like me. Blue calico, white dots for winter, white +calico, blue dots for summer. Black sailor hats and white sailor hats +with blue capes for cold weather, and no fire to dress by, and freezing +fingers when it's cold, and no ice-water when it's hot. + +Yes, dear Mary, you and I are going to marry a rich man. (Martha is +writing to-day.) I will try to love him, but if I can't I will be polite +to him and travel alone as much as possible. But I am going to be rich +some day. I am. And when I come back to Yorkburg eyes will bulge, for +the clothes I am going to wear will make mouths water, they're going to +be so grand. Miss Katherine would be ashamed of that and make me +ashamed, but this writing is for the relief of feelings. + +But there's one thing I'm surer of than I am of being rich, and that is +that there are to be no secrets about my children's mother. They are to +know all about me I can tell, which won't be much or distinguished, but +what there is they're to know. And that's the chief reason I'm going to +write my history, so as to remember in case I forget. + +Well, now I will begin. I am eleven years and eleven months and three +days old. I don't have birthday parties. The Yorkburg Female Orphan +Asylum is a large house with a wide hall in the middle, and a wing on +one side that makes it look like Major Green, who lost one arm in the +war. + +There are large grounds around the house, and around the grounds is a +high brick wall in front and a wooden fence back and sides. The children +and the chickens use the grounds at the back; the front has grass and +flowers, and is for company, which is seldom. Sometimes, just because I +can't help it, I chase a chicken through the front so as to know how it +feels to run in the grass, which it is forbidden to do. + +Forbidden things are so much nicer than unforbidden. I love to do them +until they're done. + +The Asylum is on King Street, almost at the very end, and there isn't +much passing, just the Tates and the Gordons and a few others living +farther on. The dining-room is in the basement, half below the ground, +and on cloudy days the lamps have to be lighted--that is, they used to. +Now we have electric lights, and I just love to turn them on. It's such +a grand way to get a thing done, just to press a button. + +The dining-room has a picture over the mantel of a cow standing in +yellow-brown grass, and, though hideous, it's a great comfort. That cow +understands our feelings at mealtimes, and we understand hers. + +Humane meals are very much like yellow-brown grass, and our clothes are +on the same order as our meals. As for our days, if it wasn't for +calendars we wouldn't know one from the other, except Sundays, for, +unlike the stars mentioned by St. Paul, they differ not. + +The rising-bell rings at five o'clock, and all except the very littlest +get up and clean up until seven, when we march into the dining-room. At +7.25 we rise at the tap of Miss Bray's bell, and those who have more +cleaning up-stairs march out; those who clear the table and wash the +dishes stay behind. At 8.30 we march into the school-room, where we +have prayers and calisthenics. The calisthenics are fine. At nine we +begin recitations. + +We have a teacher who lives in town, Miss Elvira Strother. She's a good +teacher. The older girls help teach the little ones, and next year I'm +to help. + +This Asylum is over ninety (90) years old, but looks much older. There +is just money enough to run it, and it hasn't had any paint or +improvements in the memory of man, except the electric lights. The town +put those in for safety, and don't charge for them. + +I wish the town would put in bath-tubs for the same reason. It would +make the children much nicer. They just naturally don't like to wash, +and one small pitcher of water for two girls don't allow much splashing. + +But Yorkburg hasn't any water-works, not being born with them. I mean, +water-works not being the fashion when Yorkburg was first begun, nobody +has ever thought of putting them in. Mr. Loyall, he's the mayor, says +everybody has gotten on very well for over two hundred years without +them, and he don't see any use in stirring up the subject. So there'll +never be any change until he's dead, and in Yorkburg nobody dies till +the last thing. + +There wouldn't be any electric lights if the shoe factory hadn't come +here. The men who brought it came from New Jersey, and they wanted +light, and got it. And Yorkburg was so pleased that it moved a little +and made some light for itself; and now everything in town just blazes, +even the Asylum. + +I used to sleep in No. 4, but I don't sleep there now. It is a big room, +and has six windows in it, and in winter we children used to play we +were arctic explorers and would search for icebergs. The North Pole was +the Reagan's house, half-way down the street, and it might as well have +been, for it was as much beyond our reach. + +But it was the one thing we were all going to get some day when we +married rich. And when we got it, we were going to drive up to the Galt +House--that's the Home for Poor and Proud Ladies--and ask for Mrs. +Reagan, who was to be in it in the third floor back, and leave her some +old clothes with the buttons off, and old magazines. None of us could +bear Mrs. Reagan--not a single one. + +It is a beautiful house, Mrs. Reagan's is. It has large white pillars +in the front and back, and it's got three bath-rooms, and a big tank in +the back yard. And it has velvet curtains over the lace ones, and gold +furniture and pictures with gold frames a foot wide. + +I heard Miss Katherine talking about it to Miss Webb one night. They +were laughing about something Miss Katherine said was the most +impossible of all, and Miss Webb said it was desecrating for such a +stately old house to fall into the hands of such bulgarians. What are +bulgarians? I don't know. But they're not ladies. + +Mrs. Reagan is not a lady. The way I found it out was this. Miss Jones, +she's our housekeeper, sent a message to her one day by Bertha Reed and +me about some pickles. Bertha is awful timid, and she didn't know +whether or not we ought to go to the front door; but I did, and I told +her to come on. + +"I don't go to back doors, if I don't know my family history," I said. +"I know who I am, and something inside of me tells me where to go." And +I pressed the button so hard I thought I'd broken it unintentional. + +The man-servant opened the door and looked at us as if weary and +surprised, and said nothing. + +"Is Mrs. Reagan in?" I asked. + +"She is." + +That's all he said. He waited. I waited. Then I stepped forward. + +"We will come in," I said. "And you go and tell her Mary Cary would like +to see her, having a message from Miss Jones." And he was so surprised +he moved aside, and in I walked. + +I had heard so much about this house that I wasn't going to miss seeing +what was in it, if that fool man was rude; so while he was gone to get +Mrs. Reagan I counted everything in the front parlor as quick as I +could, and told Bertha to count everything in the back. + +There were three sofas and two mirrors and nine chairs and six rugs and +six tables and two pianos, one little old-fashioned one and a big new +one; and three stools and seventeen candlesticks and four pedestals with +statuary on them, some broken, all naked; and seven palms and +twenty-three pictures and two lamps and five red-plush curtains, three +pairs over the lace ones and two at the doors; and as for ornaments, it +was a shop. And not one single book. + +I am sure I got the things right, for I'd been practising remembering +at observation parties, in case I ever got a chance to see inside this +house; and I looked hard so I could tell the girls. + +Poor Bertha was so frightened she didn't remember anything but the clock +and a china cat and an easel and picture, and before I could count Mrs. +Reagan came in. + +She stopped in the doorway, and had we come from leper-land she couldn't +have held herself farther off. + +"What are you doing in here?" she asked, and she tried the haughty +air--"What are you doing in here?" + +"We were waiting for you," I said. "We have a message from Miss Jones." + +"Well, another time don't wait in here, and don't come to the front door +if you have a message from Miss Jones or Miss Any-body-else. I don't +want any pickles this year. Had I wanted any I would have sent her word. +You understand? Don't ever come here again in this way!" And she waved +us out as if we were flies. + +For a minute I looked at her as if she were a Mrs. Jorley's wax-works, +and then I made a bow like I make in charades. + +"We understand," I said. "And we will not come again. We've heard a +good many people in Yorkburg have been once and no more." And I bowed +again and walked past her like she was a stage character, which she was, +being a pretence and nothing else. + +Mad? I tell you, I was Martha for a week, and then I saw, real sudden, +how silly I was to let a bulgarian make me mad. + +But if I'm ever expected to love anything like that, it will be +expecting too much of Mary Cary, mostly Martha, for she isn't an enemy. +She's just a make-believe of something she wasn't born into being and +don't know how to make herself. She don't agree with my nature, and if I +had a parlor she couldn't come into it either. She could not. + + + + +IV + +THE STEPPED-ON AND THE STEPPERS + + +I don't believe I ever have written anything about my first years at +this Asylum. I am naturally a wandering person. Well, I was happy. I +know I've said that before, but Miss Katherine says that's one of the +few things you can say often. + +I had a kitten, and a chicken which I killed by mistake. I took it to +the pump to wash it, and it lost its breath and died. I still put +flowers on the place where its grave was. + +It was my first to die. I have lost many others since: a cat, and a +rabbit, and a rooster called Napoleon because he was so strutty and +domineering to his wives. I didn't put up anything to his grave. I +didn't think the hens would like it. They just despised him. + +Then there were the remains of Rebecca Baker. She was of rags, with +button eyes and no teeth, just marks for them; but I loved her very +much. I kept her as long as there was anything to hold her by; but after +legs and arms went, and the back of her head got so thin from lack of +sawdust that she had neuralgia all the time, I found her dead one +morning, and buried her at once. + +I loved Rebecca Baker: not for looks, but for comfort. I could talk to +her without fear of her telling. She always knew how hungry I was, and +how I hated oatmeal without sugar, and she never talked back. + +During the years from three to nine I lived just mechanical, except on +the inside. I got up to a bell and cleaned to a bell, and sat down to +eat to a bell; rose to a bell, went to school to a bell, came out to a +bell, worked to a bell, sewed to a bell, played to a bell, said my +prayers to a bell, got in bed to a bell, and the next day and every day +did the same thing over to the same old bell. + +But when I marry my children's father there are to be no bells in the +house we live in. Only buttons, with no particular time to be pressed. + +We go to church to a bell, too; that, is to Sunday-school. We always go +to St. John's Sunday-school--Episcopal. The man who left this place put +it in his will that we had to, but we go to all the other churches. +Episcopal the first Sunday, Methodist the second, Presbyterian the +third, and Baptist the fourth, and when we get through we begin all over +again. + +We go to church like we do everything else, two by two. Start at a tap +of that same old bell, and march along like wooden figures wound up; and +the people who see us don't think we are really truly children or like +theirs, except in shape inside. They think we just love our hideous +clothes, and that we ought to be thankful for molasses and +bread-and-milk every night in the week but one, and if we're not, we're +wicked. Rich people think queer things. + +Sundays at the Humane are terribly religious. + +They begin early and last until after supper, and if anybody is sorry +when Sunday is over, it's never been mentioned out loud. We have prayers +and Bible-reading before breakfast every day, but on Sundays longer. +Then we go to Sunday-school, where some of the children stare at us like +we were foreign heathen who have come to get saved. Some nudge each +other and laugh. But real many are nice and sweet, and I just love that +little Minnie Dawes, who sits in front of me. She wears the prettiest +hats in Yorkburg, and I get lots of ideas from them. I trim hats in my +mind all the time Miss Sallie is talking--Miss Sallie is our teacher. + +She is a good lady, Miss Sallie Ray is. Her chief occupation is +religion, and as for going to church, it's the true joy of her life. +She's in love with Mr. Benson, the Superintendent, and very regular at +all the services. So is he. + +But for teaching children Miss Sallie wasn't meant. She really wasn't. +She never surely knows the lesson herself, and it was such fun asking +her all sorts of questions just to see her flounder round for answers +that I used to pretend I wanted to know a lot of things I didn't. But I +don't do that now. It was like punching a lame cat to see it hop, and I +stopped. + +She don't ask me anything, either. Never has since the day Mr. Benson +came in our class and asked for a little review, and Martha Cary made +trouble, of course. + +Miss Sallie was so red and excited by Mr. Benson sitting there beside +her that she didn't know what she was doing. She didn't, or she wouldn't +have asked me questions, knowing I never say the things I ought. But +after a minute she did ask me, fanning just as hard as she could. It +was in January. + +"Now, Mary Cary, tell us something of the people we have been studying +about this winter," she said, "Mention something of Abraham, Isaac, and +Jacob, and Peter and Paul. Who was Abraham?" + +"Abraham was a coward," I said. + +"A what?" And her voice was a little shriek. "A what?" + +"A coward. He was! He passed his wife off for his sister, fearing +trouble for himself, and not thinking of consequences for her." + +"That will do," she said, and she fanned harder than ever, and looked +real frightened at Mr. Benson, who was blowing his nose. "Susie Rice, +who was Jacob?" + +Susie didn't know. Nobody knew, so I spoke again. + +"Jacob was a rascal. He deceived his father and stole from his brother. +But he prospered and repented, and died prominent." + +Mr. Benson got up and said he believed his nose was bleeding, and went +out quick, and since then Miss Sallie has never asked me a single +question. Not one. + +Now I wonder what made Martha speak out like that? Abraham and Jacob +were good men who did some bad things, but generally only their goodness +is mentioned. While you're living it's apt to be the other way. + +But I'm glad the bad is overlooked in time. Maybe that is what God will +do with everybody. He'll wipe out all the wrongness and meanness, and +see through it to the good. I hope that's the way it's going to be, for +that's my only chance. + +Since Miss Sallie stopped asking me anything, and I her, I have a lovely +time in my mind taking things off the other children and putting them on +the Orphans. There's Margaret Evans. In the winter she's always blue and +frozen, and I'd give her that Mallory child's velvet coat and gray muff +and tippet, and put Margaret's blue cape and calico dress on her. + +Poor little Margaret! She's so humble and thankful she gets even less +than the rest, it looks like, though I suppose in clothes she has the +same allowance, and the difference, maybe, is in herself. + +Some people are born to be stepped on, and of steppers there are always +a-plenty. + +After Sunday-school we walk to the church we're going to, two by two, +just alike and all in blue. The minister always mentions us in his +prayers, except at St. John's, the prayer-book not providing for Orphans +in particular. + +When church is over we march home and have dinner, and after dinner we +study the lesson for next Sunday and practise hymns until time for the +afternoon service. That begins at four, and some of the town ministers +preach or talk, generally preach, long and wearisome. + +The Episcopal minister gets through in a hurry. We love to have him. He +talks so fast we don't half understand, and before we know it he's got +his hand up and we hear him saying: "And now to the Father and to the +Son--." And the rest is mumbled, but we know he's through and is glad of +it, and so are we. + +The Presbyterian Sunday is the longest and solemnest, and I always write +a new story in my mind when Dr. Moffett preaches. He is very learned, +and knows Hebrew and Latin and Greek, but not much about little girls. + +Poor Mrs Blamire; she tries to keep awake, but she can't do it; and +after the first five minutes she puffs away just as regular as if she +were wound up. Once I shut my eyes and tried to puff like her, but I +forgot to be careful, and did it so loud the girls came near getting in +trouble. Dr. Moffett is deaf, and didn't hear. Miss Bray heard. + +But the Baptist minister don't let you sleep on his Sunday. He used to +try to make the girls come up and profess, but now he don't ask even +that. Just sit where you are and hold up your hand, and when you join +the church--any church will answer--you are saved. I don't understand +it. + +We all like the Methodist minister. I don't think he knows many dead +languages. He don't have much time to study, being so busy helping +people; but he knows how to talk to us children, and he always makes me +wish I wasn't so bad. He always does, and the Mary part of me just rises +right up on his Sunday, and Martha is ashamed of herself. He believes in +getting better by the love way. So do I. + +Miss Katherine is going away next week to stay two months. Going to her +army brother's first, and then to the California brother, who's North +somewhere. And from the time she told me I've felt like Robinson +Crusoe's daughter would have felt, if he'd had one, and gone off and +left her on that desert island. + +I don't know what we're going to do when she goes away. I could shed +gallons of tears, only I don't like tears, and then, too, she might see +me. I want her to think I'm glad she's going, for she needs a change. +But, oh, the difference her going will make! + +I will be nothing but Martha. I know it. Nothing but Martha until she +comes back. The Mary part of me is so sick at the thought she hasn't any +backbone, and Martha is showing signs already. + +And that shows I'm just nothing, for Miss Katherine has taught us, +without exactly telling, how we can't do what we ought by wanting. We've +got to work. In plain words, its watch and pray, and with me it's the +watching that's most important. If I'm not on the lookout, and don't nab +Martha right away, praying don't have any effect. I'm a natural pray-er, +but on watching I'm poor. + +I couldn't make any one understand what Miss Katherine has done for us +since she's been here. Some words don't tell things. The nursing when +we're sick is only a part, and though she's fixed up one of the rooms +just like a hospital-room, with everything so white and clean and sweet +in it that it's real joy to be sick, we're not sick often. + +It's the keeping us well that's kept her so busy. She's explained so +many things to us we didn't know before, she's almost made me like my +body. I didn't use to. Not a bit. + +It's such a nuisance, and needs so much attention to keep it going +right. So often it was freezing cold, or blazing hot, or hungry, and had +to be dressed in such ugly clothes that I was ashamed of it. And if ever +I could have hung it up in the closet or put it away in a bureau-drawer, +I would have done it while I went out and had a good time. But I +couldn't do it. I had to take it everywhere I went, and until Miss +Katherine came I had mighty little use for it. + +But since she's been here the girls are much cleaner, and we don't mind +so much not having the things to eat that we like. That is, not quite so +much. But almost. When you're downright hungry for the taste of things, +it don't satisfy to say to yourself "You don't really need it. Be +quiet." And being made of flesh and blood, most of us would rather eat +the things we want to than the things we ought to. + +But the dining-room is much nicer. We have flowers on the table, and the +cooking is better, though we still have prunes. + +I loathe prunes. + + + + +V + +"HERE COMES THE BRIDE!" + + +I knew when Miss Katherine left I'd be nothing but Martha. That's what +I've been--Martha. + +She hadn't been gone two days when Mary gave up, and as prompt as +possible Martha invented trouble. + +It was this way. In the summer we have much more time than in the +winter, and the children kept coming to me asking me to make up +something, and all of a sudden a play came in my mind. I just love +acting. The play was to be the marriage of Dr. Rudd and Miss Bray. + +You see, Miss Bray is dead in love with Dr. Rudd--really addled about +him. And whenever he comes to see any of the children who are sick she +is so solicitous and sweet and smiley that we call her, to ourselves, +Ipecac Mollie. Other days, plain Mollie Cottontail. It seemed to me if +we could just think him into marrying her, it would be the best work +we'd ever done, and I thought it was worth trying. + +They say if you just think and think and think about a thing you can +make somebody else think about it, too. And not liking Dr. Rudd, we +didn't mind thinking her on him, and so we began. Every day we'd meet +for an hour and think together, and each one promised to think single, +and in between times we got ready. + +Becky Drake says love goes hard late in life, and sometimes touches the +brain. Maybe that accounts for Miss Bray. + +She is fifty-three years old, and all frazzled out and done up with +adjuncts. But Dr. Rudd, being a man with not even usual sense, and awful +conceited, don't see what we see, and swallows easy. Men are +funny--funny as some women. + +I don't think he's ever thought of courting Miss Bray. But she's thought +of it, and for once we truly tried to help her. + +Well, we got ready, beginning two days after Miss Katherine left, and +the play came off Friday night, the third of July. In consequence of +that play I have been in a retreat, and on the Fourth of July I made a +New-Year resolution. + +I resolved I would do those things I should not do, and leave undone the +things I should. I would not disappoint Miss Bray. She looked for things +in me to worry her. She should find them. + +Well, I was in that top-story summer-resort for ten days. Put there for +reflection. I reflected. And on the difference between Miss Katherine +and Miss Bray. + +But the play was a corker; it certainly was. We chose Friday night +because Miss Jones always takes tea with her aunt that night, and Miss +Bray goes to choir practising. I wish everybody could hear her sing! +Gabriel ought to engage her to wake the dead, only they'd want to die +again. + +Dr. Rudd is in the choir, and she just lives on having Friday nights to +look forward to. + +The ceremony took place in the basement-room where we play in bad +weather. It's across from the dining-room, the kitchen being between, +and it's a right nice place to march in, being long and narrow. + +I was the preacher, and Prudence Arch and Nita Polley, Emma Clark and +Margaret Witherspoon were the bridesmaids. + +Lizzie Wyatt was the bride, and Katie Freeman, who is the tallest girl +in the house, though only fourteen, was the groom. + +Katie is so thin she would do as well for one thing in this life as +another, so we made her Dr. Rudd. + +We didn't have but two men. Miss Webb says they're really not necessary +at weddings, except the groom and the minister. Nobody notices them, +and, besides, we couldn't get the pants. + +I was an Episcopal minister, so I wouldn't need any. Mrs. Blamire's +raincoat was the gown, and I cut up an old petticoat into strips, and +made bands to go down the front and around my neck. Loulie Prentiss +painted some crosses and marks on them with gilt, so as to make me look +like a Bishop. I did. A little cent one. + +There wasn't any trouble about my costume, because I could soap my hair +and make it lie flat, and put on the robe, and there I was. But how to +get a pair of pants for Katie Freeman was a puzzle. + +Nothing male lives in the Humane. Not even a billy-goat. We couldn't +borrow pants, knowing it wouldn't be safe; and what to do I couldn't +guess. + +Well, the day came, and, still wondering where those pants were to come +from, I went out in the yard where a man was painting a window-shutter +that had blown off a back window. Right before my eyes was the woodhouse +door wide open, and something said to me: + +"Walk in." + +I walked in; and there in a corner on a woodpile was a real nice pair of +pants, and a collar and cravat, and a coat and a tin lunch-bucket, which +had been eaten--the lunch had. And when I saw those pants I knew Katie +Freeman was fixed. + +They belonged to the man who was painting the shutter. + +It was an awful hot day, and he had taken them off in the woodhouse and +put on his overalls, and when he wasn't looking I slipped out with them, +and went up to Miss Bray's room. She was down-stairs talking to Miss +Jones, and I hid them under the mattress of her bed. + +I knew when she found they were missing she'd turn to me to know where +they were. No matter what went wrong, from the cat having kittens or the +chimney smoking, she looked to me as the cause. And if there was to be +any searching, No. 4--I sleep in No. 4 when Miss Katherine is +away--would be the first thing searched. So I put them under her bed. + +I wish Miss Katherine could have seen that man about six o'clock, when +the time came for him to go home. She would have laughed, too. She +couldn't have helped it. + +He is young, and Bermuda Ray says he is in love with Callie Payne, who +lives just down the street. He has to pass her house going home, and I +guess that's the reason he wore his good clothes and took them off so +carefully. But whether that was it or not, he was the rippenest, maddest +man I ever saw in my life when he went to put on his pants and there +were none to put. + +I almost rolled off the porch up-stairs, where I was watching. I never +did know before how much a man thinks of his pants. + +He soon had Miss Bray and Miss Jones and a lot of the girls out in the +yard, and everybody was talking at once; and then I heard him say: + +"But I tell you, Miss Bray, I put 'em here, right on this woodpile. And +where are they? You run this place, and you are responsible for--" + +"Not for pants." And Miss Bray's voice was so shrill it sounded like a +broken whistle. "I'm responsible for no man's pants. When a man can't +take care of his pants, he shouldn't have them. Besides, you shouldn't +have left yours in the woodhouse when working in a Female Orphan +Asylum." And she glared so at him that the poor male thing withered, and +blushed real beautiful. + +He's a pretty young man, and I felt sorry for him when Miss Bray snapped +so. I certainly did. + +"My overalls are my working-pants," he said, real meek-like, and his +voice was trembling so I thought he was going to cry. "It's very strange +that in a place like this a man's clothes are not safe. I thought--" + +"Well, you had no business thinking. Next time keep your pants on." And +Miss Bray, who's good on a bluff, pretended like she had been truly +injured, and the poor little painter sat down. + +Presently his face changed, as if a thought had come into his mind from +a long way off, and he said, in another kind of voice: + +"I beg your pardon, Miss Bray. I believe I know who done it. It's a +friend of mine who tries to be funny every now and then, and calls it +joking. I'll choke his liver out of him!" And he settled himself on the +woodpile to wait until dark before he went home. + +If anybody thinks that wedding was slumpy, they think wrong. It was +thrilly. When the bride and groom and the bridesmaids came in, all the +girls were standing in rows on either side of the walk, making an aisle +in between, and they sang a wedding-song I had invented from my heart. + +It was to the Lohengrin tune, which is a little wobbly for words, but +they got them in all right, keeping time with their hands. These are the +words: + + 1 + + Here comes the Bride, + God save the Groom! + And please don't let any chil-i-il-dren come, + For they don't know + How children feel, + Nor do they know how with chil-dren to deal. + + 2 + + She's still an old maid, + Though she would not have been + Could she have mar-ri-ed any kind of man. + But she could not. + So to the Humane + She came, and caus-ed a good deal of pain. + + 3 + + But now she's here + To be married, and go + Away with her red-headed, red-bearded beau. + Have mercy, Lord, + And help him to bear + What we've been doing this many a year! + +And such singing! We'd been practising in the back part of the yard, and +humming in bed, so as to get the words into the tune; but we hadn't let +out until that night. That night we let go. + +There's nothing like singing from your heart, and, though I was the +minister and stood on a box which was shaky, I sang, too. I led. + +The bride didn't think it was modest to hold up her head, and she was +the only silent one. But the bridegroom and bridesmaids sang, and it +sounded like the revivals at the Methodist church. It was grand. + +And that bride! She was Miss Bray. A graven image of her couldn't have +been more like her. + +She was stuffed in the right places, and her hair was frizzed just like +Miss Bray's. Frizzed in front, and slick and tight in the back; and her +face was a purple pink, and powdered all over, with a piece of dough +just above her mouth on the left side to correspond with Miss Bray's +mole. + +And she held herself so like her, shoulders back, and making that little +nervous sniffle with her nose, like Miss Bray makes when she's excited, +that once I had to wink at her to stop. + +The groom didn't look like Dr. Rudd. But she wore men's clothes, and +that's the only way you'd know some men were men, and almost anything +will do for a groom. Nobody noticed him. + +We were getting on just grand, and I was marrying away, telling them +what they must do and what they mustn't. Particularly that they mustn't +get mad and leave each other, for Yorkburg was very old-fashioned and +didn't like changes, and would rather stick to its mistakes than go back +on its word. And then I turned to the bride. + +"Miss Bray," I said, "have you told this man you are marrying that you +are two-faced and underhand, and can't be trusted to tell the truth? +Have you told him that nobody loves you, and that for years you have +tried to pass for a lamb, when you are an old sheep? And does he know +that though you're a good manager on little and are not lazy, that your +temper's been ruined by economizing, and that at times, if you were +dead, there'd be no place for you? Peter wouldn't pass you, and the +devil wouldn't stand you. And does he know he's buying a pig in a bag, +and that the best wedding present he could give you would be a set of +new teeth? And will you promise to stop pink powder and clean your +finger-nails every day? And--" + +But I got no further, for something made me look up, and there, standing +in the door, was the real Miss Bray. + +All I said was--"Let us pray!" + + + + +VI + +"MY LADY OF THE LOVELY HEART" + + +Beautiful gloriousness! Miss Katherine has come back! + +What a different place some people can make the same place! + +Yesterday there wasn't an interesting thing in Yorkburg. Nothing but +dust and shabby old houses and poky people who knew nothing to talk +about, and to-day--oh, to-day it's dear! I love it! + +You see, after that wedding everything went wrong. The girls said it +wasn't fair for me to be punished so much more than the rest, and they +wanted to tell the Board about it; but for once I agreed with Miss Bray. + +"I did it. I made it up and fixed everything, and you all just agreed," +I said. "And if anybody has to pay, I'm the one to do it." And I paid +all right. Paid to the full. But it's over now, and I'm not going to +think about it any more. When a thing is over, that should be the end +of it, Miss Katherine says, and with me what she says goes. + +Miss Bray is away. If some of her relations liked her well enough to +have her stay a few months with them, she could get leave of absence; +but she's never been known to stay but four weeks. She's gone to visit +her sister somewhere in Fauquier County. Her sister's husband always +leaves home for his health when she arrives, and Miss Bray says she +thinks it's so queer he has the same kind of spells at the same time +every year. + +But now Miss Katherine's back, nothing matters. Nothing! + +Yesterday I was just a squirrel in a cage. All day long I was saying: +"Well, Squirrel, turn your little wheel. That's all you can do; turn +your little wheel." And inside I was turning as hard and fast as a +sure-enough squirrel turns; but outside I was just mechanical. + +I wonder sometimes I don't blaze up right before people's eyes. I'm so +often on fire--that is, my mind and heart are--that I think at times my +body will surely catch. Thus far it hasn't, but if I don't go somewhere, +see something, do something different, it's apt to, and the doctors +won't have a name for the new kind of inflammation. + +I'm going to die after a while, and I'm so afraid I will do it before I +travel some that if I were a boy child I'd go anyhow. But I can't go. +That is, not yet. + +Miss Katherine has been travelling for two months up North. She's been +with her brother and his wife. The wife is sick, or she thinks she is, +which Miss Katherine says is a hard disease to cure, and she's kept them +moving from place to place. + +They wanted Miss Katherine to go to Europe with them this fall, but she +isn't going. She's been twice, and says she don't want to go. But I +don't believe it's that. I believe it's something else. + +But sufficient unto the day is the happiness thereof! I'm going to enjoy +her staying, and already everything seems different. + +You see, Miss Katherine lives here just for love, and when you do things +for love you do them differently from the way you do them for money. + +We are just Charity children, some not knowing who they are, I being one +of that kind; but she never treats us as if she thinks of that. If we +were relations she liked, she couldn't be kinder or nicer, and when a +child is in trouble Miss Katherine is the one that's gone to at once. + +She is never too tired or too busy to listen, but she's awful firm; and +there's no nonsense or sullenness or shamming where she is. She can see +through the insides of your soul, up to the top and down to the tip, and +in front of her eyes you are just your plain self. Only that, and +nothing more. They are gray, her eyes are, with a dark rim around the +gray part; and she has the longest black lashes I ever saw. Her hair is +black, too, like an Eastern Princess and in the morning when she puts +her cap on and her nurse's white dress, which she wears when on duty, I +call her to myself, "My Lady of the Lovely Heart," and I could kneel +down and say my prayers to her. + +I don't, though, for she would tell me pretty quick to get up. She +doesn't like things like that, and, of course, it would look queer. + +But I don't know anybody who isn't queer about something. Either stupid +queer, or silly queer, or smart queer, or beautiful queer, or religious +queer, or selfish queer, or some other kind. + +Miss Bray is the Queen of Queers. + +But Miss Katherine is queer, too. If she wasn't, she wouldn't stay at +this Orphan Asylum, just to help us children, and doing it as cheerfully +as if she were happier here than she would be anywhere else. If her +staying isn't queerness, beautiful queerness, what is it? + +I don't understand it, and I don't believe I ever will understand how +any one who can get ice-cream will take prunes. + +But Miss Katherine has got a way of seeing the funny side of things, and +sometimes I can't tell whether she minds prunes and pruny things or not. + +I'm sure she does, but she says, when you can't change a thing, don't +let it change you, and that an inward disposition is hard on other +people. + +I don't know what that means, but I think it's the same as saying +there's no use in always chewing the rag. Martha is right much inclined +to be a chewer. + +Miss Webb is, too. She is Miss Katherine's best friend, and I just love +to hear her talk. + +She always comes once a week, often twice, to spend the evening at the +Asylum with Miss Katherine, and sometimes when they think I'm asleep, +I'm not. I'd be a nuisance if I kept popping up and saying, "I'm not +asleep, speak low." So when I can't, really can't, sleep, though I do +try, I hear them talking, and the things Miss Webb says are a great +relief to my feelings. + +She doesn't come to supper, orphan-asylum suppers being refreshments to +stay from, not come to, but nearly always they make something on a +chafing-dish. Something that's good, painful good. + +Miss Webb says Miss Katherine's stomach has some rights, which is true; +and when they begin to cook, I just sleep away, breathing regular and +easy, so they won't know I am awake, for fear they might think I am not +asleep on purpose. + +But I have to hold on to the bed and stuff my ears and nose so as not to +hear and smell, for I am that hungry I could eat horse if it had +Worcestershire sauce on it. And that is what they put in their things, +which shows that in eating, even, Miss Katherine preaches sense and +practises taste. + +Miss Webb just laughs at theories, and brings all sorts of good things +with her. She says doctors have wronged more stomachs than they've ever +righted by all this dieting business, and, while there's sense in some +of it, there's more nonsense; and as for her, she don't believe in it. +I don't know anything about it; but I don't, either. + +They always save me some of whatever they make, which I get the next +day. But if I could rise out of bed and eat as much as I want out of +that chafing-dish, there would be a funeral Miss Bray would like to +attend. The corpse would be Mary Cary, died Martha. + +There is a screen at the foot of my bed, put there so the light won't +bother me and so I won't be seen. And, thinking I am asleep, Miss +Katherine and Miss Webb talk on as if I were dead; and it's very +interesting the things they talk about. + +Of course, Miss Webb came over last night, and, after talking about two +hours, she said: "Oh, I forgot to tell you. Lizzie Lane is going to +marry Bob Rogers, and right away. I don't suppose you've heard." + +"Yes, I have; Lizzie wrote me." And Miss Katherine took the hair-pins +out of her hair and let it fall down her back. "What made her change her +mind? What is she marrying him for?" + +"How do I know?" And Miss Webb tasted the chocolate to see if it was +sweet enough. + +"How does anybody know what a man is married for? In most cases you +can't risk a guess. Lizzie is a woman, therefore 'hath reason or +unreason for her act.'" + +"How did it happen? What made her change her mind?" and Miss Katherine +threw her hair-pins on the bureau and stooped down to get her slippers. +"How does Lizzie explain it?" + +"She says she was so sleepy she doesn't remember whether she said yes or +no. But Bob remembers, and the wedding is to be week after next. He's +courted her three times a year for seven years; but since he's been +living North he hasn't even written to her, and she didn't know he was +in town until he came up that night to see her. + +"He stayed until after one o'clock, and didn't mention marriage. But as +he got up to go he told her his house was going to send him on a six +months' trip to Japan. If she would marry him and go, say so. If not, +say that, too, but for the last time. Lizzie said she'd go." + +Miss Katherine fastened her kimono, put her feet up on the chair in +front of her, and clasped her hands behind her head. + +"I don't wonder at the unhappy marriages," she said. "The queer part is +there aren't more of them. Why did Bob wait eight years to talk to +Lizzie like this? Why is it a man has so little understanding of a +woman?" + +"Why? Because he's a Man. The Lord made him, and there must be some +reason for him; but even the Lord must sometimes get worn out at his +dumbness. However--" + +She stopped, for the chocolate was boiling over; then she began to sing: + + "Before marriage, men love most. + After marriage, women best. + Marriage many changes makes-- + Heart is happy or heart breaks." + +And she sang it so many times that I went to sleep and dreamed the dream +I love most. + +I see hundreds and hundreds of little creatures (they are the Mary part +of little children), and they are afraid and shivering and standing +about, not knowing where to go or what to do. And then Miss Katherine is +in the midst of them, smiling and beckoning, and they follow and follow, +and wings come out. Just tiny ones at first, and then larger and larger, +and presently they fly all around her, and she points the way, smiling +and cheering. + +And then they rise higher and higher, and off they go, and she is alone. +Tired out but glad, because she taught them how to use their wings. + + + + +VII + +"STERILIZED AND FERTILIZED" + + +This is Sunday, and we have done all the usual Sunday things. There +won't be another for seven days. For that we give thanks in our hearts, +but not out loud. + +This was Presbyterian Sunday. Miss Bray is a Presbyterian. + +It is a solemn thing to be a Presbyterian, and easy for the mind, too. +Everything is fixed, and there is no unfixing. You are saved or you are +not saved, and you will never know which it is until after you are dead +and find out. Miss Bray believes she is saved, and she takes liberties. +She also thinks everything is as God ordered it, and she believes God +ordered poor Mrs. Craddock to die--that is, took her away. I don't. I +think it was that last baby. + +She had had twelve, and the thirteenth just wore her out at the thought. +There being nobody to do anything for her, she got up and cooked +breakfast in her stocking feet when the baby was only a week old, and +that night she had the influenza, and the next pneumonia. On the sixth +day she was dead, and so was the baby. They forgot to feed it. + +I don't believe God ever took any mothers away intentional. He never +would have made them so necessary if He had meant to take them away when +they were most needed. When they go I believe He is sorry. + +I don't know how to explain it. Nobody does, though a lot try. But I +know He sees it bigger than we do, and maybe He is working at something +that isn't finished yet. + +Minnie Peters is real sick. Miss Katherine has put her in the +hospital-room, and is staying in there with her. + +I am all alone by myself to-night. I don't like aloneness at night. It +makes you pay too much attention to your feelings, which Miss Katherine +says is the cause of more trouble in this world than all other diseases +put together. + +She says, too, that what we feel about a thing is very often different +from the way other people feel about it. And when you don't agree with +people, the only thing you can be sure about is that they don't agree +with you. I believe that's true. Not being by nature much of an +agree-er, and having feelings I hope others don't, I would be a walking +argument if Miss Katherine hadn't stopped me and explained some things I +didn't realize before. + +Last night, being by myself, and not being able to go to sleep, I wrote +a piece of poetry. + +Miss Katherine says it's hard to forgive people who think they write +poetry, so I won't show her this. But it does relieve you to write down +a lot of woozy nothing that is somehow like you feel. This is the +poem--I mean the verses: + + 1 + + Out upon life's ocean vast, + With the current drifting fast, + I am sailing. Oh, alas, + 'Tis a lonely feeling! + + 2 + + Why was such a trip e'er started + On a pathway all uncharted? + Why from loved ones was I parted? + Who will answer? Who? + + 3 + + None will answer. So I'll see + What there is on this journey (journee) + That will bring good-luck to me-- + I'll look out and see! + +I hope Minnie isn't going to be sick long. She is the first girl to be +really ill since Miss Katherine came. It makes you feel so queer in the +throat to know somebody is truly sick. + +A lot of the girls have been sick a little with colds and small and +unserious diseases in the past year. But Miss Katherine says it's her +business to keep us well, not just get us well after we're sick, and +she's certainly done it. We've been weller than we ever were in our +lives, and no medicine taken. Just plain common-sense regulations. + +I wonder what's the matter with Minnie? The doctor hasn't said, but Miss +Katherine is uneasy, and she won't let anybody come in the room. She +hasn't been out herself since yesterday. + + * * * * * + +My, but we've had a time lately! + +We've been fumigated and sterilized and fertilized so much that we are +better prepared for the happy-land than we ever were before. But the +danger of anybody going to it right away is over. + +Minnie Peters has had scarlet fever, and the commotion made her real +famous. + +Miss Katherine knew it from the first, but Dr. Rudd wouldn't believe it +until he had to, and Yorkburg got so excited it hasn't talked of +anything else for weeks. + +Minnie was awful ill. Two days and two nights they didn't think she +would live, and for three weeks Miss Katherine didn't leave the room. If +it hadn't been for her Minnie would be dead. + +Miss Katherine's room has been closed since they first found out it was +really scarlet fever Minnie had, and I have been in No. 4 again. She is +going away to spend a week with Miss Webb. Going to-morrow. + +I am so glad she is going. All of us are glad, for she has had to do +something which shows whether you are a Christ-kind Christian or the +usual kind, and she is tired out. She won't admit it, though, and laughs +and kisses her hand over the banister, which is all the closer we have +seen her yet. + +Miss Bray was scared to death. She didn't offer to share the nursing, +but she made excuses a-plenty for not doing it. Miss Bray is a church +Christian. You couldn't make her miss going to church. She thinks she'd +have bad luck if she did. + + + + +VIII + +MARY CARY'S BUSINESS + + +This is a busy time of the year, and things are moving. I'm in business. +The Apple and Entertainment business. + +The reason I went in business was to make money, and the money was to +buy Christmas presents with. + +I didn't have a cent. Not one. Christmas was coming. Money wasn't. And +what's the use of Christmas if you can't give something to somebody? + +Religion is the only thing I know of that you can get without money and +without price, and even that you can't keep without both. Not being +suitable to the season, I couldn't give that away, even if I had it to +spare, and wondering what to do almost made me sick. + +I thought and thought until my brain curdled. I looked over everything I +had to see if there was a thing I could sell. There wasn't. I couldn't +tell Miss Katherine, knowing she'd fix up some way to give me some and +pretend I was earning it; and then, one day, when she was out, I locked +myself in her room, and Martha gave Mary such a spanking talk that Mary +moved. + +Everything Martha had suggested before, Mary had some excuse for not +doing. Mary is lazy at times, and, as for pride, she's full of it. +Martha generally gives the trouble, but Mary needs plain truth every now +and then, and that day she got it. When the talk was over, there was a +plan settled on, and the plan was this. + +Each day in December we have an apple for dinner. Mr. Riley sends us +several barrels every winter, and, as they won't keep, we have one +apiece until they're gone. + +We don't have to eat them at the table, and when Martha told Mary you +could do anything you wanted if you wanted to hard enough--except raise +the dead, of course--the idea came that I could sell my apple. And right +away came the thought of the boy I could sell it to. John Maxwell is his +name. + +He goes to our Sunday-school and is fifteen, and croaks like a +bull-frog. Ugly? Pug-dog ugly; but he's awful nice, and for a boy has +real much sense. + +His father owns the shoe-factory, and has plenty of money. I know, for +he told me he had five cents every day to get something for lunch, and +fifty cents a week to do anything he wants with. His mother gives it to +him. + +Well, the next Sunday he came over to talk, like he always does after +Sunday-school is out, and I said, real quick, Mary giving signs of +silliness: + +"I'm in business. Did you know it?" + +"No," he said. "What kind? Want a partner?" + +"I don't. I want customers. I'm in the Apple business. I have an apple +every day. It's for sale. Want to buy it?" + +"What's the price?" Then he laughed. "I'm from New Jersey. What's it +worth?" + +"It's worth a cent. As you're from New Jersey, I charge you two. Take +it?" + +"I do." And he started to hand the money out. + +But I told him I didn't want pay in advance. And then we talked over how +the apple could be put where he could get it, and the money where I +could. We decided on a certain hole in the Asylum fence John knew +about, and every evening that week I put my apple there and found his +two pennies. On Saturday night I had fourteen cents. Wasn't that grand? +Fourteen cents! + +But the next Sunday there came near being trouble. Roper Gordon--he's +John Maxwell's cousin--had heard about the apple selling. He told me I +wasn't charging enough, and that he'd pay three cents for it. + +"I'll be dogged if you will," said John. "I'm cornering that apple, and +I'll meet you. I'll give four." + +"All right," I said. "I'm in business to make money. I'm not charging +for worth, but for want. The one who wants it most will pay most. It can +go at four." + +"No, it can't!" said Roper. His father is rich, too. He's the +Vice-President of the Factory, and Roper puts on lots of airs. He thinks +money can do anything. + +"I'll give five. Apples in small lots come high, and selected ones +higher. John is a close buyer, and isn't toting square." + +"That's a lie!" said John, and he lit out with his right arm and gave +Roper such a blow that my heart popped right out on my tongue and sat +there. Scared? I was weak as a dead cat. + +But I grabbed John and pulled him behind me before Roper could hit back, +and then in some way they got outside, and I heard afterward John beat +Roper to a jelly. + +I don't blame him. If any one were to say I wasn't square, I'd fight, +too. + +When you don't fight, it's because what is said is true, and you're +afraid it will be found out. And a coward. Good Lord! + +Anyhow, after that I got five cents a day for my apple. John put six +cents in, raising Roper, he said, but I wouldn't keep but five. + +"I can't," I said. "I hate my conscience, for even in business it pokes +itself in. But five cents is all I can take." + +"Which shows you're new in business, or you'd take the other fellow's +skin if he had to have what you've got. And I'm bound to have that +apple. Bound to!" And he dug the toe of his shoe so deep in the dirt he +could have put his foot in. We were down at the fence, where I went to +tell him he mustn't leave but five cents any more. + +The Apple business was much easier than the Entertainment business; but +I enjoyed both. Making money is exciting. I guess that's why men love +to make it. + +I made in all $2.34. One dollar and fifty cents on entertaining, and +eighty-four cents on apples. + +The entertaining was this way. Mrs. Dick Moon is twin to the lady who +lived in a shoe. Her house isn't far from the Asylum, and I like her +real much; but she isn't good on management. Everything on the place +just runs over everything else, and nothing is ever ready on time. + +She has money--that is, her husband has, which Miss Katherine says isn't +always the same thing. And she has servants and a graphophone and a +pianola, but she doesn't really seem to have anything but children, and +they are everywhere. + +They are the sprawly kind that lie on their stomachs and kick their +heels, and get under your feet and on your back. And their mouths always +have molasses or sugar in the corners, and their noses have colds, and +their hands are that sticky they leave a print on everything they touch. + +But they aren't mean-bad, just bad because they don't know what to do, +and they beg me to stay and play with them when Miss Jones sends me +over with a message. Sometimes I do, and the day Martha gave Mary such a +rasping about making money, another thought came besides the apples, and +I went that afternoon to see Mrs. Moon. + +"Mrs. Moon," I said, "the children have colds and can't go out. If Miss +Bray will let me, would you like me to come over and entertain them +during our play-hour? It's from half-past four to half-past five. I'll +come every day from now until Christmas, and I charge twenty-five cents +a week for it." + +I knew my face was rambler red. I hated to mention money, but I hated +worse not to have any to buy Miss Katherine a present with. If she +thought twenty-five cents a week too high she could say so. But she +didn't. + +"Mercy, Mary Cary!" she said, "do you mean it? Would I like you to come? +Would I? I wish I could buy you!" And she threw her arms around me and +kissed me so funny I thought she was going to cry. + +"Of course I want you," she went on, after wiping her nose. She had a +cold, too. "You can manage the children better than I, and if you knew +what one quiet hour a day meant to the mother of seven, all under +twelve, you'd charge more than you're doing. I'll see Miss Bray +to-morrow." + +She saw, and Miss Bray let me come. + +Mrs. Moon is a member of the Board, and Mr. Moon is rich. Miss Bray +never sleeps in waking time. + +Well, when Mrs. Moon paid me for the first week, she gave me fifty cents +instead of twenty-five, and I wouldn't take it. + +"But you've earned it," she said, putting it back in my hand, and giving +it a little pat--a little love pat. "You didn't say you were coming on +Sundays, and you came. Sunday is the worst day of all. I nearly go crazy +on Sunday. No, child, don't think you're getting too much. One doctor's +visit would be two dollars, and the prescription forty cents, anyhow. +The children would be on the bed, and my head splitting, and Mammy as +much good in keeping them quiet as a cackling hen. I feel like I'm +cheating in only paying fifty cents. Each nap was worth that. I wish I +could engage you by the year!" And she gave me such a squeeze I almost +lost my breath. + +But they are funny, those Moon children. Sarah Sue is the oldest, and +nobody ever knows what Sarah Sue is going to say. + +Yesterday I made them tell me what they were going to buy for their +mother's and father's Christmas presents, and the things they said were +queer. As queer as the presents some grown people give each other. + +"I'm going to give father a set of tools," said Bobbie. "I saw 'em in +Mr. Blakey's window, and they'll cut all right. They cost eighty-five +cents." + +"What are you going to give your father tools for?" I asked. "He's not a +boy." + +"But I am." And Bobbie jumped over a chair on Billy's back. "You said +yourself you ought always to give a person a thing you'd like to have, +and I'd like those tools. They're the bulliest set in Yorkburg. I'm +going to give mother a little yellow duck. That's at Mr. Blakey's, too." + +"It don't cost but five cents," said Sarah Sue, and she looked at Bobbie +as if he were not even the dust of the earth. Then she handed me her +list. + +"But, Sarah Sue," I said, after I'd read it, "you've got seventy-five +cents down here for your mother and only fifty for your father. Do you +think it's right to make a difference?" + +"Yes, I do." And Sarah Sue's big brown eyes were as serious as if 'twere +funeral flowers she was selecting. "You see, it's this way. I love them +both seventy-five cents' worth, but I don't think I ought to give them +the same. Father is just my father by marriage, but Mother's my mother +by bornation. I think mothers ought always to have the most." + +I think so, too. + + + + +IX + +LOVE IS BEST + + +Christmas is over. I feel like the parlor grate when the fire has gone +out. + +But it was a grand Christmas, the grandest we've ever known. It came on +Christmas Day. From the time we got up until we went to bed we were so +happy we forgot we were Charity children; and no matter whatever +happens, we've got one beautiful time to look back on. + +Miss Katherine says a beautiful memory is a possession no one can take +from you, and it's one of the best possessions you can have. I think so, +too. She's made all my memories. All. I mean the precious ones. + +Everybody in this Orphan Asylum had a present from somebody outside. +Even me, who might as well be that man in the Bible, Melchesey +something, who didn't have beginning or end, or any relations. + +I had fourteen from outside. Some I hid, because I didn't want the girls +to know, several not getting more than one, and hardly any more than +three or four. + +Those who had the heart to give them didn't have the money, and those +who had the money didn't have the heart. Being so busy with their own +they forgot to remember, and if it hadn't been for Miss Katherine and +her friends this last Christmas would have been like all others. + +Her Army brother's wife sent a box full of all sorts of pretty Indian +things, she being in the wild West near the Indians who made them. And +she sent ten dolls, all dressed, for the ten youngest girls. + +She is awful busy, having three children and not much money; but Miss +Katherine says busy people make time, and those who have most to do, do +more still. + +She sent me the darlingest little bedroom slippers with fur all around +the top. And in them she put a little note that made me cry and cry and +cry, it was so dear and mothery. I don't know what made me cry, but I +couldn't help it. I couldn't. + +She doesn't know me except from what Miss Katherine writes, and I +wonder why she wrote that note. But everybody is good to me--that is, +nearly everybody. + +It certainly makes a difference in your backbone when people are kind +and when they are not. I don't believe unkindness and misfortune and +suffering will ever make me good. If anybody is mean to me, I'm +stifferer than a lamp-post, and you couldn't make me cry. But when any +one is good to me, I haven't a bit of firmness, and am no better than a +caterpillar. + +I got thirty-one presents this year. Thirty-one! I didn't know I had so +many friends in Yorkburg, and my heart was so bursting with surprise and +gratitude it just ached. Ached happy. + +We are not often allowed to make regular visits, but I have lots of +little talks informal on errands, or messages, or passing; and as I know +almost everybody by sight, I have a right large speaking acquaintance. +With some people, Miss Katherine says, that's the safest kind to have. + +You see, Yorkburg is a very small place. Just three long streets and +some short ones going across. Scratching up everything, it hasn't got +three thousand people in it. A lot of them are colored. + +But it's very old and historic. Awful old; so is everything in it. As +for its blue blood, Mrs. Hunt says there's more in Yorkburg than any +place of its size in America. + +Most of the strangers who come here, though, seem to prefer to pass on +rather than stop, and Miss Webb thinks it's on account of the blood. A +little red mixed in might wake Yorkburg up, she says, and that's what it +needs--to know the war is over and the change has come to stay. + +But I love Yorkburg, and most of the people are dear. Some queer. Old +Mrs. Peet is. Her husband has been dead forty years, but she still keeps +his hat on the rack for protection, and whenever any one goes to see her +after dark she always calls him, as if he were upstairs. + +She lives by herself and is over seventy, and she's pretended so long +that he's living that they say she really believes he is. She almost +makes you believe it, too. + +Miss Bray sent me there one night. She wanted some cherry-bounce for +Eliza Green, who had an awful pain, and after I'd knocked, I'd have run +if I'd dared. + +In the hall I could hear Mrs. Peet pounding on the floor with her stick. +Then her little piping voice: + +"Mr. Peet, Mr. Peet, you'd better come down! There's some one at the +door! You'd better come down, Mr. Peet!" + +"It's just Mary Cary!" I called. "Miss Bray sent me, Mrs. Peet. She +wants some cherry-bounce." + +"Oh, all right, Mr. Peet. You needn't bother to come down. It's just +little Mary Cary." And she opened the door a tiny crack and peeped +through. + +"Mr. Peet isn't very well to-night," she said. "He's taken fresh cold. +But you can come in." + +I came; but I didn't want to. And if Mr. Peet had come down those steps +and shaken hands I wouldn't have been surprised. It's certainly strange +how something you know isn't true seems true; and Mr. Peet, dead forty +years, seemed awful alive that night. Every minute I thought he'd walk +in. + +She likes you to think he's living at night. Every day she goes to his +grave, which is in the churchyard right next to where she lives; but at +night he comes back to life to her. She's so lonely, I think it's +beautiful that he comes. + +I make out like I think he comes, too, and I always send him my love, +and ask how his rheumatism is. I tell you, Martha don't dare smile when +I do it. She don't even want to. + +And, don't you know, old Mrs. Peet sent me a Christmas present, too. A +pair of mittens. She knit them herself. It was awful nice of her. + +I don't know how big the check was that Miss Katherine's billionaire +brother sent her to spend on the children's Christmas, but it must have +been a corker. The things she bought with it cost money, and the change +it made in the Asylum was Cinderellary. It was. + +She bought a carpet for the parlor, and some curtains for the windows, +and a bookcase of books. + +For the dining-room she bought six new tables and sixty chairs. They +were plain, but to sit at a table with only ten at it instead of forty, +as I'd been sitting for many years, was to have a proud sensation in +your stomach. Mine got so gay I couldn't eat at the first meal. + +To have a chair all to yourself, after sitting on benches so old they +were worn on both edges, was to feel like the Queen of Sheba, and I felt +like her. I could have danced up and down the table, but instead I said +grace over and over inside. I had something to say it for. All of us +did. + +Besides a present, each of us had a new dress. It was made of +worsted--real worsted, not calico; and that morning after breakfast, and +after everything had been cleaned up, we put on our new dresses and came +down in the parlor. + +And such a fire as there was in it! + +It sputtered and flamed, and danced and blazed, and crackled and roared. +Oh, it knew it was Christmas, that fire did, and the mistletoe and holly +and running cedar knew it, too! + +At first, though, the children felt so stiff and funny in their +new-shaped dresses made like other children's that they weren't natural, +so I pretended we were having a soiree, and I went round and shook hands +with every one. + +They got to laughing so at the names I gave them--names that fit some, +and didn't touch others by a thousand years--that the stiffness went. +And if in all Yorkburg there was a cheerfuller room or a happier lot of +children that Christmas Day than we were, we didn't hear of it. I don't +believe there was, either. + +The reason we enjoyed this Christmas so was because it was on Christmas +Day. + +Our celebrations had always been after Christmas, and Christmas after +Christmas is like cold buckwheat cakes and no syrup. Like an orange with +the juice all gone. + +As for the tree, it was a spanker. We were dazed dumb for a minute when +the parlor doors leading into the sewing-room were opened. But never +being able to stay dumb long, I commenced to clap. Then everybody +clapped. Clapped so hard half the candles went out. + +There wasn't a soul on the place that didn't get a present. This tree +was Miss Katherine's, not the Board's, and the presents bought with the +brother's money were things we could keep. Not things to put away and +pass on to somebody else next year. I almost had a fit when I found I +had roller-skates and a set of books too. Think of it! Roller-skates and +books! The rich brother sent those himself, and I'm still wondering why. + +This was Miss Katherine's second Christmas with us, but the first she +had managed herself. Last Christmas she had been at the Asylum such a +short time she kept quiet, and just saw how things were done. And not +done. But this year she asked if she could provide the entertainment, +and the difference in these last two Christmases was like the difference +in the way things are done from love and duty. + +And oh! love is so much the best! + +I do believe I was the happiest child in all the world that day, and I +didn't come out of that cloud of glory until night. Mrs. Christopher +Pryor took me out. + +She had come over with some of the Board ladies to see the tree and +things, and as she was going home I heard her say: + +"I don't approve of all this. Not at all. Not at all. These children +have had a more elaborate Christmas than mine. They've had as good a +dinner, a handsomer tree, and as many presents as some well-off people. +It's all nonsense, putting notions in their heads when they're as poor +as poverty itself and have their living to make. I don't approve of it. +Not at all." + +She bristled so stiff and shook her head so vigorous that the little jet +ornaments on her bonnet just tinkled like bells, and one fell off. + +Mrs. Christopher Pryor is one of the people who would like to tell the +Lord how to run this earth. She could run it. That He lets the rain fall +and sun shine on everybody alike is a thing she don't approve of either. +As for poor people, she thinks they ought to be thankful for breath, and +not expect more than enough to keep it from going out for good. + +She's very decided in her views, and never keeps them to herself. It's +the one thing she gives away. Everything else she holds on to with such +a grip that it keeps her upper lip so pressed down on her under lip that +she breathes through her nose most of the time. + +She's a very curious shape. Being stout, she has to hold her head up to +keep her chin off her fatness; and she goes in so at the waist, coming +out top and bottom, that you would think something in her would get +jammed out of place. You really would. + +There are seven daughters. No sons. The boys call their place Hen-House. +There is a husband, but nobody seems to notice him; and when with his +wife, he always walks behind. + +Miss Webb says she's sorry for a man whose wife is too active in the +church. Mrs. Pryor is. She leads all the responses; and as for the +chants, she takes them right out of the choir's mouth and soars off with +them. + +I never could bear her; and when I heard her say those words to Mrs. +Marsden, I came right down to earth and was Martha Cary in a minute. I'd +been Mary all day, and, like a splash in a mud-puddle, she made me +Martha; and I heard myself say: + +"No, Mrs. Pryor, we know you don't approve. You never yet have let a +child here forget she was a Charity child, and only people who make +others happy will approve." + +Then I walked away as quiet as a Nun's daughter. But I was burning hot +all the same, and so surprised at the way Martha spoke, so serious and +unlike the way she usually speaks when mad, that I had to go on the back +porch and make snowballs and throw hard at something before I was all +right again. + +But I wouldn't let it ruin my beautiful day. I wouldn't. + +That night, when I went to bed, I was so tired out with happiness I +couldn't half say my prayers. But I knew God understood. He let the +Christ-child be born poor and lowly, so He could understand about +Charity children, and everybody else who goes wrong because they don't +know how to go right. So I just thanked Him, and thanked Him in my +heart. + +And when Miss Katherine kissed me good-night and tucked me in bed, she +said I'd made her have a beautiful Christmas. That I'd helped everybody +and kept things from dragging, because I had enjoyed it so myself, and +been so enthusiastic, and she was so glad I was born that way. + +I thought she was making fun, it was so ridiculous, thanking me, little +Mary Cary, who hadn't done a thing but be glad and seen that nobody was +forgot. + +But she wasn't making fun, and I went off to sleep and dreamed I was in +a place called the Love-Land, where everybody did everything just for +love. Which shows it was a dreamland, for on earth there're Brays and +Pryors, and people too busy to be kind. And in that Love-Land everything +was done the other way, just backward from our way, and yourself came +second instead of first. + + + + +X + +THE REAGAN BALL + + +It is snowing fast and furious to-day. It's grand to watch it. I love +miracles, and it's a miracle to see an ugly place turn into a palace of +marble and silver with diamond decorations. That's what the Asylum is +to-day. I certainly would like to have seen the Reagan ball. Miss Webb +says it was the best show ever given in Yorkburg, and she enjoyed it, +being particular fond of freaks. + +Miss Katherine didn't want to go, but Miss Webb made her. For weeks that +Reagan ball had been talked about, and Yorkburg knew things about it +that had never been known about parties before, money not often being +mentioned here. + +Everybody knew what this ball was going to cost. Knew the supper was +coming from New York, with white waiters and kid gloves. And what Mrs. +Reagan and her daughters were going to wear. That their dresses had been +made in Europe, and that Mrs. Hamner hadn't been invited, and that more +money was coming to Yorkburg in the shape of one man than had ever been +in it altogether before. + +If I just could have put myself invisible on a picture-frame and looked +down on that fleeting show I would have done it. But not being able to +work that miracle, I just heard what was going round, and it was very +interesting, the things I heard. + +Miss Webb and Miss Katherine and I think just alike about Mrs. Reagan. I +know, for I heard them talking one night just before the ball. + +"But why in the name of Heaven should I go if I don't want to?" said +Miss Katherine, and she put her feet on the fender and lay back in her +big rose-covered chair. "I don't like her, or her family, the English +she speaks, or the books she reads. Why, then, should I go to her +parties? I'm not going!" + +"Oh yes, you are." And Miss Webb put some more coal on the fire and made +it blaze. "Knowledge of life requires a knowledge of humanity In all its +subdivisions. Mrs. Reagan is a new sub. As a curio, she's worth the +price. You couldn't keep me from her show." + +"But she's such a snob. When a woman does not know her grandfather's +first name on her mother's side and talks of people not being in her +set, Christian charity does not require you to visit her. I agree with +Mrs. Rodman. People like that ought to be let alone." + +"But Mrs. Rodman isn't going to let them alone. Not for a minute. The +only thing that goes on among them that she doesn't know is what she +can't find out. She met me this morning, and asked me if I'd heard how +many people had gotten here, and when I said no, she made me come in +Miss Patty's store, and told me all she'd been able to discover. + +"'There are eighteen guests already,' she said, 'and nearly all have +rooms to themselves. They tell me it's the fashion now for husbands and +wives not to see each other until breakfast, and not then if the wife +wants hers in bed.' And the way she lifted her chin and eyebrows would +be dangerous for you to try. + +"'I tell you it's a reflection on Yorkburg's mode of life,' she went on. +'For two hundred years people have come and gone in this town, and +rooms have never been mentioned. But this is a degenerate age. +Degenerate! Scandalous wealth shouldn't be recognized, and I don't +intend to countenance it myself!' + +"But she will." And Miss Webb took up her muff to go. "She bought a pair +of cream-colored kid gloves from Miss Patty, and she's going to wear +them at that ball. You couldn't keep her away." + +And she was there. The first one, they say. She had on the dress her +Grandmother wore when her great-grandfather was minister to something in +Europe; and when she sailed around the rooms with the big, high comb in +her hair that was her great-great-grandmother's, Miss Webb says she was +the best side-show on the grounds. + +But if you were to take a gimlet and bore a hole in Mrs. Rodman's head, +you couldn't make her believe anybody would smile at Her. + +She was Mrs. General Rodman, born Mason, and the best blood in Virginia +was in her veins. Also in her father's, as she put on his tombstone. + +Outside of Virginia she didn't think anybody was really anything. Of +course, she knew there were other states where things were done that +made money, but she'd just wave her hand if you mentioned them. + +As for a Yankee! I wouldn't like to put in words what she does think of +a Yankee. + +She lost a husband and two brothers and a father and four nephews and an +uncle in the war; and all her money; and her house had to be sold; and +her baby died before its father saw it; and, of course, that makes a +difference. It makes a Yankee real personal. + +But Miss Katherine don't feel that way about Yankees. Each of her +brothers married one, and she don't seem to mind. + +Miss Katherine went to the ball, too. She gave in, after all, and went. + +I wish you could have seen her when she was dressed and all ready to go. +She had on a long, white satin dress, low neck and short sleeves, with +little trimming and no jewelry. And she looked so tall and beautiful, +and so something I didn't have a name for, that I was afraid, and my +heart beat so thick and fast I thought she'd hear. + +I hated it. Hated that satin dress, and the places where she wore it +when away from the Asylum; and I sat up in bed, for lying down it was +hard to breathe. + +Presently she turned from the fire where she had been standing, looking +in, and came toward me and kissed me good-night. + +In her face was something I had never seen before--something so quiet +and proud that I couldn't sleep for a long time after she went away. + +It wasn't just the same as the remembrance look I had seen several times +before, when she forgot she wasn't by herself. It was prouder than that, +and it meant something that didn't get better--just worse. + +What was it? If it's a man, who is he? He must be living, for it isn't +the look that means something is dead. It means something that won't +die, but is never, never going to be told. + + + + +XI + +FINDING OUT + + +This world is a hard place to live in. I wish somebody would tell me +what we are born for anyway, and what's the use of living. + +There are so many things that hurt, and you get so mixed up trying to +understand, that if you don't keep busy you'll spend your life guessing +at a puzzle that hasn't any answer. + +Miss Katherine has gone away. Gone to stay two months, anyhow. Maybe +three. + +Her Army brother, the one who is a Captain, has been sent to Texas, and +his wife and children were taken ill as soon as they got there. + +Of course, they sent for Miss Katherine; that is, asked her by telegraph +if she wouldn't come. She went. And she'll be going to somebody all her +life, for she's the kind that is turned to when things go wrong. + +Miss Webb is awful worried. She says a cool head and a warm heart are +always worked to death, and the person who has them is forever on call. + +Miss Katherine has them. + +She had to go, of course. We were not sick, except a few snifflers. We +didn't exactly need her, and her brother did; but oh the difference her +being away makes! + +Three months of doing without her is like three months of daylight and +no sunlight. It's like things to eat that haven't any taste; like a room +in which the one you wait for never comes. + +I am back in No. 4, in one of the thirteen beds. My body goes on doing +the same things. Gets up at five o'clock. Dresses, cleans, prays, eats, +goes to school, eats, sews, plays, eats, studies, goes to bed. And +that's got to be done every day in the same way it was done the day +before. + +But it's just my body that does them. Outside I am a little machine +wound up; inside I am a thousand miles away, and doing a thousand other +things. Some day I am going to blow up and break my inside workings, for +I wasn't meant to run regular and on time. I wasn't. + +What was I meant for? I don't know. But not to be tied to a rope. And +that's what I am. Tied to a rope. If I were a boy I'd cut it. + + * * * * * + +I am almost crazy! A wonderful thing has happened. I am so excited my +breathing is as bad as old Miss Betsy Hays's. I believe I know who I am. + +My heart is jumping and thumping and carrying on so that it makes my +teeth chatter; and as I can't tell anybody what I've heard, I am likely +to die from keeping it to myself. + +I am _not_ going to die until I find out. If I did I would be as bad off +in heaven as on earth. Even an angel would prefer to know something +about itself. + +I'm like Miss Bray now. I'm counting on going to heaven. Otherwise it +wouldn't make any difference who I was, as one more misery don't matter +when you're swamped in miserableness. I suppose that's what hell is: +Miserableness. + +What are you when you don't go to heaven? + +But that's got nothing to do with how I found out who I am. It's like +Martha, though: always butting in with questions no Mary on earth could +answer. + +Well, the way I found out was one of those mysterious ways in which God +works his wonders. Yesterday afternoon I asked Miss Bray if I could go +over and play with the Moon children, three of whom are sick, and she +said I might. We were in the nursery, which is next to Mrs. Moon's +bedroom, and she and the lady from Michigan, who is visiting her, were +talking and paying no attention to us. Presently something the lady +said--her name is Mrs. Grey--made everything in me stop working, and my +heart gave a little click like a clock when the pendulum don't swing +right. + +She was sitting with her back to the door, which was open, and I could +see her, but she couldn't see me. All of a sudden she put down her +sewing and looked at Mrs. Moon as if something had just come to her. + +"Elizabeth Moon, I believe I know that child's uncle," she said. "Ever +since you told me about her something has been bothering me. Didn't you +say her mother had a brother who years ago went West?" + +"Hush," said Mrs. Moon, and she nodded toward me. "She'll hear you, and +the ladies wouldn't like it." + +She lowered her voice so I couldn't hear all she said, but I heard +something about its being the only thing Yorkburg ever did keep quiet +about. And only then because everybody felt so sorry for her. In a flash +I knew they were talking about me. + +After the first understanding, which made everything in me stop, +everything got moving, and all my inward workings worked double quick. +Why my heart didn't get right out on the floor and look up at me. I +don't know. I kept on talking and making up wild things just to keep the +children quiet, but I had to hold myself down to the floor. To help, I +put Billy and Kitty Lee both in my lap. + +What I wanted to do was to go to Mrs. Moon and say: "I am twelve and a +half, and I've got the right to know. I want to hear about my uncle. I +don't want to know him, he not caring to know me." But before I could +really think Mrs. Grey spoke again. + +"He has no idea his sister left a child. He told me she married very +young, and died a year afterward; and he had heard nothing from her +husband since. As soon as I go home I am going to tell him. I certainly +am." + +"You had better not," said Mrs. Moon. "It's been thirteen years since he +left Yorkburg, and, as he has never been back, he evidently doesn't +care to know anything about it. I don't think the ladies would like you +to tell. They are very proud of having kept so quiet out of respect to +her father's wishes. If Parke Alden had wanted to learn anything, he +could have done it years ago." + +"But I tell you he doesn't know there's anything to learn." And the +Michigan lady's voice was as snappy as the place she came from. "I know +Dr. Alden well," she went on. "He's operated on me twice, and I've spent +weeks in his hospital. When he tells me it's best for my head to come +off--off my head is to come. And when a man can make people feel that +way about him, he isn't the kind that's not square on four sides. + +"I tell you, he doesn't know about this child. He's often talked to me +about Yorkburg, knowing you were my cousin. He told me of his sister +running away with an actor and marrying him, and dying a year later. +Also of his father's death and the sale of the old home, and of many +other things. There's no place on earth he loves as he does Virginia. He +doesn't come back because there's no one to come to see specially. No +real close kin, I mean. The changes in the place where you were born +make a man lonelier than a strange city does, and something seems to +keep him away." + +"You say he doesn't know his sister left a child?" Mrs. Moon put down +the needle she was trying to thread, and stuck it in her work. "Why +doesn't he know?" + +"Why should he? Who was there to tell him, if a bunch of women made up +their minds he shouldn't know? He wrote to his sister again and again, +but whether his letters ever reached her he never knew. He thinks not, +as it was unlike her not to write if they were received. + +"Travelling from place to place with her actor husband, who, he said, +was a 'younger son Englishman,' the letters probably miscarried, and not +for months after her death did he know she was dead." + +"We didn't, either," interrupted Mrs. Moon. "In fact, we heard it +through Parke, who went West after his father's death. He wrote Roy +Wright, telling him about it." + +"Who is Roy Wright, and where is he, that he didn't tell Dr. Alden about +the child?" + +"Oh, Roy's dead. I believe Mary Alden's marriage broke Roy's heart; +that is, if a man's heart can be broken. He had been in love with her +all her life. Not just loved her, but in love with her. His house was +next to the Aldens', where the Reagans now live, and Major Alden and +General Wright were old friends, each anxious for the match. When Mary +ran away at seventeen and married a man her father didn't know, I tell +you Yorkburg was scared to death." + +"Do you remember it?" + +"Remember! I should think I did. I cried for two weeks. Nearly ruined my +eyes. Mary and I were deskmates at Miss Porterfield's school, and I +adored her. I really did. So did Dick Moon." She stopped. Then: "Like +most women, I'm a compromise," and she laughed. But it was a happy +laugh. Mrs. Grey smiled too. + +"Was Mary Alden engaged to Roy Wright when she married the other man?" +she asked. "Tell me all about her." + +"No, she wasn't. Mary Alden was incapable of deceit, and Roy Wright knew +she didn't love him. He knew she was never going to marry him. Poor Roy! +He was as gentle and sweet and patient as Mary was high-spirited and +beautiful, and the last type on earth to win a woman of Mary's +temperament. She wanted to be mastered, and Roy could only worship." + +"And her father--what did he do?" + +"Do? The Aldens are not people who 'do' things. The day after the news +came, he and General Wright walked arm and arm all over Yorkburg, and +their heads were high; but oh, my dear, it was pitiful. They didn't +know, but they were clinging to each other, and the Major's face was +like death." + +"Didn't some one say he had been pretty strict with her? Held too tight +a rein?" + +"Yes, he had, and he deserved part of his suffering. His pride was +inherited, and Mary could go with no one whose great-grandparents he +didn't know about. But Mary cared no more for ancestors than she did for +Hottentots. When she met this Mr. Cary, a young English actor, at a +friend's house in Baltimore, she made no inquiry as to whether he had +any, and fell in love at once. He was a gentleman, however. That was as +evident as Major Alden's rage when he went to see the latter, and asked +for Mary. Mrs. Rodman happened to be in the house at the time, and what +she didn't see she heard. She says the one thing you can't fool her +about is a counterfeit gentleman. And Ralston Cary was no counterfeit." + +"For Heaven's sake, don't get on what Mrs. Rodman thinks or says. Tell +me about the marriage. I'm asking a lot of questions, but you're so +slow." + +"I'm telling as fast as I can. You interrupt so much with questions I +can't finish." And Mrs. Moon's voice was real spunky. + +"They were married in Washington," she began again. "The morning after +the interview with the Major they caught the five-o'clock train, and +that afternoon there was a telegram telling of the marriage. + +"Her father never forgave Mary. Seven months later he died, and after +settling up affairs there was nothing left. Alden House was mortgaged to +the limit. There were a number of small debts as well as two or three +large ones, and when these were paid and all accounts squared there was +barely enough left for Parke to buy his railroad ticket to some city out +West, where he had secured a place as resident physician in a hospital. +That was thirteen years ago." She took a deep breath, as if thinking. +"Thirteen years. Since then we've known little about him. You say he is +a famous surgeon? We've never heard it in Yorkburg." + +"Of course you haven't. Yorkburg has heard nothing since 1865. But there +are a good many things it could hear." And Mrs. Grey laughed, but with +her forehead wrinkled, as if she were trying to understand something +that was puzzling her. + +And then it was Mrs. Moon said something that made understanding come +rolling right in on me. The answer to that look on Miss Katherine's face +the night of the Reagans' ball was as plain as Jimmie Jenkins's nose, +which is most all you see when you see Jimmie. It was like I thought. It +was a man. + +"Ophelia," said Mrs. Moon, and she moved her chair closer to Mrs. Grey, +and leaned forward with her hands clasped, "did you ever hear Doctor +Alden speak of a Miss Trent--Miss Katherine Trent?" + +"No. You mean--" + +"Yes; she's the one. Parke Alden and Katherine Trent were sweethearts +from children. Shortly after Mary's marriage something happened. There +was a misunderstanding of some kind, and they barely bowed when they +met. Everybody was sorry, for it was one of the matches Heaven might +have made without discredit. Soon after Parke went away, Katherine went +off to some school just outside of Philadelphia, and, so far as is +known, they've never seen each other since." + +Mrs. Grey brought both hands down on her knees. "I knew it was something +like that. I knew it! Doctor Alden is just that sort of a man. And it's +Katherine Trent? I wish I'd known it before she went away." + +"What would you have done?" Mrs. Moon looked frightened. She's very +timid, Mrs. Moon is, and always afraid of telling something she +oughtn't. "What could you have done?" + +"Looked at her better. She's certainly good to look at. Not beautiful, +but a face you never forget. And Doctor Alden is the kind that never +forgets. But tell me something about the child. How did she get here?" + +"Her nurse brought her. Her father kept her after her mother's death, +taking her about from place to place with this old negro mammy until she +was three, when he died suddenly, strange to say, in the same place his +wife died, Mobile, Alabama." + +"Why did the nurse bring her here? Was she a Yorkburg darkey?" + +"No; but she had heard Mr. Cary say there was an Orphan Asylum here, +and not knowing what else to do, she came on with her. She told the +Board ladies she had heard the child's father say a hundred times he +would rather see her dead than have her mother's family take her. And +she begged them not to let it be known who she was until she was old +enough to understand." + +Just then Bobbie Moon laid out flat on his back and kicked up his heels. +And Billie looked so disgusted, I stopped the story I was trying to +tell. + +"You ain't talking sense," he said. "And I'm not going to listen any +more. An ant can't eat an elephant in half an hour and leave no scraps." +And he rolled over and began to fight Bobbie. + +Sarah Sue and Myrtle, who'd been playing with their mother's muff and +tippet, got to fussing so about which should have her hat that Mrs. +Moon, hearing it, jumped up, and I heard her say: + +"Mercy me! Do you suppose she heard?" + +I never was so glad of a fight in my life. The more fuss was made the +more chance there was of my being forgot, and presently I told Mrs. Moon +I had to go home. The boys said they didn't care, my stories were +rotten anyhow, and out I went and ran so fast I had such a pain in my +side I could hardly breathe. + +But I didn't go in right away. I couldn't. Inside of me everything was +thumping: "Mary Alden, your Mother; Mary Alden, your Mother; Mary Alden, +your Mother." There was no other thought but that. + +Presently I turned and went down to King Street, to where the Reagans +live, and in the dark I stood there and shook my fist at my dead +grandfather. I hated him for treating my mother so. Hated him! Then I +burst out crying, and cried so awful my eyes were nearly washed out. + +There were twelve and a half years' worth of tears that had to come out, +and I let them come. After they were out I felt lighter. + +But sleep? There wasn't a blink of it for me all night. I was so mixed +up with new feelings that I was sick in my stomach, and my old +conscience got so sanctimonious that if I could have spanked it I would. + +I wasn't eavesdropping; I know that's nasty. But forty times I'd been +punished for speaking when I shouldn't, and, besides, it was my duty to +find myself. They saw me, and then forgot. If they hadn't wanted me to +know what they were saying, they shouldn't have said it. + +But that didn't do my conscience any good. I hate a conscience. It's +always making you feel low down and disreputable. I don't believe I will +say anything to my children about one, and let them have some peace. + +For two days I didn't have any. Then I decided I'd wait until Miss +Katherine came, and not say anything to her or to anybody about what I'd +heard until I found out a little more about that remembrance in her +face. But the waiting for her is the longest wait I've ever waited +through yet. + +It certainly is queer what a surprise you are to yourself. Before I knew +that my mother and her father and his father and some other fathers +behind him had lived in the Alden House, I would have given all I own, +which isn't much, just my body, to have known it. And I guess I would +have been that airy Martha couldn't have lived with me, and would have +had to take Mary to the pump to bring her senses back with water. Mary +is my best part, but at times she hasn't half the common sense she +needs, and frequently has a pride Martha has to attend to. + +But after I found out I had the same kind of blood in me that Mrs. +General Rodman had in her, though I'm thankful it isn't mentioned on the +family's tombstones, it didn't seem half as big a thing as I thought. + +I was ashamed of the way it had acted, and of the way it had treated my +father. He was too much of a gentleman to talk about his, whether high +or low, and I know nothing about him. But I adore his memory! I am his +child as well as Mary Alden's, and that's a thing my children are never +going to forget. Never. + +And now the part I'm thinking of most is what was said about Miss +Katherine and Dr. Parke Alden being sweethearts when they were young. He +has been away thirteen years, Mrs. Moon said, and Miss Katherine is now +twenty-eight. I know she is, because she told me so. + +Thirteen from twenty-eight leaves fifteen, so she was fifteen when they +had that fuss and he went off. Fifteen was awful young to love hard and +permanent; but Miss Webb says Miss Katherine was born grown and +stubborn, and when she once takes a stand she keeps it. + +I wonder what she took the stand with Uncle Parke for? She is right +quick and outspoken at times, and I bet he made her mad about +something. + +But she ought to have known he was a man, and not expected much. I know +my children's father is going to make me so hopping at times I could +shake him. If he didn't, he would be terrible stupid to live with, and +nothing wears you out like stupidness. I don't really mind a scrap. It's +so nice to make up. + +But I believe that's the reason Miss Katherine don't get married. +Because in her secret heart Dr. Parke Alden is still her sweetheart. I +know in his secret heart she is still his. She's bound to be if she ever +once was. + +Glorious superbness! Wouldn't that be grand? If they were to get married +she would be my really, truly Aunt! The very thought makes me so full of +thrills I can't sit still when it comes over me. + +Oh, Mary Martha Cary, what a beautiful place this world could be! + + + + +XII + +A TRUE MIRACLE + + +A secret isn't any pleasure. What's the use of knowing a thing you can't +let anybody know you know? If I can't tell soon what I've heard about +myself something is liable to happen. + +Nearly three months have passed, and I haven't told yet. I'm still +holding out, but it's the most awful experience I ever had. + +Another idea has come to me, and if I could see Miss Katherine I could +tell whether to do it or not. If she don't come soon I will do it, +anyhow. I won't be able to help it. + +The girls say if I were a darkey they'd think I was seeking. That's +because some days I'm so unnatural quiet and stay so much by myself. I +do that for safety, fearing otherwise I'd speak. + +They don't know what's going on inside of me. If they could see they'd +find nothing but quiverings and questions, and if I don't do anything +really violent it's all I ask. + +Every morning and every night my prayers are just this: "O Lord, help +Mary Cary through this day. I'm not asking for to-morrow, it not being +here yet. But _This Day_ help me to hold out." And all day long I'm +saying under my breath: + + "Hold on, Mary Cary, hold on, hold on. + There never was a night that didn't have a dawn. + There never was a road that didn't have an end. + Wait awhile, wait awhile, and then the letter send." + +I say that so often to myself that I'm afraid somebody will hear me +think it. If that letter isn't sent soon, the answer will be received by +a corpse. + +I'm never again going to have a secret. It's worse than a tumor or +dropsy. Mrs. Penick has a tumor. I've never seen the dropsy, but a +secret is more dangerous, for it dries you up. Dropsy has water to it. + +We had apple-dumplings for dinner. I sold mine to Lucy Pyle for two +cents, and bought a stamp with it. The stamp is for The Letter. + +Miss Katherine has come back. Came night before last, but I've been too +excited to write anything down. Everything I do is done in dabs these +days, and few lines at the time is all I'm equal to. + +She looks grand. And oh, what a difference her being here makes! We are +children, not just orphans, when she is with us; and it's because she +loves us, trusts us, brings our best part to the top that we are +different when she is about. The very way she laughs--so clear and +hearty--makes you think things aren't so bad, and already they have +picked up. Like my primrose does when I give it water, after forgetting +it till it is as limp as old Miss Sarah Cone's crepe veil. + +I haven't told her anything yet, but I've been watching good. I haven't +seen any particular signs of memories and regrets, she being too busy to +have them since she got back. Still, I believe they are there, and I'm +that afraid I'll say Parke Alden in my sleep I put the covering over my +head, for fear she'd hear me if I did. + +I am back in her room, and this afternoon she asked me what I was +looking at her so hard for. I told her she was the best thing to look +at that came my way, and she laughed and called me a foolish child. But +Mary Cary is thinking, and she isn't telling all she thinks about, +either. + +Well, it's written. That letter is written and gone. It was to Dr. Parke +Alden. I sent it to his hospital in Michigan. I made it short, because +by nature I write just endless, having gotten in the habit from making +up stories for the girls and scribbling them off when kept in, which in +the past was frequent. This is what I wrote: + + DR. PARKE ALDEN: + + _Dear Sir_,--Eleven weeks and two days ago I heard you did not know + I was living. I am. I live in the Yorkburg Female Orphan Asylum, + and have been living here for nine years and four months and almost + a week. If you had known I was living all these years and had not + made yourself acquainted with me, I would not now write you. But I + heard, by accident, you did not know I had been born, so I am + writing to tell you I was. It happened in Natchez, Miss. I know + that much, but little more, except my father was an actor. I + worship his memory. My mother was named Mary Alden, and you are her + brother. If you would like to know more, and will write and ask me, + I think you will learn something of interest. Not about me, but + there are other people in this world. + + Respectfully, + + MARY CARY. + +Three days have passed since I sent that letter off secret. I wouldn't +let Miss Katherine know for a billion dollars that I'd sent it, but I'm +glad I did. I'm sure she's got something in her heart she don't talk +about, for last night, when she didn't know I was looking, I saw that +same quiet proudness come in her face I saw the night of the ball. + +I don't know how long it takes to go to Michigan, not knowing much about +travelling, as I've never been out of Yorkburg since I came in. But some +day I'm going around the world, and I'm going to see everything anybody +else has ever seen before I marry my children's father. Of course, after +I get married he will be busy, and there will be always some excuse that +will make you tired. I'm going beforehand. Miss Webb says marriage is +very uncertain. + +This is a grand day. The crocuses are peeping up just as pert and +pretty. The little brown buds on the trees have turned green and getting +bigger every day, and even the air feels like it's had a bath. I just +love the spring. Everything says to you: "Good-morning! Here we are +again. Let's begin all over." And inside I say, "All right," and I mean +it; but oh, Mary Cary, you're so unreliable. There are times when your +future looks very much like a worm of the dust. + +Miss Bray is real sick. She hasn't been well for a long time, and she +looks like she's shrivelling, though still fat. She has nervous +dyspepsia, which they say is ruinous to dispositions, and Miss Bray's +isn't the kind for any sort of sickness to be free with. + +It certainly is making her queer, for she's changed from sharpness to +tearfulness, and she weeps any time. A thing I never thought I'd live to +see. + +Poor creature, I feel real sorry for her. Miss Jones says she's worn +out, but I don't believe it's that. I believe it's conscience and +coffee. Miss Bray isn't an all-over bad person. If it wasn't I knew she +told stories, I could have stood the other things. But when a person +tells stories, what have you got to hold on to? Nothing. + +I believe it's those stories that's giving her trouble in her stomach. +Anything on your mind does, and Miss Bray looks at me so curious and so +nervous, sometimes, that I can't help feeling sorry for her. + +I don't believe she will ever get well until she repents and confesses +and crosses her heart that she won't do it again. A confession is a +grand relief. + +Suppose Dr. Parke Alden don't write, don't notice me! I will be that mad +and mortified I will wish I was dead. But if he don't answer that +letter, I will write a few more things to him before dying, for, if I am +an Orphan, I oughtn't to be treated like a piece of imagination. + +The black hen has got a lot of little chickens and the jonquils are in +bloom. The sun is as warm as June, but I'm shivering all the time, and +Miss Katherine says she don't understand me. She gave me a tonic to make +me eat more. I don't want to eat. I want a letter. + + * * * * * + +Jerusalem the Golden! Now, what do you reckon has happened! Nothing will +evermore surprise Mary Cary, mostly Martha. + +If the moon ever burns, or the stars come to town, or the Pope marries a +wife, or the dead come to life, I will just say, "Is that so?" and in my +heart I will know a stranger thing than that. + +Yesterday Miss Bray sent for me to come to her room. She was sick in +bed, and her frizzes weren't frizzed, and she looked so old and pitiful +that I took hold of her hand and said, "I'm awful sorry you are sick, +Miss Bray." + +And what did she do but begin to cry, and such a long crying I never saw +anybody have. I knew there was a lot to come out and she'd better get +rid of it, so I let it keep on without remarks, and after a while she +told me to shut the door, and get her a clean handkerchief out of her +top bureau-drawer. + +I did it. Then she told me to sit down. I did that, too, and it's well I +did. If I hadn't I'd have fell. Her words would have made me. + +"Mary Cary," she said, "you have given me a great deal of trouble, and +at times you've nearly worried me to death. But never since you've been +here have you ever told a story, and that's what I've done." And she put +her head down in her pillow, and I tell you she nearly shook herself, +out of bed she cried so. + +I was so surprised and confused I didn't know whether I was awake or +asleep. But all of a sudden it came to me what she meant, and I put my +arms around her neck and kissed her. That's what I did, Martha or no +Martha; I kissed her. Then I said: + +"Miss Bray, I'm awful glad you are sorry you did it. If you're sorry +it's like a sponge that wipes it off, and don't anybody but you and me +and God know about that particular one. And we can all forget it, if +there's never any more." + +And then she cried harder than ever. Regular rivers. I didn't know the +top of your head could hold so much water. + +But she said there would never be any more, for she'd never had any +peace since the way I looked at her that day, and she couldn't stand it +any longer. She didn't know why I had that effect on her, but I did, and +she'd sent for me to talk about it. + +Well, we talked. I told her I didn't think just being sorry was enough, +and I asked her how sorry was she. + +"I don't know," she said, and then she began on tears again, so I +thought I'd better be quick while the feeling lasted. + +"Well, you know, Miss Bray," I began, "Pinkie Moore hasn't been adopted +yet. She never will be while the ladies think what you told them is +true. You ought to write a letter to the Board and tell them what you +said wasn't so." + +"I can't!" she said; and then more fountains flowed. "I can't tell them +I told a story!" + +"But that's what you did," I said. "And when you've done a mean thing, +there isn't but one way to undo it--own up and take what comes. But it's +nothing to a conscience that's got you, and is never going to let you go +until you do the square thing. If you want peace, it's the only way to +get it." + +"But I can't write a letter; I'm so nervous I couldn't compose a line." +And you never would have known her voice. It was as quavery as old +Doctor Fleury's, the Methodist preacher who's laid off from work. + +"I'll write it for you." And I hopped for the things in her desk. "You +can copy it when you feel better." And, don't you know, she let me do +it! After three tryings I finished it, then read it out loud: + + DEAR LADIES,--If any one applies for Pinkie Moore, I hope you will + let her go. Pinkie is the best and most useful girl in the Asylum. + More than two years ago I said differently. It was wrong in me, and + Pinkie isn't untruthful. She hasn't a bad temper, and never in her + life took anything that didn't belong to her. I am sorry I said + what I did. She don't know it and never will, and I hope you will + forgive me for saying it. + + Respectfully, + + MOLLIE E. BRAY. + +When I was through she cried still harder, and said she'd lose her +place. She knew she would. I told her she wouldn't. I knew she wouldn't. +And after a while she sat up in bed and copied it. Some of her tears +blotted it, but I told her that didn't matter, and when I got up to go +she looked better already. + +I knew how she felt. Like I did when my tooth that had to come out was +out. And a thing on your mind is worse than the toothache. One you can +tell, the other you can't. A thing you can't tell is like a spook that's +always behind you, and right in the bed with you when you wake up +sudden, and lies down with you every time you go to sleep. I know, for +that letter is on my mind. + +When I got out of Miss Bray's room I ran in mine, Miss Katherine being +out, and locked the door, and I said: + +"Mary Martha Cary, don't ever say again there's no such things as modern +miracles. There's been a miracle to-day, and you have seen it. Somebody +has been born over." And then, because I couldn't help it, I cried +almost as bad as Miss Bray. + +But, oh, nobody can ever know how much harm it had done me to believe a +lady could go through life telling stories, and doing mean, +dishonorable things, and not minding. And people treating her just the +same as if she were honest! + +When I found out it wasn't so--that your sin did make you suffer, and +that it did make a difference trying to do right--I felt some of my old +Martha-ry scornfulness slipping away. And I got down on my knees, no +words, but God understanding why. + +I don't like any kind of bitterness in my heart. I'd rather like people. +But can you like a deceiver? You can't. + +Dr. Parke Alden has taken no more notice of me than if I were a +Juney-bug. + +I wonder if Miss Katherine will ever marry. She wasn't meant to live in +an Orphan Asylum. She was meant to be the Lady of the House, and to wear +beautiful clothes, and have horses and carriages and children of her +own, and to give orders. Instead of that, she is here; but sometimes she +has a look on her face which I call "Waiting." Last week I wrote a poem +about it. This is it: + + "In the winter, by the fireside, when the snow falls soft and white, + I am waiting, hoping, longing, but for what I don't know quite. + And when summer's sunshine shimmers, and the birds sing clear and sweet, + I am waiting, always waiting, for the joy I hope to meet. + + It will be, I think, my husband, and the home he'll make for me; + But of his coming or home-making, I as yet no signs do see. + But I still shall keep on waiting, for I know it's true as fate, + When you really, truly hustle, things will come if just you'll wait." + +I don't think much of that. It sounds like "Dearest Willie, thou hast +left us, and thy loss we deeply feel." But I wasn't meant for a poet any +more than Miss Katherine for an old maid. + +Dr. Parke Alden must be dead. Either that or he's no gentleman, or he +didn't get my letter. I wish I hadn't written it. I wish I hadn't let +him know I was living. But it was Miss Katherine I was thinking about. +Thank Heaven, I didn't mention her name! He isn't worth thinking about, +and I think of nothing else. + + + + +XIII + +HIS COMING + + +If I could get out on the roof and shake hands with the stars, or dance +with the man in the moon, I might be able to write it down; but +everything in me is bubbling and singing so, I can't keep still to +write. But I'm bound to put down that he's come. He's come! + +He came day before yesterday morning about ten o'clock. I was in the +school-room, and Mrs. Blamire opened the door and looked in. "Mary Cary +can go to the parlor," she said. "Some one wishes to see her." + +I got up and went out, not dreaming who it was, as I was only looking +for a letter; and there, standing by a window with his back to me, was a +man, and in a minute I knew. + +I couldn't move, and I couldn't speak, and Lot's wife wasn't any stiller +than I was. + +But he heard me come in, and turned, and, oh! it is so strange how +right at once you know some things. And the thing I knew was it was all +true. That he'd never known about me until he got my letter. For a +minute he just looked at me. We didn't either of us say a word, and then +he came toward me and held out his hands. + +"Mary Cary," he said. And the first thing I knew I was crying fit to +break my heart, with my arms around his neck, and he holding me tight in +his. His eyes were wet, too. They were. I saw them. He kissed me about +fifty times--though maybe not more than twenty--and I had such a strange +feeling I didn't know whether I was in my body or not. It was the first +time that any one who was really truly my own had ever come to see me +since I'd been an Orphan, and every bit of sense I ever had rolled away +like the Red Sea waters. Rolled right away. + +I don't remember what happened next. Everything is a jumble of so many +kinds of joys that I've been crazy all day. But I wasn't too crazy to +see the look on his face, I mean on my Uncle Dr. Parke Alden's face, +when he saw Miss Katherine coming across the front yard. We were +standing by the window, and as he saw her he looked again, as if he +didn't see good, and then his face got as white as whitewash. He took +out his handkerchief and wiped his lips and his forehead that were real +perspiring, and I almost danced for joy, for I knew in his secret, +secret heart she was his sweetheart still. But I didn't move even a toe. +I just said: + +"That's Miss Katherine Trent. She's the trained nurse here. Did you know +her when she lived in Yorkburg?" + +And he said yes, he knew her. Just that, and nothing else. But I knew, +and for fear I'd tell him I knew, I flew out of the room like I was +having a fit, and met Miss Katherine coming in the front door. + +"Miss Katherine," I said, "there's a friend of yours in the parlor who +wants to see you. Will you go in?" + +She walked in, just as natural, humming a little tune, and I walked +behind her, for I wanted to see it. I will never be as ready for glory +as I was that minute. I could have folded my hands and sailed up, but I +didn't sail. It's well I didn't, for they didn't meet at all like I +expected, and I was so surprised I just said, "Well, sir!" and sat right +down on the floor and looked up at them. + +They didn't see me. They didn't see anything but each other; but if +they'd had the smallpox they couldn't have kept farther apart, just +bowing formal, and not even offering to shake hands. + +My, I was set on! I didn't think they'd meet that way; but Miss Becky +Cole, who's kinder crazy, says God Almighty don't know what a woman is +going to do or when she's going to do it. Miss Katherine proved it. She +didn't fool me, though, with all her quietness and coolness. I knew her +heart was beating as hard as mine, and I jumped up and said: + +"I think you all have been waiting long enough to make up, and it's no +use wasting any more time." And I flew out, slamming the door tight, and +shut them in. + +I don't know what happened after I shut that door. But, oh, he's grand! +He is thirty-six, and big and splendid. He and Miss Katherine are in the +parlor now. Miss Jones says everybody in Yorkburg knows he's here, and +all talking. All! + +I've been so excited since the first day he came that I've had little +sense. But my natural little is coming back, and I'm trying not to talk +too much. Of course, I had to say a good deal, because everybody had to +know how it happened that Doctor Alden came back to Yorkburg so suddenly +after thirteen years' being away. And why he hadn't been before, and +what he came for and when he was going away, and if he were going to +take me with him. + +And then everybody remembered how he and Miss Katherine used to be +sweethearts when they were young. I tell you, the talking that's been +going on in Yorkburg in the last few days would fill a barrel of books. +By the end of the week a whole lot more will be known about Uncle Parke +than he knows about himself. If Yorkburg had a coat of arms it ought to +be a question-mark. + +They've had time to talk over everything that ever happened since Adam +and Eve left Paradise, in the long walks they take, and in the evenings +when he calls, which he does as regular as night comes. And now I'm +waiting for the news. I'll have to be so surprised. And I guess I will +be. Love does very surprising things. + +Miss Katherine knew where Uncle Parke was all the time. She knew who I +was, too; that is, she found out after she nursed me at the hospital. +But what that fuss was about I don't know. Nothing much, I reckon; but +the more you love a person the madder you can get with them. And from +foolishness they've wasted years and years of together-ness. + +But it's all explained now, and I don't think there's going to be any +more nonsense. They are going to be married as sure as my name isn't in +a bank-book; and if signs are anything, it's going to be soon. + +Miss Bray is better, though she looks pretty bad still. She's been +awfully excited about Uncle Parke's coming, and she says she hears he's +very distinguished and real rich. Isn't it strange how quick some people +hear about riches? I don't know anything of his having any. He hasn't +mentioned money to me; but oh, I feel so safe with him! He's so strong +and quiet and easy in his manners, and he's been so splendid and +beautiful to me. He don't use many words. Just makes you understand. + +I wonder what a man says to a lady when he wants her to marry him? I +know Dr. Parke Alden isn't the kind to get down on his knees. If he +were, Miss Katherine would certainly tell him to get up and say what he +had to say standing, or sitting, if it took long. But I'll never know +what he said. They're not the kind to tell; but they can't hide Love. +It's just like the sun. It can't help shining. + + * * * * * + +Land of Nippon, I'm excited! I believe he's said it! + +The reason I think so is, I saw them late yesterday evening coming in +from a long walk down the Calverton road, where there's a beautiful +place for courters. When they got to the gate they stopped and talked +and talked. Then he walked to the door with her, still holding his hat +in his hand, and though it was dark I could feel something different. I +was so nervous you would have thought I was the one. + +I was over by the lilacs; but they didn't see me. I didn't like to move. +It might have been ruinous, so I held my breath and waited. + +When they got to the door they stopped again, and presently he held out +his hand to say good-bye. The way he did it, the way he looked at her +made me just know, and I got right down on my knees under the +lilac-bush, and when he'd gone I sang, "Praise God, from whom all +blessings flow." Sang it loud. + +I didn't care who heard. I wasn't telling why I was thankful. Just +telling I was. Oh, Mary Martha Cary, to think of her being your really, +truly Aunt! The very next thing to a mother! + + + + +XIV + +THE HURT OF HAPPINESS + + +I wouldn't like to put on paper how I feel to-day. Uncle Parke has gone. +Gone back to Michigan. I'm such a mixture of feelings that I don't know +which I've got the most of, gladness or sadness or happiness or +miserableness, and I'd rather cry as much as I want than have as much +ice-cream as I could hold. + +But I'm not going to cry. I don't like cryers, and, besides, I haven't a +place to do it in private. I wouldn't let Miss Katherine see me, not if +I died of choking. I ought to be rejoicing, and I am; but the female +heart is beyond understanding, Miss Becky Cole says, and it is. Mine is. +I could die of thankfulness, but I'd like first to cry as much as I +could if I let go. + +They are engaged. Uncle Parke and Miss Katherine are, and they are to be +married on the twenty-seventh of June. That's my birthday. I will be +thirteen on the twenty-seventh of June. + +They told me about it night before last. I was out on the porch, and +Miss Katherine called me and told me she and Doctor Alden wanted me to +go to walk with them. I knew what was coming. Knew in a flash. But I +pretended not to, and thanked her ever so much, and told her I'd just +love to go. + +We walked on down to the Calverton road, talking about nothing, and +making out it was our usual night walk, but when we got to the seven +maples Uncle Parke stopped. + +"Suppose we sit down," he said. "It's too warm to walk far to-night." +And after we sat he threw his hat on the ground, then leaned over and +took my hands in his. + +"Mary Cary," he began. And though his eyes were smiling, his voice was +real quivering. I was noticing, and it was. "Mary Cary, Katherine and I +have brought you with us to-night to ask if you have any objection to +our being married. We would like to do so as soon as possible--if you do +not object." + +He turned my face to his, and the look in his eyes was grand. It meant +no matter who objected, marry her he would; but it was a way to tell +me--the way he was asking, and I understood. + +"It depends," I said, and, as I am always playing parts to myself, right +on the spot I was a chaperon lady. "It depends on whether you love +enough. Do you?" + +"I do. For myself I am entirely sure. As to Katherine--Suppose she tells +you what she thinks." + +I turned toward her. "Do you, Miss Katherine? It takes--I guess it takes +a lot of love to stand marriage. Do you think you have enough?" + +In the moonlight her face changed like her opal ring when the cream +becomes pink and the pink red. + +"I think there is," she said. Then: "Oh, Mary Cary, why are you such a +strange, strange child?" And she threw her arms around me and kissed me +twenty times. + +After a while, after we'd talked and talked, and they'd told me things +and I'd told them things, I said I'd consent. + +"But if the love ever gives out, I'm not going to stay with you," I +said. "I'm never going to be fashionable and not care for love. A home +without it is hell." + +"Mercy, Mary!" Uncle Parke jumped. "Don't use such strong language. It +isn't nice." + +"But it's true. I read it in a book, and I've watched the Rices. When +there's love enough you can stand anything. When there isn't, you can +stand nothing. Living together every day you find out a lot you didn't +know, and love can't keep still. It's got to grow or die." + +Then I jumped up. "I always could talk a lot about things I didn't +understand," I said. "But I consent." And I flew down the road and left +them. + +I've written it out on a piece of paper, about their being engaged, and +looked at it by night and by day since they told me about it. I've said +it low, and I've said it loud, but I can't realize it, and the little +sense the Lord gave me He has taken away. + +They say I did it. Say I'm responsible for every bit of it, and that I +will have to look after them all the rest of their lives to see that I +didn't make a mistake in writing that letter. And that I'm to go to +Europe with them on their wedding tour and live with them always and +always. And--oh!--I believe my heart is going to burst with miserable +happiness and happy miserableness, and my head feels like it's in a +bag. + +Dr. Parke Alden and Miss Katherine Trent are the two nicest people on +earth, and the two I love best. But I don't think they know all the time +what they are doing and saying. They are that in love they don't see but +one side--the happy side--and they think I am going to leave this place +with a skip and a jump and run along by them, third person, single +number, and not know I'm in the way. + +They won't even listen when I tell them I don't know what I'm going to +do. I know what I want to do! Everything in me gets into shivering +trembleness when I think I could go to Europe with them on their wedding +trip. Think of it! Mary Cary could go to E-U-R-O-P-E! + +They've invited me and say I'm to go, because I'm never to leave them +any more, and they want me. But it isn't so. Mary tries to believe it's +so, but Martha knows it isn't. They think they think they want me, but +they don't; nobody wants an outsider on a wedding tour, and I'm not +going. I can't help it. Come on, tears! Even angels sometimes cry aloud; +and, not being a step-relation to one, I'm going to let Mary cry if she +wants to. Sometimes Martha is real hard on Mary. + +There is no use studying Human Nature. You can't study a thing that +changes by day and by night, and is so uncertain you never know what it +is going to do. Now, here is Mary Cary, mostly Martha, who would rather +get on a train or a boat and go somewhere--she don't care where--than to +do any other thing on earth. Who has never seen anything and wants to +see everything, and who, if anyone had told her a year ago she could go +to New York, and then to Europe, would have slid down every flight of +stairs head foremost from pure joy. And now she has the chance, she is +not going. She is Not. + +She hasn't much sense, Mary Cary hasn't, but enough to know wedding +trips are personal, and, besides, the girls have turned into regular +weepers. Every time anything is said about going away their eyes water +up, and Martha feels like a yellow dog with no tail. I know they hate +Miss Katherine's going; but why do they cry about my going? Lord, this +is a strange place to live in, this world is! I wonder what heaven will +be like? + +Miss Bray is much better. She says Uncle Parke has cured her. I don't +believe it. I believe it was Relief of the Mind. + + * * * * * + +I wasn't meant to be a sad person. I was silly sad the other day; but +I've found out when anything bothers you very much, it helps to take it +out and look at it. Walk all around it, poke it and see if it's sure +enough, and, if it isn't, tell it you'll see it dead before you'll let +it do you that way. + +That's what I did with what was making me doleful, and now I'm all right +again. It was because I did want to go to Europe awful, and it twisted +my heart like a machine had it when I turned my back on the chance. And +then, too, it was because the girls begged me so not to go away for good +that I got so worried. + +They said it wouldn't be the same if I wasn't here, and though they +didn't blame me, they begged me so not to go that I got as addled as the +old black hen that hatched ducks. + +Now, did you ever hear of such a thing? As if it really mattered where +Mary Cary lived! I didn't know anybody truly cared, and finding out made +me light in the head. But I know that's just passing--their caring, I +mean. I'm much obliged; but they'll forget it in a little while, and I +will be just a memory. + +I hope it will be bright. There's so much dark you can't help that a +brightness is real enjoyable. They say what you look for you see, and +what you want to forget you mustn't remember. There are a lot of things +about my Orphan life I'm going to try to forget. But there are some that +for the sake of sense, and in case of airs, I had better bear in mind. I +guess Martha will see to those. Whenever Mary gives signs of soaring, +Martha brings her straight back to earth. Martha doesn't care for +soarers, and she has a terrible bad habit of letting them know she +don't. + +Yorkburg hasn't settled down yet, and is still hanging on to the last +remnants of the surprise about Uncle Parke's coming, and about his +marriage to Miss Katherine and my going away. + +Of course, Miss Amelia Cokeland wanted to know if he'd made the Asylum a +present, and how much. At first nobody would tell her. She's got such a +ripping curiosity that there isn't a sneeze sneezed in Yorkburg, or a +cake baked, or a door shut that she doesn't want to know why. But maybe +she can't help it. Some people are natural inquirers, and that's the +way she makes her living, telling the news. + +She used to work buttonholes, but since she can't see good she just +spends the day out and tells all she hears. Nobody really likes her, but +her tongue is too sharp to fool with. To keep from being talked about, +everybody pretends to be friendly. + +I don't. She shook her finger at me once because I wouldn't tell her +what was in Miss Katherine's letter the first time she went away, and +since then she's never noticed me until Uncle Parke came. Now every time +I see her she's awful pleasant, and tries to make me talk. But a finger +once shook is shook. I don't talk. + +But Uncle Parke did make the Asylum a present. He didn't tell me, +neither did Miss Katherine, and I don't think he wanted anybody but the +Board ladies to know. But, of course, they couldn't keep it secret. They +told their husbands, and that meant the town. Nothing but a dead man +could keep from talking about money. + +It must have been a lot he gave, for Peelie Duke told me she heard Mrs. +Carr and Mrs. Dent talking about it the day she took some apple-jelly +for Miss Jones over to little Jessie Carr, who was sick. + +"He could have kept her at a fashionable boarding-school from the day +she was born until now for the sum he's turned over to the Board," said +Mrs. Carr, and her eyes, which are the beaming kind, just danced, Peelie +said. + +"Well, he ought to," grunted Mrs. Dent, who talks like her tongue was +down her throat. "He ought to! We've been taking care of the child for +almost ten years. I hear he wants the house put in good condition, a new +dining-room and kitchen built and four bath-rooms. The rest is to go to +the endowment. I think more ought to go to the endowment and less for +these luxuries. I don't approve of them. An Orphan Asylum is not a +hotel." + +"No, but it ought to be a home, if possible," said Mrs. Carr, and Peelie +said she looked at Mrs. Dent like she wondered how under heaven her +husband stood her all the time. + +I certainly am glad to know I'm paid for. Some day, when I'm grown and +earning my own living, before I marry my children's father, I am going +to give as much as I can of that money back to Uncle Parke. Of course +that will be some time off, and until then I'll just have to try to be +a nice person. + +Miss Katherine says a whole lot of people would pay a big price to have +a nice person in the house with them--one of those cheerful, sunshiny +kind that helps and is encouraging, and gets up again when they fall +down. As I can't earn money yet, I'm going to try to be something like +that, so they won't be sorry I ever was born. Uncle Parke and Miss +Katherine won't. + +But isn't it strange, when the time comes for you to do a thing you are +crazy to do, you wish it hadn't come? + +There have been days when I hated this Asylum. I've felt at times that I +was just one of the numbers of the multiplication table, and in all my +life I'd never be anything else. And I'd almost sweep the bricks up out +of the yard, I'd be so mad to think I was nothing and nobody. + +I wanted to be something and somebody. I didn't want to die and be +forgotten. I would have liked to sit on St. John's Church steeple and +have everybody look at me and say: + +"That's Mary Cary! She's great and rich, and gives away lots of money +and sings like an angel." That's what I once would have liked, but I've +learned a few things since I didn't know then. + +One is that high places are lonely and hard and uncomfortable, and +people who have sat on them have sometimes wished they didn't. Miss +Katherine told me that herself, also that the place you're in is pretty +near what you're fitted to fill. Otherwise you'd get out and fill +another. + +I've given up steeples and superiorities. But I'm glad I'm not going to +be an orphan, just an orphan, all my life. I'm glad; still, when I think +of going away and leaving everybody and everything: the old pump, where +I drowned my first little chicken washing it; and the old mulberry-tree, +where my first doll was buried; and the garret, where I made up +ghost-stories for the girls on rainy days; and the school-room; and even +No. 4--when I think of these things, I could be like that man in the +Bible (I believe it was David, but it might have been Jonah), I could +lift up my voice and weep. + +But I'm not going to. Weepers are a nuisance. + +I guess that's the way with life, though. When things are going, you +try to hold them back. And if you got them, you'd maybe wish you hadn't. + +That's the way Mrs. Gaines did when her husband died. I mean when he +didn't die that first time. She thought he was going to, and so did +everybody else. He had Fright's disease, and it affected his heart, +being liable to take him off any time, and Mrs. Gaines just carried on +terrible. + +She had faintings and hysterics, and said she couldn't live without him, +though everybody in Yorkburg knew she could, and easy enough. He without +her, too, had she gone first. She had asthma and an outbreaking temper, +and he drank. + +Mrs. Mosby--she's the doctor's wife--said she didn't blame him. No man +could stand Mrs. Gaines all the time without something to help, and +everybody hoped when he got so ill that he'd die and have a little rest. +But he didn't. He got better. + +Mrs. Gaines was so surprised she was downright disagreeable about it, +and how he stood it was a wonder. He didn't long, for the next summer he +was dead sure enough, and Mrs. Gaines put on the longest crepe veil ever +seen in the South, she said. It touched the hem of her skirt in front +and behind; but she cut it in half after everybody had seen it often +enough to know how long it was. + +If Augustus Gaines thought she was going to ruin her eyes and choke her +lungs by wearing unhealthy crepe over her face he thought wrong, she +said, and in a few months it was gone and she was as gay as a girl. +She's what they call a character, Mrs. Gaines is. + +I don't want to be like her, and I don't expect to do any groaning over +leaving Yorkburg. I want to live with Uncle Parke and Miss Katherine, +and I'm going to. But it's strange how many happy things hurt. + + + + +XV + +A REAL WEDDING + + +It looks as if everybody who knows Miss Katherine wants her to be +married from their house. Her brothers want her to be married from +theirs. Her aunt, Mrs. Powhatan Bloodgood, who lives in Loudon County, +and whose husband is as rich as a real lord, begs her to be married in +hers; and everybody in Yorkburg--I mean the coat-of-arms +everybodies--has invited her to have the wedding in their home. + +But she just smiles and says no to them all. Says she is going to be +married from her house, which is the Orphan Asylum, though the ceremony +will be at the church. It's going to be in the morning at twelve +o'clock, so they can take the two-o'clock train for Richmond and go on +to New York. + +Miss Katherine wants it to be quiet, but it can't be quiet. There's +nothing on human legs that can use them who won't be at the church to +see that wedding take place. + +Everybody has been paying her a lot of attention of late. It's real +strange what a difference a man makes in a marriage, even if he isn't +noticed much in person at the time. If he's rich and prominent, +everybody is so pleasant and sociable you'd think they were real +intimate. If he's just good and poor, few take notice. + +When Miss Vickie Toones married Mr. Joe Blake they didn't get hardly any +presents. They had a lot of dead relations who used to be rich and +haughty, but their living ones are as poor as the people they didn't +used to know, and hardly anybody gave them anything handsome. + +Miss Katherine's presents are just amazing, and my eyes are blistered by +the shine of them. I didn't know before such things were in the world. +People say Uncle Parke has made a lot of money in some mines out West, +besides being a doctor, and that he doesn't have to work. "But a man who +doesn't work hasn't any excuse for living," I heard him tell somebody, +and maybe it's so, though I don't know. + +I don't know anything these days. I'm the shape and size of Mary Cary, +but I see and hear so many things I never saw and heard before that I'd +like to borrow a dog to see if he knows whether I am myself or somebody +else. And another thing I'd like to find out is, How do other people +know so much? + +Mrs. Philip Creekmore has a cousin whose wife's brother lives in the +same place Uncle Parke does, and Miss Amelia Cokeland wrote out there +and found out all about him. But it doesn't matter whether she truly +knows anything or not. Miss Webb says she is like those fish scientists. +Give her one bone, and she can tell you all the rest. She's had a grand +time telling more things about Uncle Parke than Miss Katherine will ever +learn in this world. + +My dress is finished. I'm to be Maiden of Honor. There are no +bridesmaids. Think of it! Me, Mary Cary, once just flesh and blood +mechanical, now a living creature who is to wear a white Swiss dress and +a sash with pink rosebuds on it, and walk up the church aisle with my +arms full of roses. And--magnificent gloriousness! most beautiful of +all!--every girl in this Asylum is to have a white dress and a sash the +color she likes best to wear to the wedding. That's my wedding gift to +the girls. Uncle Parke gave it to me. + +Miss Katherine's California brother and his wife have come. I don't like +them. He looks bored to death, and chews the end of his mustache till +you wonder there's any left. As for her, she's the limit. Maybe that's +what's the matter with him. + +She seems to be afraid some of us might touch her, and she stares as if +we were figures in a china-shop. No more says good-morning than if we +were. + +She wears seven rings on one hand and four on another, and rustles so +when she walks she sounds like a churner out of order. If she isn't a +bulgarian born, she's bought herself into being one, for she oozes +money. It's the only thing you think of when she's around. You can +actually smell it. I think Miss Katherine is sorry they came. She don't +say it, of course, but plenty of things don't have to be said. + +Uncle Parke came last night, bringing his best friend and some others. +The best one is Doctor Willwood. He's fine. He and I are going to come +down the aisle together. I reach up to his elbow, and he says he may put +me in his pocket. I wish he would. I know I will be that frightened I'd +be glad to get in it. + +He wants to know all about Yorkburg and the people, and to-day Miss Bray +let me take him all around the town and show him the antiquities. He +asked her. I had on the white dress Miss Katherine gave me last summer, +and I looked real nice, for I had on my company manners, too. + +You see, he was from the West, and had never been to Virginia before; +and when a man comes such a long way, one ought to put on company +manners and be extra polite. It wouldn't be right not to. I put mine on, +and I guess I did do a lot of talking. I'm by nature a talker, just like +I can't help skipping when my heart is happy and nothing hurts. + +I told him about all the places we came to, and about who lived in them, +except the Alden house which the Reagans now possess. When we got there +he stopped in front of it. + +"My!" he said, "that's a beautiful old place! Whose is it?" + +"Some people by the name of Reagan live there," I said. "I don't know +them." And I started on. + +I came near forgetting, and saying, "That is Alden house, where my +grandfather used to live," but I remembered in time. I don't acknowledge +my grandfather, and I knew somebody else would tell him Uncle Parke was +born and lived there until he went West. + +We had a grand time. We stayed out over four hours, and I forgot all +about dinner. He didn't want to go in when I suddenly remembered and +told him I must, and then he said I was going to take dinner with him at +the Colonial. He'd asked Miss Bray, and it was all right. And that's +what I did. Took dinner with him at the Colonial! + +I tell you, Mary Martha Cary had what you could truly call a Time. And +Doctor Willwood said he never had enjoyed a morning in his life like +that one. Laugh? I never heard a man laugh so hearty. Half the time I +couldn't tell why. I'd be real serious, but he'd look at me and almost +die laughing. I bet I said some things I oughtn't, but I don't remember, +and I couldn't take them back if I did. + + * * * * * + +It's over. The wedding is over. Everything is after a while in this +life, even death; and time is the only thing that keeps on just the +same. + +They're gone. Gone on their bridal tour, and the happiness that's left +Yorkburg would run a family for a long life. I wish everybody could have +seen that wedding. It's going to be long remembered, for the earth and +sky, and birds and flowers, and trees and sunshine all took part. +Everything tried to help, and as for blessings on them, they took away +enough for the human race. But now it's over I feel like my first +balloon looked when I stuck a pin in it to see what would happen. I saw. + +I had a telegram from them to-day. It said: + + We sail at eleven o'clock. Love to all, and hearts full for Mary + Cary. + + UNCLE PARKE and AUNT KATHERINE. + +Well, she's my Aunt now. That's fixed, anyhow, and the marriage that +fixed it was a beauty. Every bird in Yorkburg was singing, every flower +was blooming, and every heart was blessing; and when those fifty-eight +orphans walked in, all in white and two by two, every hand was dropping +roses. And that is what each girl was wishing: Roses, roses all her +life! + +After the ushers, I came in all alone by myself; that is, my shape did. +Mary was really inside the altar looking at me coming up slow and easy, +and Martha was ordering me to keep step to the music. "All right, I'm +doing my best," I was saying to both. And I was, but I was thankful when +I got to where I could stop, for my legs were so excited I wouldn't have +been surprised if they'd turned and run out. + +Behind me came Miss Katherine, on her Army brother's arm. He's as nice +as the other isn't. He hasn't got the money-making disease. When Uncle +Parke and Doctor Willwood came out of the vestry-room Uncle Parke gave +me one look, just one, but it was so understanding I winked back, and +then he came farther down and stood by Miss Katherine like she was his +until kingdom come, forever more. Amen. + +Then the minister began, and the music was so soft you could hear the +birds outside. The breeze through the window blew right on Miss +Katherine's veil, and I was so busy watching it I didn't know the time +had come to pray, and I hardly got my head bent before I had to take it +up again. Then the minister was through, and I was walking down the +aisle with Doctor Willwood, and in just about two minutes more we were +back at the Asylum, and it was all over--the thing we'd been looking +forward to so long. + +The Asylum looked real nice that morning. There were bushels and bushels +of flowers in it, for everybody in town who had any sent them. Flowers +cover a multitude of poverties. The reception was grand. That California +Richness called it a breakfast, but that was pure style. Yorkburg don't +have breakfast between twelve and one, and everybody else called it a +reception. As for the people at it, there were more kinds than were ever +in one dining-room before; and every single one had a good time. Every +one. + +You see, Miss Katherine, besides being who she was, was what she was. +Having known a great deal about all sorts of people since being a nurse, +and finding out that the plain and the fancy, the rich and the poor, +those who've had a chance and those who haven't, are a heap more alike +than people think, she said she was going to invite to her wedding +whoever she wanted. And she did. + +There wasn't one invited who didn't come: the bent and the broke and the +blind (that's true, for old Mr. Forbes is bent, and Mrs. Rowe's hip was +broken and she uses crutches, and Bobbie Anderson is blind); and the +old, that's the high-born coat-of-arms kind; and the new, that's the +Reagans and Hinchmans and some others, and Mr. Pinkert the shoemaker, +who, she says, is a gentleman if he don't remember his grandfather's +name; and Miss Ginnie Grant, who made her underclothes--all were there. +All. It was a different wedding from any that was ever before in +Yorkburg, and if any feelings were hurt it was because they were trying +to be. Some feelings are kept for that purpose. + +Of course, Mrs. Christopher Pryor had remarks to make. "Katherine always +was too independent," I heard her tell Miss Queechy Spence. "But I don't +believe in anything of the kind. If you once let people get out of the +place they were born in, there'll be no doing anything with them. You +mark me, if this wedding don't make trouble. Some of these people will +expect to be invited to my house next." And she took another helping of +salad that was enough for three. She's an awful eater. + +"Oh no, they won't," said Miss Queechy. "They know better than to expect +anything like that of you," and she gave me a little wink and walked off +with Mr. Morris, who's her beau. I went off, too. It isn't safe for +Martha Cary to be too near Mrs. Pryor, for Mary never knows what she +may do. + +And, oh, you ought to have seen Miss Bray! She was stepsister to the +Queen of Sheba. Solomon never had a wife arrayed like she was on that +twenty-seventh day of June. I believe she is engaged to Doctor Rudd. I +really do. + +You see, after people got over teasing him about that make-believe +wedding, he got to thinking about her. He's bound to know he isn't much +of a man, and no young girl would have him, so lately he's been ambling +'round Miss Bray. If he can stand her, he'll do well to get her. She's a +grand manager on little. + +He was at the wedding, too. His beard was flowinger and redder, and the +part in the back of his head shininger than ever. He had an elegant +time. He was so full of himself you would have thought it was his own +party. + +Uncle Parke and Aunt Katherine have been on the ocean three days. I +wonder if they are sick. I don't think I will go to Europe with my +children's father. I was seasick once on land, and there wasn't a human +being I even liked that day. It would be bad to find out so soon that +the very sight of your husband makes you ill. After you know him +better, you could tell him to go off somewhere; but at first I suppose +you have to be polite. + +They were awful nice about wanting me to go with them. The bride and +groom were. They said I had to, and they were so surprised when I said I +couldn't that they didn't think I meant it. When they found out I did, +they were dreadfully worried, and didn't know what to do next. There +wasn't anything to do, and here I am. Here I'm going to be, too, until +the first day of October, when they will be back, and we will start for +the West, for Michigan. + +I'm going to like Michigan. I've decided before I get there. I know +there will be something to like, there always is in every place and +every person, Miss Katherine says, if you just will see it instead of +the all wrong. I was by nature born critical. There are a lot of things +I don't like in this world, but there's no use in mentioning them. As +for opinions, if they're not pleasant they'd better be kept to yourself. +I learned that early in life and forget it every day. + +I'm going to try and think Michigan is a grand place, and next to +Virginia the best to live in. They couldn't, _couldn't_ expect me to +think it was like Virginia! + +Perhaps, after a while, Uncle Parke may come back. For over two hundred +years his people have lived here, and sometimes I believe he feels just +like that dog did who had his call in him. The call of the place that +the first dogs came from, that wild, free place, and I think Uncle Parke +wants to come back, wants to be with his own people. + +Out West is very convenient, though, Peggy Green says. She has an aunt +who used to live out there, and she told her you could do as you choose +in almost everything. If husbands and wives didn't like each other, +there was no trouble in getting new ones. They could get a divorce and +marry somebody else. + +I wonder what a divorce is. We've never had one in Yorkburg, and I never +knew until the other day that when you got married it wasn't really +truly permanent. I thought it was for ever and ever and until death +parted. The prayer-book says so, and I thought it meant it. + +By the time I'm grown I guess I'll find a lot of things are said and not +meant. Maybe when I find out I will be all the gladder to come back to +Yorkburg, where people don't seem to know much about these new-fashioned +things. Where they still believe in the old ones, and just live on and +don't hurry, and are kind and polite and dear, if they are slow and +queer and proud a little bit. + +It makes me have such a funny feeling in my throat when I think about +going away. I'm trying not to think. But I do. Think all the time. I +want this summer to be the happiest the children ever had. It's the last +for me. That sounds consumptive, but I don't mean that way. I mean it's +my last Orphan summer. + +Of course, I'm glad, awful glad; but I'm so sorry the other children +aren't going, too. For them it's prunes and blue-and-white calico to +look forward to until they're eighteen. Year in and year out, prunes and +calico. + +But maybe it isn't. If Mary Cary will do her part something nicer may +happen. She doesn't know yet the way to make it happen, having nothing +much to send back but love. Somebody says love finds the way. Oh, Mary +Cary, you and Love _must_ find a way! + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mary Cary, by Kate Langley Bosher + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARY CARY *** + +***** This file should be named 15571.txt or 15571.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/5/7/15571/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Melissa Er-Raqabi and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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