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diff --git a/15571.txt b/15571.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9b842d4 --- /dev/null +++ b/15571.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: 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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