[Illustration:  “I TOLD HER NOT TO WORRY A BIT ABOUT ME”]

I’ll close now, and make this the end of the chapter.  It’ll be Andersonville next time.

CHAPTER V

WHEN I AM MARY

ANDERSONVILLE.

Well, here I am.  I’ve been here two days now, and I guess I’d better write down what’s happened so far, before I forget it.

First, about my leaving Boston.  Poor, dear Mother did take on dreadfully, and I thought she just wouldn’t let me go.  She went with me to the junction where I had to change, and put me on the parlor car for Andersonville, and asked the conductor to look out for me. (As if I needed that—­a young lady like me!  I’m fourteen now.  I had a birthday last week.)

But I thought at the last that she just wouldn’t let me go, she clung to me so, and begged me to forgive her for all she’d brought upon me; and said it was a cruel, cruel shame, when there were children, and people ought to stop and think and remember, and be willing to stand anything.  And then, in the next breath, she’d beg me not to forget her, and not to love Father better than I did her. (As if there was any danger of that!) And to write to her every few minutes.

Then the conductor cried, “All aboard!” and the bell rang, and she had to go and leave me.  But the last I saw of her she was waving her handkerchief, and smiling the kind of a smile that’s worse than crying right out loud.  Mother’s always like that.  No matter how bad she feels, at the last minute she comes up bright and smiling, and just as brave as can be.

I had a wonderful trip to Andersonville.  Everybody was very kind to me, and there were lovely things to see out the window.  The conductor came in and spoke to me several times—­not the way you would look after a child, but the way a gentleman would tend to a lady.  I liked him very much.

There was a young gentleman in the seat in front, too, who was very nice.  He loaned me a magazine, and bought some candy for me; but I didn’t see much more of him, for the second time the conductor came in he told me he’d found a nice seat back in the car on the shady side.  He noticed the sun came in where I sat, he said. (I hadn’t noticed it specially.) But he picked up my bag and magazine—­but I guess he forgot the candy-box the nice young gentleman in front had just put on my window-sill, for when I got into my new seat the candy wasn’t anywhere; and of course I didn’t like to go back for it.  But the conductor was very nice and kind, and came in twice again to see if I liked my new seat; and of course I said I did.  It was very nice and shady, and there was a lady and a baby in the next seat, and I played with the baby quite a lot.

It was heaps of fun to be grown up and traveling alone like that!  I sat back in my seat and wondered and wondered what the next six months were going to be like.  And I wondered, too, if I’d forgotten how to be “Mary.”