Mary said, “Yes, Aunt Jane,” very polite and proper; but I can tell you that inside of Mary, Marie was just boiling.

Unbearable, indeed!

We didn’t say anything more all the way home.  Naturally, I was not going to, after that speech; and Aunt Jane said nothing.  So silence reigned supreme.

Then we got home.  Things looked quite natural, only there was a new maid in the kitchen, and Nurse Sarah wasn’t there.  Father wasn’t there, either.  And, just as I suspected, ’t was a star that was to blame, only this time the star was the moon—­an eclipse; and he’d gone somewhere out West so he could see it better.

He isn’t coming back till next week; and when I think how he made me come on the first day, so as to get in the whole six months, when all the time he did not care enough about it to be here himself, I’m just mad—­I mean, the righteously indignant kind of mad—­for I can’t help thinking how poor Mother would have loved those extra days with her.

Aunt Jane said I was to have my old room, and so, as soon as I got here, I went right up and took off my hat and coat, and pretty quick they brought up my trunk, and I unpacked it; and I didn’t hurry about it either.  I wasn’t a bit anxious to get downstairs again to Aunt Jane.  Besides, I may as well own up, I was crying—­a little.  Mother’s room was right across the hall, and it looked so lonesome; and I couldn’t help remembering how different this homecoming was from the one in Boston, six months ago.

Well, at last I had to go down to dinner—­I mean supper—­and, by the way, I made another break on that.  I called it dinner right out loud, and never thought—­till I saw Aunt Jane’s face.

“Supper will be ready directly,” she said, with cold and icy emphasis.  “And may I ask you to remember, Mary, please, that Andersonville has dinner at noon, not at six o’clock.”

“Yes, Aunt Jane,” said Mary, polite and proper again. (I shan’t say what Marie said inside.)

We didn’t do anything in the evening but read and go to bed at nine o’clock.  I wanted to run over to Carrie Heywood’s; but Aunt Jane said no, not till morning. (I wonder why young folks never can do things when they want to do them, but must always wait till morning or night or noon, or some other time!)

In the morning I went up to the schoolhouse.  I planned it so as to get there at recess, and I saw all the girls except one that was sick, and one that was away.  We had a perfectly lovely time, only everybody was talking at once so that I don’t know now what was said.  But they seemed glad to see me.  I know that.  Maybe I’ll go to school next week.  Aunt Jane says she thinks I ought to, when it’s only the first of May.  She’s going to speak to Father when he comes next week.

She was going to speak to him about my clothes; then she decided to attend to those herself, and not bother him.  As I suspected, she doesn’t like my dresses.  I found out this morning for sure.  She came into my room and asked to see my things.  My!  But didn’t I hate to show them to her?  Marie said she wouldn’t; but Mary obediently trotted to the closet and brought them out one by one.