I don’t like Mrs. Darling.

Of course, as I said before, Mrs. Darling could be my new mother, being a widow, so.  But, mercy!  I hope she won’t.  I’d rather have Miss Grace Ann than her, and I shouldn’t be crazy about having Miss Grace Ann.

Well, I guess there’s nothing more to write.  Things at school are just the same, only more so.  The girls are getting so they act almost as bad as those down to Boston in the school where I went before I changed.  Of course, maybe it’s the divorce here, same as it was there.  But I don’t see how it can be that here.  Why, they’ve known it from the very first!

Oh, dear suz me!  How I do wish I could see Mother to-night and have her take me in her arms and kiss me.  I’m so tired of being Mary ’way off up here where nobody cares or wants me.

Even Father doesn’t want me, not really want me.  I know he doesn’t.  I don’t see why he keeps me, only I suppose he’d be ashamed not to take me his six months as long as the court gave me to him for that time.

* * * * *

Another two weeks later.

I’m so angry I can hardly write, and at the same time I’m so angry I’ve just got to write.  I can’t talk.  There isn’t anybody to talk to; and I’ve got to tell somebody.  So I’m going to tell it here.

I’ve found out now what’s the matter with the girls—­you know I said there was something the matter with them; that they acted queer and stopped talking when I came up, and faded away till there wasn’t anybody but me left; and about the party Stella Mayhew had and didn’t invite me.

Well, it’s been getting worse and worse.  Other girls have had parties, and more and more often the girls have stopped talking and have looked queer when I came up.  We got up a secret society and called it the “Tony Ten,” and I was going to be its president.  Then all of a sudden one day I found there wasn’t any Tony Ten—­only Carrie Heywood and me.  The other eight had formed another society and Stella Mayhew was their president.

I told Carrie we wouldn’t care; that we’d just change it and call it the “Tony Two”; and that two was a lot more exclusive than ten, anyway.  But I did care, and Carrie did.  I knew she did.  And I know it better now because last night—­she told me.  You see things have been getting simply unbearable these last few days, and it got so it looked as if I wasn’t even going to have Carrie left. She began to act queer and I accused her of it, and told her if she didn’t want to belong to the Tony Two she needn’t.  That I didn’t care; that I’d be a secret society all by myself.  But I cried.  I couldn’t help crying; and she knew I did—­care.  Then she began to cry; and to-day, after school, we went to walk up on the hill to the big rock; and there—­she told me.  And it was the divorce.