“Of course, they’re Mary things,” answered Mother, cheerfully—­the kind of cheerfulness that says:  “I’m being good and you ought to be.”  Then she went on.  “That’s what I meant to buy—­Mary things, as you call them.  Aren’t you going to be Mary just next week?  Of course, you are!  And didn’t you tell me last year, as soon as you got there, Miss Anderson objected to your clothing and bought new for you?  Well, I am trying to see that she does not have to do that this year.”

And then she bought me a brown serge suit and a hat so tiresomely sensible that even Aunt Jane will love them, I know.  And to-morrow I’ve got to put them on to go in.

Do you wonder that I say I am Mary already?

CHAPTER VII

WHEN I AM NEITHER ONE

ANDERSONVILLE.

Well, I came last night.  I had on the brown suit and the sensible hat, and every turn of the wheels all day had been singing:  “Mary, Mary, now you’re Mary!” Why, Mother even called me Mary when she said good-bye.  She came to the junction with me just as she had before, and put me on the other train.

“Now, remember, dear, you’re to try very hard to be a joy and a comfort to your father—­just the little Mary that he wants you to be.  Remember, he has been very kind to let you stay with me so long.”

She cried when she kissed me just as she did before; but she didn’t tell me this time to be sure and not love Father better than I did her.  I noticed that.  But, of course, I didn’t say anything, though I might have told her easily that I knew nothing could ever make me love him better than I did her.

But I honestly tried, as long as I was dressed like Mary, to feel like Mary; and I made up my mind that I would be Mary, too, just as well as I knew how to be, so that even Aunt Jane couldn’t find any fault with me.  And I’d try to please Father, and make him not mind my being there, even if I couldn’t make him love me.  And as I got to thinking of it, I was glad that I had on the Mary things, so I wouldn’t have to make any change.  Then I could show Aunt Jane that I was really going to be Mary, right along from the start, when she met me at the station.  And I would show Father, too, if he was at home.  And I couldn’t help hoping he would be home this time, and not off to look at any old stars or eclipses.

When we got to Andersonville, and the train rolled into the station, I ’most forgot, for a minute, and ran down the aisle, so as to get out quick.  I was so excited!  But right away I thought of Aunt Jane and that she might see me; so I slowed down to a walk, and I let quite a lot of other folks get ahead of me, as I was sure Mary ought to.  You see, I was determined to be a good little Mary from the very start, so that even Aunt Jane couldn’t find a word of fault—­not even with my actions.  I knew she couldn’t with my clothes!