Now, wasn’t it funny he should have remembered that there was a violinist?  But, of course, I told him no, it wasn’t the violinist.  It was another one that took Mother to ride, the one I told him about in the Christmas letter; and he was very rich, and had two perfectly beautiful cars; and I was going on to tell more—­how he didn’t take Mother now—­but I didn’t get a chance, for Father interrupted, and said, “Yes, yes, to be sure.”  And he showed he wasn’t interested, for all the little smile wrinkles were gone, and he looked stern and dignified, more like he used to.  And he went on to say that, as we had almost reached home, he had better explain right away that Aunt Jane was no longer living there; that his cousin from the West, Mrs. Whitney, was keeping house for him now.  She was a very nice lady, and he hoped I would like her.  And I might call her “Cousin Grace.”

And before I could even draw breath to ask any questions, we were home; and a real pretty lady, with a light-blue dress on, was helping me out of the car, and kissing me as she did so.

Now, do you wonder that I have been rubbing my eyes and wondering if I was really I, and if this was Andersonville?  Even now I’m not sure but it’s a dream, and I shall wake up and find I’ve gone to sleep on the cars, and that the train is just drawing into the station, and that John and the horses, and Aunt Jane in her I-don’t-care-how-it-looks black dress are there to meet me.

* * * * *

One week later.

It isn’t a dream.  It’s all really, truly true—­everything:  Father coming to meet me, the lovely automobile, and the pretty lady in the light-blue dress, who kissed me.  And when I went downstairs the next morning I found out it was real, ’specially the pretty lady; for she kissed me again, and said she hoped I’d be happy there.  And she never said one word about dusting one hour and studying one hour and weeding one hour. (Of course, she couldn’t say anything about my clothes, for I was already in a Mary blue-gingham dress.) She just told me to amuse myself any way I liked, and said, if I wanted to, I might run over to see some of the girls, but not to make any plans for the afternoon, for she was going to take me to ride.

Now, what do you think of that?  Go to see the girls in the morning, and take a ride—­an automobile ride!—­in the afternoon. In Andersonville!  Why, I couldn’t believe my ears.  Of course, I was wild and crazy with delight—­but it was all so different.  Why, I began to think almost that I was Marie, and not Mary at all.

And it’s been that way the whole week through.  I’ve had a beautiful time.  I’ve been so excited!  And Mother is excited, too.  Of course, I wrote her and told her all about it right away.  And she wrote right back and wanted to know everything—­everything I could tell her; all the little things.  And she was so interested in Cousin Grace, and wanted to know all about her; said she never heard of her before, and was she Father’s own cousin, and how old was she, and was she pretty, and was Father around the house more now, and did I see a lot of him?  She thought from something I said that I did.