There is no use studying Human Nature.  You can’t study a thing that changes by day and by night, and is so uncertain you never know what it is going to do.  Now, here is Mary Cary, mostly Martha, who would rather get on a train or a boat and go somewhere—­she don’t care where—­than to do any other thing on earth.  Who has never seen anything and wants to see everything, and who, if anyone had told her a year ago she could go to New York, and then to Europe, would have slid down every flight of stairs head foremost from pure joy.  And now she has the chance, she is not going.  She is Not.

She hasn’t much sense, Mary Cary hasn’t, but enough to know wedding trips are personal, and, besides, the girls have turned into regular weepers.  Every time anything is said about going away their eyes water up, and Martha feels like a yellow dog with no tail.  I know they hate Miss Katherine’s going; but why do they cry about my going?  Lord, this is a strange place to live in, this world is!  I wonder what heaven will be like?

Miss Bray is much better.  She says Uncle Parke has cured her.  I don’t believe it.  I believe it was Relief of the Mind.

* * * * *

I wasn’t meant to be a sad person.  I was silly sad the other day; but I’ve found out when anything bothers you very much, it helps to take it out and look at it.  Walk all around it, poke it and see if it’s sure enough, and, if it isn’t, tell it you’ll see it dead before you’ll let it do you that way.

That’s what I did with what was making me doleful, and now I’m all right again.  It was because I did want to go to Europe awful, and it twisted my heart like a machine had it when I turned my back on the chance.  And then, too, it was because the girls begged me so not to go away for good that I got so worried.

They said it wouldn’t be the same if I wasn’t here, and though they didn’t blame me, they begged me so not to go that I got as addled as the old black hen that hatched ducks.

Now, did you ever hear of such a thing?  As if it really mattered where Mary Cary lived!  I didn’t know anybody truly cared, and finding out made me light in the head.  But I know that’s just passing—­their caring, I mean.  I’m much obliged; but they’ll forget it in a little while, and I will be just a memory.

I hope it will be bright.  There’s so much dark you can’t help that a brightness is real enjoyable.  They say what you look for you see, and what you want to forget you mustn’t remember.  There are a lot of things about my Orphan life I’m going to try to forget.  But there are some that for the sake of sense, and in case of airs, I had better bear in mind.  I guess Martha will see to those.  Whenever Mary gives signs of soaring, Martha brings her straight back to earth.  Martha doesn’t care for soarers, and she has a terrible bad habit of letting them know she don’t.

Yorkburg hasn’t settled down yet, and is still hanging on to the last remnants of the surprise about Uncle Parke’s coming, and about his marriage to Miss Katherine and my going away.