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.
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