They're all Mary. That's all I brought.
Oh, dear suz me! Why couldn't Father and Mother have been just the
common live-happy-ever-after kind, or else found out before they
married that they were unlikes?
* * * * *
_September_.
Well, vacation is over, and I go back to Boston to-morrow. It's been
very nice and I've had a good time, in spite of being so mixed up as
to whether I was Mary or Marie. It wasn't so bad as I was afraid it
would be. Very soon after Father and I had that talk on the piazza,
Cousin Grace took me down to the store and bought me two new white
dresses, and the dearest little pair of shoes I ever saw. She said
Father wanted me to have them.
And that's all--every single word that's been said about that
Mary-and-Marie business. And even that didn't really _say_
anything--not by name. And Cousin Grace never mentioned it again. And
Father never mentioned it at all. Not a word.
But he's been queer. He's been awfully queer. Some days he's been just
as he was when I first came this time--real talky and folksy, and as
if he liked to be with us. Then for whole days at a time he'd be more
as he used to--stern, and stirring his coffee when there isn't any
coffee there; and staying all the evening and half the night out in
his observatory.
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