er I got there; and how then I found out, all of a sudden one
day, that father had got ready for _Marie_, and he didn't want me to
be Mary, and that was why he had got Cousin Grace and the automobile
and the geraniums in the window, and, oh, everything that made it nice
and comfy and homey. And then is when they bought me the new white
dresses and the little white shoes. And I told Mother, of course, it
was lovely to be Marie, and I liked it, only I knew _she_ would feel
bad to think, after all _her_ pains to make me Mary, Father didn't
want me Mary at all.

"I don't think you need to worry--about that," stammered Mother. And
when I looked at her, her face was all flushed, and sort of queer, but
not a bit angry. And she went on in the same odd little shaky voice:
"But, tell me, why--why did--your father want you to be Marie and not
Mary?"

And then I told her how he said he'd remembered what I'd said to him
in the parlor that day--how tired I got being Mary, and how I'd put
on Marie's things just to get a little vacation from her; and he said
he'd never forgotten. And so when it came near time for me to come
again, he determined to fix it so I wouldn't have to be Mary at all.
And so that was why. And I told Mother it was all right, and of course
I liked it; only it _did_ mix me up awfully, not knowing which wanted
me to be Mary now, and which Marie, when they were both telling me
different from what they ever had before. And that it was hard, when
you were trying just the best you knew how.

And I began to cry again.

And she said there, there, once more, and patted me on my shoulder,
and told me I needn't worry any more. And that _she_ understood it,
if I didn't. In fact, she was beginning to understand a lot of things
that she'd never understood before. And she said it was very, very
dear of Father to do what he did, and that I needn't worry about her
being displeased at it. That she was pleased, and that she believed he
meant her to be. And she said I needn't think any more whether to be
Mary or Marie; but to be just a good, loving little daughter to both
of them; and that was all she asked, and she was very sure it was all
Father would ask, too.

I told her then how I thought he _did_ care a little about having
me there, and that I knew he was going to miss me. And I told her
why--what he'd said that morning in the junction--about appreciating
love, and not missing things or people until you didn't have them;