e.) They just can't seem to do
enough for each other. Father was going next week to a place 'way on
the other side of the world to view an eclipse of the moon, but he
said right off he'd give it up. But Mother said, "No, indeed," she
guessed he _wouldn't_ give it up; that he was going, and that she was
going, too--a wedding trip; and that she was sure she didn't know a
better place to go for a wedding trip than the moon! And Father was
_so_ pleased. And he said he'd try not to pay all his attention to the
stars this time; and Mother laughed and said, "Nonsense," and that she
adored stars herself, and that he _must_ pay attention to the stars.
It was his business to. Then she looked very wise and got off
something she'd read in the astronomy book. And they both laughed, and
looked over to me to see if I was noticing. And I was. And so then we
all laughed.

And, as I said before, it is all perfectly lovely and wonderful.

So it's all settled, and they're going right away on this trip and
call it a wedding trip. And, of course, Grandfather had to get off his
joke about how he thought it was a pretty dangerous business; and to
see that _this_ honeymoon didn't go into an eclipse while they were
watching the other one. But nobody minds Grandfather.

I'm to stay here and finish school. Then, in the spring, when Father
and Mother come back, we are all to go to Andersonville and begin to
live in the old house again.

Won't it be lovely? It just seems too good to be true. Why, I don't
care a bit now whether I'm Mary or Marie. But, then, nobody else does,
either. In fact, both of them call me the whole name now, Mary Marie.
I don't think they ever _said_ they would. They just began to do it.
That's all.

Of course, anybody can see why: _now_ each one is calling me the other
one's name along with their own. That is, Mother is calling me Mary
along with her pet Marie, and Father is calling me Marie along with
his pet Mary.

Funny, isn't it?

But one thing is sure, anyway. How about this being a love story
_now_? Oh, I'm so excited!

CHAPTER IX

WHICH IS THE TEST

ANDERSONVILLE. _Twelve years later_.

_Twelve years_--yes. And I'm twenty-eight years old. Pretty old,
little Mary Marie of the long ago would think. And, well, perhaps
to-day I feel just as old as she would put it.

I came up into the attic this morning to pack away some things I shall
no longer need, now that I am going to leave Jerry. (Jerry is