kindly but expressing no
particular interest. At other times she was strictly forbidden to enter
that room.

Occasionally, but very rarely, she had eaten Sunday dinner with
Marcellus. She and the housekeeper usually ate together and Mr. Hall's
meals were served in what the child called "the smoke room," meaning the
apartment just described, which was at all times strongly scented with
tobacco. The Sunday dinners were stately and formal affairs and were
prefaced by lectures by the housekeeper concerning sitting up straight
and not disturbing Cap'n Hall by talking too much. On the whole
Mary-'Gusta was rather glad when the meals were over. She did not
dislike her stepfather; he had never been rough or unkind, but she had
always stood in awe of him and had felt that he regarded her as a "pesky
nuisance," something to be fed and then shooed out of the way, as Mrs.
Hobbs regarded David, the cat. As for loving him, as other children
seemed to love their fathers; that the girl never did. She was sure
he did not love her in that way, and that he would not have welcomed
demonstrations of affection on her part. She had learned the reason, or
she thought she had: she was a STEPCHILD; that was why, and a stepchild
was almost as bad as a "changeling" in a fairy story.

Her mother she remembered dimly and with that recollection were memories
of days when she was loved and made much of, not only by Mother, but by
Captain Hall also. She asked Mrs. Bailey, whom she had loved and whose
leaving was the greatest grief of her life, some questions about these
memories. Mrs. Bailey had hugged her and had talked a good deal about
Captain Hall's being a changed man since his wife's death. "He used to
be so different, jolly and good-natured and sociable; you wouldn't know
him now if you seen him then. When your mamma was took it just seemed to
wilt him right down. He was awful sick himself for a spell, and when
he got better he was like he is today. Seems as if HE died too, as
you might say, and ain't really lived since. I'm awful sorry for Cap'n
Marcellus. You must be real good to him when you grow up, Mary-'Gusta."

And now he had gone before she had had a chance to grow up, and
Mary-'Gusta felt an unreasonable sense of blame. But real grief, the
dreadful paralyzing realization of loss which an adult feels when a dear
one dies, she did not feel.

She was awed and a little frightened, but she did not feel like crying.
Why should she?

"Ma