ut she ought to have known he was a man, and not expected much. I know
my children's father is going to make me so hopping at times I could
shake him. If he didn't, he would be terrible stupid to live with, and
nothing wears you out like stupidness. I don't really mind a scrap. It's
so nice to make up.

But I believe that's the reason Miss Katherine don't get married.
Because in her secret heart Dr. Parke Alden is still her sweetheart. I
know in his secret heart she is still his. She's bound to be if she ever
once was.

Glorious superbness! Wouldn't that be grand? If they were to get married
she would be my really, truly Aunt! The very thought makes me so full of
thrills I can't sit still when it comes over me.

Oh, Mary Martha Cary, what a beautiful place this world could be!

XII

A TRUE MIRACLE

A secret isn't any pleasure. What's the use of knowing a thing you can't
let anybody know you know? If I can't tell soon what I've heard about
myself something is liable to happen.

Nearly three months have passed, and I haven't told yet. I'm still
holding out, but it's the most awful experience I ever had.

Another idea has come to me, and if I could see Miss Katherine I could
tell whether to do it or not. If she don't come soon I will do it,
anyhow. I won't be able to help it.

The girls say if I were a darkey they'd think I was seeking. That's
because some days I'm so unnatural quiet and stay so much by myself. I
do that for safety, fearing otherwise I'd speak.

They don't know what's going on inside of me. If they could see they'd
find nothing but quiverings and questions, and if I don't do anything
really violent it's all I ask.

Every morning and every night my prayers are just this: "O Lord, help
Mary Cary through this day. I'm not asking for to-morrow, it not being
here yet. But _This Day_ help me to hold out." And all day long I'm
saying under my breath:

"Hold on, Mary Cary, hold on, hold on.
There never was a night that didn't have a dawn.
There never was a road that didn't have an end.
Wait awhile, wait awhile, and then the letter send."

I say that so often to myself that I'm afraid somebody will hear me
think it. If that letter isn't sent soon, the answer will be received by
a corpse.

I'm never again going to have a secret. It's worse than a tumor or
dropsy. Mrs. Penick has a tumor. I've never seen the dropsy, but a
secret is more dangerous, for it dries you up. Dropsy