earth, and so much larger; but I think, now, I'll settle on Human
Nature. Nobody ever knows what it is going to do, which makes it full of
surprises, but there's a lot that's real interesting about it. I like
it. As for its Bray side, I'll try not to think about it; but if there
are puddles, I guess it's well to know where, so as not to step in them.
I wish we didn't have to know about puddles and things! I'd so much
rather know little and be happy than find out the miserable much some
people do.

Anyhow, I won't have to remember all I learn, for Miss Katherine says
there are many things it's wise to forget, and whenever I can I'll
forget mean things. I'd forget Miss Bray's if she'd tell me she was
sorry and cross her heart she'd never do them again. But I don't believe
she ever will. God is going to have a hard time with Miss Bray. She's
right old to change, and she's set in her ways--bad ways.

II

THE COMING OF MISS KATHERINE

Now, why can't I keep on at a thing like Miss Katherine? Why? Because
I'm just Mary Cary, mostly Martha; made of nothing, came from nowhere,
and don't know where I'm going, and have no more system in my nature
than Miss Bray has charms for gentlemen.

But Miss Katherine--well, there never was and never will be but one Miss
Katherine, and there's as much chance of my being like her as there is
of my reaching the stars. I'll never be like her, but she's my friend.
That's the wonderful part of it. She's my friend. And when you've got a
friend like Miss Katherine you've got strength to do anything. To stand
anything, too.

The beautiful part of it is that I live with her; that is, she lives in
the Asylum, and I sleep in the room with her.

It happened this way. Last summer I didn't want to do anything but sit
down. It was the funniest thing, for before that I never did like to sit
down if I could stand up, or skip around, or climb, or run, or dance, or
jump. I never could walk straight or slow, and I never can keep step.

Well, last summer I didn't want to move, and I couldn't eat, and I
didn't even feel like reading. I'd have such queer slipping-away
feelings right in my heart that I'd call myself a drop of ink on a
blotter that was spreading and spreading and couldn't stop. Sometimes I
would think I was sinking down and down, but I really wasn't sinking,
for I didn't move. I only felt like I was, and I was afraid to go to
sleep at night for fear I would die, and I stayed awake so