l around it, poke it and see if it's sure
enough, and, if it isn't, tell it you'll see it dead before you'll let
it do you that way.

That's what I did with what was making me doleful, and now I'm all right
again. It was because I did want to go to Europe awful, and it twisted
my heart like a machine had it when I turned my back on the chance. And
then, too, it was because the girls begged me so not to go away for good
that I got so worried.

They said it wouldn't be the same if I wasn't here, and though they
didn't blame me, they begged me so not to go that I got as addled as the
old black hen that hatched ducks.

Now, did you ever hear of such a thing? As if it really mattered where
Mary Cary lived! I didn't know anybody truly cared, and finding out made
me light in the head. But I know that's just passing--their caring, I
mean. I'm much obliged; but they'll forget it in a little while, and I
will be just a memory.

I hope it will be bright. There's so much dark you can't help that a
brightness is real enjoyable. They say what you look for you see, and
what you want to forget you mustn't remember. There are a lot of things
about my Orphan life I'm going to try to forget. But there are some that
for the sake of sense, and in case of airs, I had better bear in mind. I
guess Martha will see to those. Whenever Mary gives signs of soaring,
Martha brings her straight back to earth. Martha doesn't care for
soarers, and she has a terrible bad habit of letting them know she
don't.

Yorkburg hasn't settled down yet, and is still hanging on to the last
remnants of the surprise about Uncle Parke's coming, and about his
marriage to Miss Katherine and my going away.

Of course, Miss Amelia Cokeland wanted to know if he'd made the Asylum a
present, and how much. At first nobody would tell her. She's got such a
ripping curiosity that there isn't a sneeze sneezed in Yorkburg, or a
cake baked, or a door shut that she doesn't want to know why. But maybe
she can't help it. Some people are natural inquirers, and that's the
way she makes her living, telling the news.

She used to work buttonholes, but since she can't see good she just
spends the day out and tells all she hears. Nobody really likes her, but
her tongue is too sharp to fool with. To keep from being talked about,
everybody pretends to be friendly.

I don't. She shook her finger at me once because I wouldn't tell her
what was in Miss Katherine's letter the first time