The Holbrook news., 1922-04-21

all like that at the beginning. Maybe it's just their way down here If I think of it I'll ask Peter tomorrow.
 Well, I guess that's all I can think of this time.
 MOST FOUR MONTHS LATER
 It's been ages since I've written here, I know. But there's nothing spe- cial happened. Everything has been going along just about as it did at the first Oh, there is one thing different Peters gone. He went two months ago. We've got an awfully old chauf feur now. One with gray hair and glasses, and homely, too. His name is Charles. The very first day he came, Aunt Hattie told me never to talk to Charles, or bother him with ques- tions; that 1t was better he should keep his mind entirely on his driving.
 She needn't have worried. I should never dream of asking him the things I did Peter. He's too stupid Now Peter and got to be real good friends until all of a sudden Grandpa told him he might go, I don't know why.
 don't see as I'm any nearer finding out who Mothers lover will be than I was four months ago. I suppose it's still too soon. Peter said one day he thought widows ought to wait at least a year, and he guessed grass-widOws were just the same. My, how mad I was at him for using that name about my mother! Oh, I knew what he meant. I'd heard it at school. q know now what 1t was that made those girls act so queer and hOrrid.) There was a girl never liked her, and I suspect she didn't like me, either. Well, she found out Mother had a divorce. (YOu sec, I hadn't told 1t. I remembered how those girls out West bragged.) And she told a lot of the others But 1t didn't work at all as 1t had in the West. None of the girls In this school here had di. vOrce In their families; and, If you'll believe-it, they acted-sOme of them as if it was disgrace, even after 1 told them good and plain that ours was a perfectly respectable and gen. teel divorce. Nothing I could say made mite of difference, with some of the girls, and then Is when I first heard that perfectly hnrrid word, "grass-widOw." So I knew what Pe- ter meant, though was furious at him for using it. And I let him see 1t good and plain.
 Of course I changed schools. l knew MOther'd want me to, when she knew, and so told her right away. thought she'd be superb and naughty and disdainful sure this time. But she wasn't. First she grew so white l thought she was going to faint away. Then she began to cry and kiss and hug me. And that night I heard her talking to Aunt Hattie and saying, gro think that that poor innocent child has to smfer, tool" and soms more which I couldn't hear, because her voice was all choked up and shaky.
 Mother Is crying now quite a lot You see, her six months are most up, and I've got to go back to Father And I'm afraid Mother is awfully unhappy about 1t. She had a letter last week from Aunt Jane, Fathers sister. I heard her read 1t out loud to Aunt Hattie and Grandpa in the library. It was very stiff and cold and dignified, and ran something like this:
 Dear Madam: Dr. Anderson de- bearing in mind the fact that, accord ing to the decision of the court, his daughter Mary Is to come to him on the first day of May. If you will kind ly inform him as to the hour of her expected arrival, he will see that she Is properly met at the station"
 Then she signed her name, Abigail Jane Anderson. (She was named for her mother, Grandma Anderson, same as Father wanted them to name me. Mercy! I'm glad they didn't. Mary" is bad enough, but Abigail Jane"-D
 We'll, Mother read the letter aloud then she began to talk about it-how she felt, and how awful 1t was to think of giving me up six whole months, and sending her bright little sunny-hearted Marie into that tomb like place with only an Abigail Jane to flee to for refuge. And she said that she almost wished Nurse Sarah was back again-that she, at least, was human.
 "'And see that she's properly met indeed! !" went on Mother, with an in- dignant little choke in her voice. "Oh, yes, know! Now, If it were star or comet that he expected, he'd go himself and sit for hours and hours watching for it. But when his daugh- | ter comes, he'll send John with the | horses, like enough, and possibly that precious Abigail Jane of his. Or, may be that is too much to expect. Oh, Hattie, I can't let her go-I can't, I can't"
 I was in the windOw-seat around the ] corner of the chimney, reading; and 1 don't know as she knew I was there. But I was, and I heard. And I've heard other things, too, all this week.
 I'm to go next Monday, and as 1t comes nearer the time Mothers get ting worse and worse. She's so un- | happy over it. And of course that | makes me unhappy, too. But try not to show it. Only yesterday, when she was crying and hugging me, and telling me how awful it was that her little girl should have to suffer, too, I told her not to worry bit about me; that I wasn't suffering at all. l liked it. It was ever so much more exciting to