The Holbrook news., 1922-04-14

Inen SHe Just threw SOlHe IuOHey oI to the table to pay the bill and hurried me away.
 IL was after that that she began to stay in her room so much, and not take me anywhere except for walks at the other end of the town where it was all quiet and stupid, and no music or lights or anything. And though leased and leased to go back to the pretty, jolly places, she wouldn't ever take ne; not once.
 Then by and by, one day we met a little black-haired woman with white cheeks and very big sad eyes. There weren't any spangly dresses and gold slippers about her, can tell you She was crying on a bench in the park, and Mother told me to stay back and watch the swans while she went up and spoke to her (Why do old folks always make us watch swans or read books or look into store windows or run and play all the time? Don't they suppose we understand perfectly well what it means-that they're going to say something they don't want us to hear? Well, Mother and the lady on the bench talked and talked ever so long, and then Mother called me up, and the lady cried a little over me, and said, "Now, perhaps, if I'd had a little girl like that-!" Then she stopped and cried some more.
 We saw this lady real often after that. She was nice and pretty and sweet, and l liked her but she was always awfully sad, and I don't believe 1t was half so good for Mother to be with her as It would have been for her to be with those jolly, laughing ladies that were always having such good times. But l couldn't make Mother see it that way at all There are times when it seems as if mother just couldn't see things the way do. Hon. estly, it seems sometimes almost as if she was the cross current and contra liiction instead of me. It does.
 Well, as I said before, I didn't like 1t very well out there, and I don't be- lieve Mother did, either. But it's all over now, and we're back home pack ing up to go to Boston.
 Everything seems awfully queer. Maybe because Father isn't here, for one thing. He wrote very polite and asked us 10 come to get our things, and he said he was going to New York on business for several days, so Mother need not fear he should annoy her -ith his presence. Then, another
 ng, Mothers queer. This morning ,.le was singing away at the top of her voice and running all over the house picking up things she wanted; and seemed so happy. But this afternoon found her down on the floor in the library crying as if her heart would break, with her head in Fathers big chair before the fireplace. But she jumped up the minute 1 came in and said, no, no, she didn't want anything. She was just tired; that's all. And when I asked her if she was sorry, after all, that she was going to Boston to live, she said, no, no, no, indeed she guessed she wasn't. She was just as glad as glad could be that she was going only she wished Monday would hurry up and come so we could be gone.
 And that's all. It's a Saturday now, and we go just day after tomorrow. Our trunks are most packed, and Mother says she wishes she'd planned to go today. I've said goodbye to all the girls, and promised to write loads of letters about Boston and every thing. They are almost as excited as I am; and I've promised, ''eross my heart and hope to die" that I won't love those Boston girls better than l do them-specially Carrie Haywood of course, my dearest friend.
 Nurse Sarah is lowering around everywhere, asking to help, and pre- tending she's sorry we're going. But she isn't sorry. She's glad. I know she is. She never did appreciate Mother, and she thinks she'll have ev- erything her own way now. But she won't. I could tell her thing or two if I wanted to. But I shan't.
 Fathers sister, Aunt Jane Anderson, from St. Paul, is coming to keep house for him, partly on account of Father, and partly on account of me. If that child is going to be with her father six months of the time, she's got to have some woman there beside med ding old nurse and a nOSey servant grill" They didn't know l heard that. But 1 did. And now Aunt Jane Is con- ing. My how mad Nurse Sarah would be if she knew. But she doesn't.
 I guess I'll end this chapter here and begin fresh one down in Boston. Oh, do so wonder what it'll be like Boston, Mothers home, Grandpa Des- mond, and all the rest. I'm so excited I can hardly wait. You see, Mother never took me home with her but once, and then I was very small child. l don't know why, but I guess Father didn't want me to go. It's safe to say he didn't, anyway. He never wants me to do anything, hardly. That's why I suspect him of not wanting me to go down to Grandpa Desmond's. And Mother didn't go only once, in ages.
 Now this will be the end. And when I begin again it will be in Boston. Only think of it-really, truly Boston
 CHAPTER w.
 When Am Marie.