The Bamberg herald. [volume] (Bamberg, S.C.) 1891-1972, 1922-07-13
MARY-MARE.
CONTINUED from page 3, column 6.


Continued from page 3, column g.
four days bringing this autobiography
Of Mary Marie's to an end. I've en-
iozed doing it, in a way, though ~
have to admit can't see as it's made
things any clearer. But, then, it was
clear before. There isn't any other
way. I've got to write that letter. AS
I said before, I regret that it must be
so sorry an ending.
I suppose tomorrow I'll have to tell
Mother. I want to tell her, of course,
before write the letter to Jerry.
It'll grieve Mother. I know it will.
And I'm sorry. Poor Mother! Already
she's had so much unhappiness in her
life. But she's happy now. She and
Father are wonderful together-won-
derful. Father is still president Of the
college. He got out wonderful book
on the "Eclipses of the Moon" two
years ago, and he's publishing another
one about the "Eclipses of the Sum-
this year. Mothers correcting proof
for him. Bless her heart. She loves
it. She told me so.
Well, I shall have to tell her tomor-
row, of course.
TOMORROW WHICH HAS BE.
COME TODAY.
wonder If Mother knew what I had
come into her little sitting-room this
morning to say. It seems as II she
must have known. And yet
I had wondered how I was going to
begin, but, before I knew it, was
right in the middle Of 1.-THE subject,
mean. That's why thought perhaps
that Mother
But I'm getting as bad as little Mary
Marie of the long ago. TIL try now to
tell what did happen.
Twas wetting my lips, and swallow
ing, and wondering how was going
to begin to tell her that was planning
not to 90 back to Jerry, when all Of a
sudden / found myself saying some
thing about little Eunice. And then
Mother said:
"Yes, my dear; and that's what COM
forts me most Of anything-because
YOU are so devoted to Eunice. You see,
I have feared sometimes-for you and
Jerry; that you might separate. But
know, On account of .unice, that you
never WILL"
'But, Mother. that's the very rea-
soa-1 mean, it would be the'reasons'
I stammered. Then stopped. My
tongue just wouldn't move, my throat
and lips were so>d-y.
But Mother was speaking again.
"sEunice-yes. You mean that you
never would make her 60 through what
you went through when you were her
age"
"Why, Mother, IL" And then I
stopped again. And was SO angry
and indignant with myself because /
had to stop, when there were so many,
many things that I wanted to say, IT
only my dry lips could articulate the
words. ',-,~-''
Mother drew her breath in with q
little catch. She, had grown rather
white.
II wonder if you remember-f you
ever think of-your childhood" she
said.
"Why, yes, of-of course - some
times" 1t was my turn to stammer.
was thinking of that diary that I had
just read-and added to.
Mother drew in her breath again,
this time with a catch that was almost
a sob. And then she began to talk
ut first haltingly, with half-fnished
sentences; then hurriedly, with a rush
Of words that seemed not able to utter
themselves fast enough to keep up
with the thoughts behind them.
She told of her youth and marriage,
and of my. coming. She told Of her
life with Father, and of the mistakes
she made. She told much, Of course,
that was in Mary Marie's diary; but
she told, oh, 80 much more, until Like
q panorama the whole thing lay before
me.
Then she spoke of me, Of my child
hood, and her voice began to culver.
You can see things so much more
clearly when you stand off at dis