News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1922-11-01
"My Dear Mary:


think of you. / wish had sent you
some gift. Yet have not the slightest
idea what would please you. TO tell
the truth, l tried to find something
but had to give it up.
II am wondering if you had good
time, and what you did. After all, I'm
pretty sure you did have good time,
for you are Marie now. You see, |
have not forgotten how tired you got
of being-Mary. Well, well, l do not
know as | can blame you
"And now that | have asked what
you did for Christmas, l suspect it Is
no more than fair turnabout to tell
you what l did. suppose had very
good time. Your Aunt Jane says I
did. l heard her telling one of the
neighbors that last night. She had
very fine dinner, and she invited Mrs.
Darling and Miss Snow and Miss San
born to eat 1t with us. She said she
didn't want me to feel lonesome But
you can feel real lonesome in crowd
sometimes. Did you know that, Maryf
"But I left them to their chatter aft
] er dinner and went out to the observa-
tory. l think / must have fallen asleep .
on the couch there, for it was quite 7
dark when awoke. But didn't mind
that, for there were some observations
| wanted to take. 1t was beautifully
clear night, so l stayed there till near
i ly morning.
"How about 1t? l suppose Marie
plays the piano every day, now, doesn't
she? The piano here hasn't been
touched since you went away. Oh,
! yes, it was touched once Your aunt
| played hymns on it for a missionary
meeting.
"Well, what did you do Christmas7
Suppose you write and tell
"Your Father"
I'd been reading the letter out loud,
and when I got through Mother was
| pacing up and down the room. For >,
a minute she didn't say anything; them
she whirled round suddenly and faced
me, and said, just as if something in
side of her was making her say it:
81 notice there is no mention of
your mother In that letter Marie. I
suppose-your father has quite forgot
ten that there is such person In the
world as-I.'
But / told her no, oh, no, and that
l was sure he remembered her, for he
used to ask me questions often about
what she did, and the violinist and all.
1.-THE violinist !" cried Mother, whirl-
ing around on me again. (She'd be-
gun to walk up and down once more.)
"You don't mean to say you ever told
your father about him ~
"Oh no, not everything" l explained,
trying to show how patient was, so 4
she would be patient, too. (But 1t
didn't work.) 81 couldn't tell him
everything because everything hadn't
happened then. But l told about his
being here, and about the others, too;
but, of course, l said / didn't know
which you'd take, and"
"You told him you didn't know which
I'd take!" gasped Mother.
Just like that she interrupted, and
she looked so shocked. Then she be.
gan to walk again, up and down, up
flung herself on the couch and began
to cry and sob as if her heart would
break. And when / tried to comfort
her, only seemed to make it worse,
for she threw her arms around me
and cried:
"Oh, my darling my darling, don'trt
you see how dreadful it is, how dread-'
full it is?"
And then is when she began to talk
some more about being married, and
unmarried as we were. She held me-
close again and began to sob and cry.
"Oh, my darling, don't you see how
dreadful it all is-how unnatural it Is
Tor us to live-this way? And fol-
you-you poor child what could be
ous-jealous of your own father, fol-
fear you'll love him better than you
do me!
"Oh, / know / ought not to say all
this to you'll know l ought not to.
But | cant-help ii. | want you ]
want you every minute; but l have
to give you up-six whole months Of (
him. And he's your father, Marie
And he's a good man. / know he's a
good man. l know it all the better
now since I've seen-other men. And
l ought to tell you to love him. But
I'm so afraid-you'n love him better
than you do me, and want to leave
me- And l can't give you up l can't
give you upl"
Then l tried to tell her, of course,
that she wouldn't have to give me up,
and that loved her a whole lot bet
ter than | did Father. But even that
didn't comfort her, cause she said
ought to love him. That he was lone
some and needed me. He needed me
just as much as she needed me, and
maybe more. And then she went on