The Hope pioneer., 1922-08-24
Mary Marie
| ELEANOR H. PORTER
MmrH Porter

saw him at college. Brilliant, polished,
witty-he still dominates every group
Of which he Is member. Men and
women alike bow to his charm.
After all, l suspect that It's just that
Jerry still loves the ice-cream and sun
sets, and don't. That's oil. To me
there's something more to life than
that-something higher, deeper, more
worth while. We haven't taste in
common, thought in unison, an
aspiration In harmony. suspect-in
fact know-that get on his nerves
just as raspingly as he does on mine.
For that reason I'm sure he'll be glad
when he gets my letter.
But. some way, l dread to tell
Mother.
= =
Well, It's finished. I've been about
four days bringing this autobiography
of Mary Marle's to an end. I've en-
joyed doing 1t, in way, though I'll
have to admit can't see as it's made
things any clearer. But, then, 1t was
clear before. There isn't any other
way. I've got to write that letter. AS
I said before, 1 regret that 1t must be
SO sorry an ending.
I suppose tomorrow I'll have to tell
Mother. 1 want to tell her, of course,
before I write the letter to Jerry.
It'll grieve Mother. I know 1t 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 Sun"
this year. Mothers correcting proof
for him. Bless her heart. She loves
1t. She told me so.
Well, shall have to tell her tomor-
row. of course.
ToMoRRoW-WHIcH HAS BE.
COME TODAY.
wonder If Mother knew what had
come into her little sitting-room this
morning to say. 1t seems as If she
must have known. And yet
had wondered how was going to
begin, but, before knew it, l was
right in the middle of 1.-THE subject,
l mean. That's why thought perhaps
that Mother
But I'm getting as bad as little Mary
Marie of the long ago. I'll try now to
tell what did happen.
was wettlng my lips, and swallow
ing, and wondering how I was going
to begin to tell her that was planning
not to go back to Jerry, when oil of
sudden I found myself saying some
thing about little Eunice. And then
Mother said:
Eyes, 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
l know, on account Of Eunice, that you
never WILL"
'But, Mother. that's the very rea-
son-I mean, it would be the reason"
I stammered. Then I stopped. My
tongue just wouldn't move, my throat
and lips were so dry.
But Mother was speaking again.
"Eunice-yes. You mean that you
never would make her go through what
you went through when you were her
age"
"Why, Mother, ~" And then l
stopped again. And I was so angry
and indignant with myself because I
had to stop, when there were so many,
many things that wanted to say, IL
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-lf you
ever think of-your childhood" she
said.
"Why, yes, of-of course - some.
times" 1t was my turn to stammer.
l was thinking Of that diary that had
just read-and added to.
Mother drew in her breath again.
this time with catch that was almost
sob. And then she began to talk
at first haltingly, with half-inished
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 Marle's diary; but
she told, oh,aso much more, until like
panorama the whole thing lay before
me.
CTo BE coNT1NUED1