MARY MARIE BY ELEANOR H. PORTER _With Illustrations by Helen Mason Grose_ 1920 TO MY FRIEND ELIZABETH S. BOWEN CONTENTS PREFACE, WHICH EXPLAINS THINGS I. I AM BORN II. NURSE SARAH'S STORY III. THE BREAK IS MADE IV. WHEN I AM MARIE V. WHEN I AM MARY VI. WHEN I AM BOTH TOGETHER VII. WHEN I AM NEITHER ONE VIII. WHICH IS THE REAL LOVE STORY IX. WHICH IS THE TEST ILLUSTRATIONS "IF I CONSULTED NO ONE'S WISHES BUT MY OWN, I SHOULD KEEP HER HERE ALWAYS" "I TOLD HER NOT TO WORRY A BIT ABOUT ME" "WHY MUST YOU WAIT, DARLING?" THEN I TOLD HIM MY IDEA. From drawings by HELEN MASON GROSE MARY MARIE PREFACE WHICH EXPLAINS THINGS Father calls me Mary. Mother calls me Marie. Everybody else calls me Mary Marie. The rest of my name is Anderson. I'm thirteen years old, and I'm a cross-current and a contradiction. That is, Sarah says I'm that. (Sarah is my old nurse.) She says she read it once--that the children of unlikes were always a cross-current and a contradiction. And my father and mother are unlikes, and I'm the children. That is, I'm the child. I'm all there is. And now I'm going to be a bigger cross-current and contradiction than ever, for I'm going to live half the time with Mother and the other half with Father. Mother will go to Boston to live, and Father will stay here--a divorce, you know. I'm terribly excited over it. None of the other girls have got a divorce in their families, and I always did like to be different. Besides, it ought to be awfully interesting, more so than just living along, common, with your father and mother in the same house all the time--especially if it's been anything like my house with my father and mother in it! That's why I've decided to make a book of it--that is, it really will be a book, only I shall have to call it a diary, on account of Father, you know. Won't it be funny when I don't have to do things on account of Father? And I won't, of course, the six months I'm living with Mother in Boston. But, oh, my!--the six months I'm living here with him--whew! But, then, I can stand it. I may even like it--some. Anyhow, it'll be _different_. And that's something. Well, about making this into a book. As I started to say, he wouldn't let me. I know he wouldn't. He says novels are a silly waste of time, if not absolutely wicked. But, a diary--oh, he loves diaries! He keeps one himself, and he told me it would be an excellent and instructive discipline for me to do it, too--set down the weather and what I did every day. The weather and what I did every day, indeed! Lovely reading that would make, wouldn't it? Like this: