Listen. Would you believe it? Just that same evening Mother stopped me again laughing too loud and making too much noise playing with Lester; and I felt real cross. I just boiled inside of me, and said I hated Mary, and that Mother _was_ getting to be just like Aunt Jane. And yet, just that morning-- Oh, if only that hushed, stained-window-soft-music feeling _would_ last! * * * * * _June_. Well, once more school is done, my trunk is all packed, and I'm ready to go to Andersonville. I leave to-morrow morning. But not as I left last year. Oh, no. It is very, very different. Why, this year I'm really _going_ as Mary. Honestly, Mother has turned me into Mary _before I go_. Now, what do you think of that? And if I've got to be Mary there and Mary here, too, when can I ever be _Marie_? Oh, I know I _said_ I'd be willing to be Mary half, and maybe more than half, the time. But when it comes to really _being_ Mary out of turn extra time, that is quite another thing. And I am Mary. Listen: I've learned to cook. That's Mary. I've been studying astronomy. That's Mary. I've learned to walk quietly, speak softly, laugh not too loudly, and be a lady at all times. That's Mary. And now, to add to all this, Mother has had me _dress_ like Mary. Yes, she began two weeks ago. She came into my room one morning and said she wanted to look over my dresses and things; and I could see, by the way she frowned and bit her lip and tapped her foot on the floor, that she wasn't suited. And I was glad; for, of course, I always like to have new things. So I was pleased when she said: "I think, my dear, that on Saturday we'll have to go in town shopping. Quite a number of these things will not do at all." And I was so happy! Visions of new dresses and hats and shoes rose before me, and even the pink beaded silk came into my mind--though I didn't really have much hopes of that. Well, we went shopping on Saturday, but--did we get the pink silk? We did not. We did get--you'd never guess what. We got two new gingham dresses, very plain and homely, and a pair of horrid, thick low shoes. Why, I could have cried! I did 'most cry as I exclaimed: "Why, Mother, those are _Mary_ things!" "Of course, they're Mary things," answered Mother, cheerfully--the kind of cheerfulness that says: "I'm being good and you ought to be." Then she went on. "That's what I meant to buy--Mary things, as you call them. Aren't you going to be Mary just next week? Of course, you are! And didn't you tell me last year, as soon as you got there, Miss Anderson objected to your clothing and bought new for you? Well, I am trying to see that she does not have to do that this year." And then she bought me a brown serge suit and a hat so tiresomely sensible that even Aunt Jane will love them, I know. And to-morrow I've got to put them on to go in. Do you wonder that I say I am Mary already? CHAPTER VII WHEN I AM NEITHER ONE ANDERSONVILLE.