I don't know why Aunt Jane went away, but she's been gone 'most four months now, they say here. Nellie told me. Nellie is the maid--I mean hired girl--here now. (I _will_ keep forgetting that I'm Mary now and must use the Mary words here.) I told Mother that she (Cousin Grace) was quite old, but not so old as Aunt Jane. (I asked Nellie, and Nellie said she guessed she was thirty-five, but she didn't look a day over twenty-five.) And she _is_ pretty, and everybody loves her. I think even Father likes to have her around better than he did his own sister Jane, for he sometimes stays around quite a lot now--after meals, and in the evening, I mean. And that's what I told Mother. Oh, of course, he still likes his stars the best of anything, but not quite as well as he used to, maybe--not to give _all_ his time to them. I haven't anything especial to write. I'm just having a beautiful time. Of course, I miss Mother, but I know I'm going to have her again in just September--I forgot to say that Father is going to let me go back to school again this year ahead of his time, just as he did last year. So you see, really, I'm here only a little bit of a while, as it is now, and it's no wonder I keep forgetting I am Mary. I haven't got anything new for the love part of my story. I _am_ sorry about that. But there just isn't anything, so I'm afraid the book never will be a love story, anyway. Of course, I'm not with Mother now, so I don't know whether there's anything there, or not; but I don't think there will be. And as for Father--I've pretty nearly given him up. Anyhow, there never used to be any signs of hope for me there. As for myself--well, I've about given that up, too. I don't believe they're going to give me any chance to have anybody till I'm real old--probably not till I'm twenty-one or two. And I can't wait all that time to finish this book. * * * * * _One week later_. Things are awfully funny here this time. I wonder if it's all Cousin Grace that makes it so. Anyhow, she's just as different as different can be from Aunt Jane. And _things_ are different, everywhere. Why, I forget half the time that I'm Mary. Honestly, I do. I try to be Mary. I try to move quietly, speak gently, and laugh softly, just as Mother told me to. But before I know it I'm acting natural again--just like Marie, you know. And I believe it _is_ Cousin Grace. She never looks at you in Aunt Jane's I'm-amazed-at-you way. And she laughs herself a lot, and sings and plays, too--real pretty lively things; not just hymn tunes. And the house is different. There are four geraniums in the dining-room window, and the parlor is open every day. The wax flowers are there, but the hair wreath and the coffin plate are gone. Cousin Grace doesn't dress like Aunt Jane, either. She wears pretty white and blue dresses, and her hair is curly and fluffy.