Honestly, Marie is getting awfully tired of Mary's sensible sewing and dusting, and her durable clumpy shoes and stuffy dresses, and her nourishing oatmeal and whole-wheat bread.

But there, what can you do?
I'm trying to remember that it's _different_, anyway, and that I said I liked something different.
I don't see much of Father.

Still, there's something kind of queer about it, after all.

He only speaks to me about twice a day--just "Good-morning, Mary," and "Good-night." And so far as most of his actions are concerned you wouldn't think by them that he knew I was in the house, Yet, over and over again at the table, and at times when I didn't even know he was 'round, I've found him watching me, and with such a queer, funny look in his eyes.

Then, very quickly always, he looks right away.
But last night he didn't.