And I might call her "Cousin Grace." And before I could even draw breath to ask any questions, we were home; and a real pretty lady, with a light-blue dress on, was helping me out of the car, and kissing me as she did so.
Now, do you wonder that I have been rubbing my eyes and wondering if I was really I, and if this was Andersonville?
Even now I'm not sure but it's a dream, and I shall wake up and find I've gone to sleep on the cars, and that the train is just drawing into the station, and that John and the horses, and Aunt Jane in her I-don't-care-how-it-looks black dress are there to meet me.
* * * * * _One week later_.
It isn't a dream.

It's all really, truly true--everything: Father coming to meet me, the lovely automobile, and the pretty lady in the light-blue dress, who kissed me.

And when I went downstairs the next morning I found out it was real, 'specially the pretty lady; for she kissed me again, and said she hoped I'd be happy there.

And she never said one word about dusting one hour and studying one hour and weeding one hour.

(Of course, she couldn't say anything about my clothes, for I was already in a Mary blue-gingham dress.) She just told me to amuse myself any way I liked, and said, if I wanted to, I might run over to see some of the girls, but not to make any plans for the afternoon, for she was going to take me to ride.
Now, what do you think of that?
Go to see the girls in the morning, and take a ride--an automobile ride!--in the afternoon.