anything_ that Marie wants to do?" I
thought to myself.

And I wondered if Aunt Jane would meet me, and what she would be like.
She came once when I was a little girl, Mother said; but I didn't
remember her.

Well, at last we got to Andersonville. John was there with the horses,
and Aunt Jane, too. Of course I knew she must be Aunt Jane, because
she was with John. The conductor was awfully nice and polite, and
didn't leave me till he'd seen me safe in the hands of Aunt Jane and
John. Then he went back to his train, and the next minute it had
whizzed out of the station, and I was alone with the beginning of my
next six months.

The first beginning was a nice smile, and a "Glad to see ye home,
Miss," from John, as he touched his hat, and the next was a "How do
you do, Mary?" from Aunt Jane. And I knew right off that first minute
that I wasn't going to like Aunt Jane--just the way she said that
"Mary," and the way she looked me over from head to foot.

Aunt Jane is tall and thin, and wears black--not the pretty, stylish
black, but the "I-don't-care" rusty black--and a stiff white collar.
Her eyes are the kind that says, "I'm surprised at you!" all the time,
and her mouth is the kind that never shows any teeth when it smiles,
and doesn't smile much, anyway. Her hair is some gray, and doesn't
kink or curl anywhere; and I knew right off the first minute she
looked at me that she didn't like mine, 'cause it did curl.

I was pretty sure she didn't like my clothes, either. I've since found
out she didn't--but more of that anon. (I just love that word "anon.")
And I just knew she disapproved of my hat. But she didn't say
anything--not in words--and after we'd attended to my trunk, we went
along to the carriage and got in.

My stars! I didn't suppose horses _could_ go so slow. Why, we were
_ages_ just going a block. You see I'd forgotten; and without thinking
I spoke right out.

"My! Horses _are_ slow, aren't they?" I cried. "You see, Grandpa has
an auto, and--"

"Mary!"--just like that she interrupted--Aunt Jane did. (Funny how
old folks can do what they won't let you do. Now if I'd interrupted
anybody like that!) "You may as well understand at once," went on Aunt
Jane, "that we are not interested in your grandfather's auto, or his
house, or anything that is his." (I felt as if I was hearing the
catechism in church!) "And that the less reference you make to your
life in Boston, the better we shall be pleased. As I said