Mary-Gusta | Page 8

at all times strongly scented
with tobacco. The Sunday dinners were stately and formal affairs and
were prefaced by lectures by the housekeeper concerning sitting up
straight and not disturbing Cap'n Hall by talking too much. On the
whole Mary-'Gusta was rather glad when the meals were over. She did
not dislike her stepfather; he had never been rough or unkind, but she
had always stood in awe of him and had felt that he regarded her as a
"pesky nuisance," something to be fed and then shooed out of the way,

as Mrs. Hobbs regarded David, the cat. As for loving him, as other
children seemed to love their fathers; that the girl never did. She was
sure he did not love her in that way, and that he would not have
welcomed demonstrations of affection on her part. She had learned the
reason, or she thought she had: she was a STEPCHILD; that was why,
and a stepchild was almost as bad as a "changeling" in a fairy story.
Her mother she remembered dimly and with that recollection were
memories of days when she was loved and made much of, not only by
Mother, but by Captain Hall also. She asked Mrs. Bailey, whom she
had loved and whose leaving was the greatest grief of her life, some
questions about these memories. Mrs. Bailey had hugged her and had
talked a good deal about Captain Hall's being a changed man since his
wife's death. "He used to be so different, jolly and good- natured and
sociable; you wouldn't know him now if you seen him then. When your
mamma was took it just seemed to wilt him right down. He was awful
sick himself for a spell, and when he got better he was like he is today.
Seems as if HE died too, as you might say, and ain't really lived since.
I'm awful sorry for Cap'n Marcellus. You must be real good to him
when you grow up, Mary-'Gusta."
And now he had gone before she had had a chance to grow up, and
Mary-'Gusta felt an unreasonable sense of blame. But real grief, the
dreadful paralyzing realization of loss which an adult feels when a dear
one dies, she did not feel.
She was awed and a little frightened, but she did not feel like crying.
Why should she?
"Mary-'Gusta! Mary-'Gusta! Where be you?"
It was Mrs. Hobbs calling. Mary-'Gusta hurriedly untwisted her legs
and scrambled from beneath the dust cover of the surrey. David, whose
slumbers were disturbed, rose also, yawned and stretched.
"Here I be, Mrs. Hobbs," answered the girl. "I'm a-comin'."
Mrs. Hobbs was standing in the doorway of the barn. Mary-'Gusta

noticed that she was not, as usual, garbed in gingham, but was arrayed
in her best go-to-meeting gown.
"I'm a-comin'," said the child.
"Comin', yes. But where on earth have you been? I've been hunting all
over creation for you. I didn't suppose you'd be out here, on this day of
all others, with--with that critter," indicating David, who appeared,
blinking sleepily.
"I must say I shouldn't think you'd be fussin' along with a cat today,"
declared Mrs. Hobbs.
"Yes'm," said Mary-'Gusta. David yawned, apparently expressing a
bored contempt for housekeepers in general.
"Come right along into the house," continued Mrs. Hobbs. "It's high
time you was gettin' ready for the funeral."
"Ready? How?" queried Mary-'Gusta.
"Why, changin' your clothes, of course."
"Do folks dress up for funerals?"
"Course they do. What a question!"
"I didn't know. I--I've never had one."
"Had one?"
"I mean I've never been to any. What do they dress up for?"
"Why--why, because they do, of course. Now don't ask any more
questions, but hurry up. Where are you goin' now, for mercy sakes?"
"I was goin' back after Rose and Rosette. They ought to be dressed up,
too, hadn't they?"

"The idea! Playin' dolls today! I declare I never see such a child! You're
a reg'lar little--little heathen. Would you want anybody playin' dolls at
your own funeral, I'd like to know?"
Mary-'Gusta thought this over. "I don't know," she answered, after
reflection. "I guess I'd just as soon. Do they have dolls up in Heaven,
Mrs. Hobbs?"
"Mercy on us! I should say not. Dolls in Heaven! The idea!"
"Nor cats either?"
"No. Don't ask such wicked questions."
Mary-'Gusta asked no more questions of that kind, but her conviction
that Heaven--Mrs. Hobbs' Heaven--was a good place for housekeepers
and grown-ups but a poor one for children was strengthened.
They entered the house by the kitchen door and ascended the back
stairs to Mary-'Gusta's room. The shades in all the rooms were drawn
and the house was dark and gloomy. The child would have asked the
reason for this, but at the first hint of a question