"I _thought_ you didn't look the same!" he cried; "not so white and
airy and--and--I can't explain it, but you looked different. And yet,
I didn't think it could be so, for I knew you looked just as you did
when you came, and that no one had asked you to--to put on Mary's
things this year."

He sort of smiled when he said that; then he got up and began to walk
up and down the piazza, muttering: "So you _came_ as Mary, you _came_
as Mary." Then, after a minute, he gave a funny little laugh and sat
down.

Mrs. Small came up the front walk then to see Cousin Grace, and Father
told her to go right into the library where Cousin Grace was. So we
were left alone again, after a minute.

It was 'most dark on the piazza, but I could see Father's face in the
light from the window; and it looked--well, I'd never seen it look
like that before. It was as if something that had been on it for years
had dropped off and left it clear where before it had been blurred and
indistinct. No, that doesn't exactly describe it either. I _can't_
describe it. But I'll go on and say what he said.

After Mrs. Small had gone into the house, and he saw that she was
sitting down with Cousin Grace in the library, he turned to me and
said:

"And so you came as Mary?"

I said yes, I did.