Very well, then. I went last night with Grandfather and Aunt Hattie
to the reception; and Mother said I looked very sweet, and
any-father-ought-to-be-proud-of me in my new dress. Grandfather patted
me, put on his glasses, and said, "Well, well, bless my soul! Is this
our little Mary Marie?" And even Aunt Hattie said if I acted as well
as I looked I'd do very well. Then Mother kissed me and ran upstairs
_quick_. But I saw the tears in her eyes, and I knew why she hurried
so.

At the reception I saw Father right away, but he didn't see me for a
long time. He stood in a corner, and lots of folks came up and spoke
to him and shook hands; and he bowed and smiled--but in between, when
there wasn't anybody noticing, he looked so tired and bored. After a
time he stirred and changed his position, and I think he was hunting
for a chance to get away, when all of a sudden his eyes, roving around
the room, lighted on me.

My! but just didn't I love the way he came through that crowd,
straight toward me, without paying one bit of attention to the folks
that tried to stop him on the way. And when he got to me, he looked so
glad to see me, only there was the same quick searching with his eyes,
beyond and around me, as if he was looking for somebody else, just as
he had done the morning of the lecture. And I knew it was Mother, of
course. So I said:

"No, she didn't come."

"So I see," he answered. And there was such a hurt, sorry look away
back in his eyes. But right away he smiled, and said: "But _you_ came!