The Mary Jane papers

Front matter

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Preface

A PREFACE is a great bore, but I suppose every book ought to have one. I have looked at a great many to see just how to write it, and I find they usually begin something in this style : “ In offering these memoirs to the American Public, I feel deeply my own incompetence, etc., etc.” But mercy ! I think I am a great deal more competent to write my own autobiography than any one else. For an autobiography, you know, is a story that the heroine writes herself. From those I have read, I should say that the heroines of autobiographies are even superior to other heroines.

This is my autobiography and I am Mary Jane. Besides the preface, there is another bore, and that’s the title. The trouble about that is, it has to fit the book. It seems that anything that is especially appropriate has been used by somebody else, so that I have settled at last on plain Mary Jane Papers.

PREFACE viii

My Uncle John said I ought to have a poetical quotation, too, on the title-page, and suggested some lines which I have used, although there doesn’t seem to be much sense to them. But then, you know, you don’t expect much sense in poetry.

Some of these chapters have already been published in St. Nicholas, but as that is only a child’s magazine, and a great many people, therefore, have missed seeing them, I have gathered them all together, and with a number of other chapters presented them to the “American Public” in this little book.

Contents

Chapter Page

I. Kitty's Mother 1

II. How I Took the Prize 12

Chapter I

I WONDER if any one thinks how tiresome it is to be a little girl, and how perfectly horrid a girl’s mother can be, if she chooses. No; that ’s the worst about grown people, they never seem to suspect that there is anything out of the way about them. They are saints in white, of course. All but Kitty’s mother! She is perfectly splendid.

I don’t know Kitty’s mother very well, but they live in a splendiferous big house next to ours, and I often hear what goes on at the other side of the fence.

My mother makes me wait on her all day long. It ’s “ Mary Jane, just put on your hat and run down to Bennet’s and see why they don’t send the coal ” ; or, “ Mary Jane, step ’round to Hazelton’s, and tell them to send me a peck of potatoes.” Very nice, to be sure. Why don’t she “ just run round to 1

Bennet’s or step into Hazelton’s ” herself, if it ’s such a trifle?

Kitty’s mother says: “Don’t wear yourself out carrying that heavy parasol. Let Eliza hold it over your head, love.” I heard her as they were walking in the garden.

Imagine my mother thinking that I could wear myself out. No, not though I ran errands and tended baby, and ran up and down stairs all day long.

And oh, once I was in the toy-shop, and Kitty and her mother came in, and her mother did actually say, “ Don’t you see anything here that you would like, Kitty dear? ” and “ Kitty dear,” like a little simpleton, said, “No, mamma.”

I wish my mother would let me call her “ mamma,” it sounds so stylish, and makes you feel just like a girl in a book; but she says “ mother ” is the most beautiful name in the world. I ’m sure, I don’t think so.

People say that I ’m not a good little girl, and I think it ’s because I ’m not brought up judiciously. It spoils a child’s disposition to be constantly thwarted, and that ’s why I do a great many things that are bad. That ’s why I tear my clothes so often, and make up faces behind people’s backs.

“can't play any more now; it's school time." — Page 8,

I ’m aggravated. If my mother was not so strict about my going to school, I think I should be a much better girl. I ’ll tell you how I have to manage when I don’t want to go. I get the twins, and begin the most interesting play that ever was. Just as we get all ready to have the party, or get into the cars for a journey, or something exciting, I stop short and say: “ I can’t play any more now; it ’s school time.” Then Lucy sets up the most awful howl, and as she has been sick, it is n’t good for her to cry, so if mother ’s pretty busy, and can’t ’tend to her, she says : “ Perhaps you had better stay at home to-day, Mary Jane. Lucy is so fretful, and will have to be amused.” And then I get them into the yard, and run away and have a good time by myself. I know it is n’t right, but I ’m aggravated to it.

But what I particularly like about Kitty’s mother is that she is so interested in everything you do, and is so encouraging. Now there is that composition I wrote, and mother snubbed so. At least, she said I had better try something more simple, and would n’t let me give it in. It begins: “ It was a beautiful spring morning, and all nature seemed to blend with one accord into each other.” Well, I always thought it was real good, and when I read it to

Kitty’s mother she said she thought it was beautiful, and that I would turn out a f amous authoress.

All this I wrote one day in my journal. It is dated a year ago, so now I can tell you what happened afterward when I had a chance to compare Kitty’s mother with my own.

One day, Kitty’s mother came to see mine. I supposed that she had come to make a call, and I thought that was splendid, ’cause I believed that she might influence her to bring me up as she did Kitty. But, oh, she had an object in coming that I never should have dreamt of. She wanted to adopt me for a companion for Kitty. I was in the room when she told my mother so, and my heart bounced, I can tell you.

I thought mother looked amused at first, and she put her hand under my chin to hold my face up to hers, and said : “Do you want to leave your mother, dear?” I really believe she thought I wouldn’t want to go.

When I said, “ Oh, mother, do let me,” a great blush came over her face. “ I will think it over,” she said, quietly, to Kitty’s mother, “ and I ’ll let you know my decision.”

She had a long talk with father when he came home. I don’t think he approved of my going, but after the twins were in bed and baby asleep, she came into my room, and told me that she had concluded to let me try it for a month, while she and the children paid a visit to grandpa.

I could hardly believe my senses, for I never supposed she would let me go, and I was wild with delight. Kitty’s mother is a perfect love, I declared, and mother kissed me gently and left me.

In just a week, I began to be Kitty’s mother’s little girl. My trunk was carried over to the big house, and I kissed my mother — my first mother, you know — and the twins, and carried the baby to the carriage that was to take them to the station, and after seeing it drive away, I followed Kitty to my splendid new home.

I had never been in the house before. When I had seen Kitty and her mother, it had always been in the garden or the little summer house. That is where I read my compositions to them, and learned to think Kitty’s mother perfection. But now I entered the tiled hall, and walked through the elegant rooms on either side of it. It just turned my head to think of living there. -t ,

“ Now we ’ll go upstairs, and you shall see the room that has been prepared for you,” said my mamma.

“ Yes, mamma, said Mary Jane, tossing back her golden curls as she glode down the marble hall.”

This I said out loud, but I intended to say only “ yes, mamma,” — the rest came out before I knew it. You see, I was pretending I was in a book.

Kitty’s mother laughed outright. “ YY>u are the most amusing child,” said she; “ but I should think being called Mary Jane would take the poetry out of anything.” “ It does,” said I eagerly, “ I want to be called May Jennie instead.” So May Jennie I became. In two or three days, I almost forgot that I had ever been called Mary Jane at all. My new mother was just elegant, I thought, and there were no errands and no baby.

I did n’t know just what to make of Kitty, — she was n’t a bit like me, or any girl I knew. When I played with her it always reminded me of the day I was shut up in the spare chamber, and made believe that my image in the glass was another little girl and tried to play with it; she would do just what I did, but she would never do anything first. She did n’t care to play much, anyway. Her mother said that she was too delicate, and I f elt that I ought to be too delicate, too. At first, it was great fun to pretend to be too feeble to move, and call a servant every time I wanted anything; but I got very tired of that sort of thing, by and by. One day, I said to Kitty’s mother, —

“ I should like to go and splash round in a mud-puddle, as I used to do when I was Mary Jane Hunt.”

I thought she would never let me, on account of my fine clothes, but she said, “ I am afraid you can’t find a mud-puddle, there has been so little rain lately; but you can tell Thomas to take the hose and make one for you.”

I could not help laughing at this plan. I should feel pretty cheap to do that. I think I ’ll get a book and read, instead.

“ There,” said she, “ that just proves my theory. You never would have cared to do such things, if your mother had not been so strict. The fact is, she does n’t know how to bring up children. Why, my dear, how warm you look! ”

I suppose I did look warm. I felt mad. Why should she go and talk in that way about my mother? To be sure, I had complained about her myself when I was Mary Jane Hunt, and grumbled because she made me run errands, and amuse the baby, and pick up threads off the carpet, but —

About this time, I began to think it was very queer I had received no letters from mother. It ’s true I had not asked her to write to me, because I had n’t thought anything about it then. I longed to hear what they were doing at grandpa’s. So one day I sat down and wrote, —

Dear Mother: Why don’t you write to me? I want to know if the twins cry as much as usual, and if the baby is as cross now that his tooth is through. I ’m having a splendid time.

Then this I scratched out and wrote instead :

This is a very handsome house indeed. Does grandpa let the children ride old Whitey, and does Aunt Prue make many doughnuts? I can eat just as much cake as I want to, here; but they don’t have any doughnuts. I don’t see why. Do write soon to your own,

Mary Jane.

When the answer came, it was a real short one. Mother said the children had all gone huckleberrying (oh, don’t I like to go huckleberrying ! ) , and she never wrote a word about seeing me again. I thought she would say when she was coming home, and how glad she would be to see me when the month was over. Could it be that she expected me to live with Kitty’s mother always? I sat right down and cried at the thought of it.

I made my eyes so red, that Kitty’s mother declared that I should receive no more letters.

“ It just upsets you,’' said she, “ and besides, when a person adopts a child, she does n’t expect the relatives to meddle with it.”

Meddle! I began to think I hated Kitty’s mother.

I told the truth when I wrote that I could have all the cake I wanted, for Kitty and I used to have lots of it. I don’t believe it agreed with me, for before that month was over I became real ill. Now I knew why Kitty didn’t care to play, and preferred to loll all day on the lounge. I could n’t hold my head up, and I felt as cross as a bear. Oh, how I did snap at people if they spoke to me!

Of course, I would not take any of the medicines prescribed for me, for I never do until my mother makes me. And Kitty’s mother only laughed when I flung them away. She did n’t ‘seem to try to do anything to make me more comfortable, but left me entirely in Eliza’s hands. I began to feel the value of the mother I had left. All day long I cried for her, till that hateful Eliza said, “ Lor’, miss, I would n’t be crying for her, she is n’t half so illigant as your new ma.”

Oh, dear, I did feel so mad and so sick, I could n’t think of anything half horrid enough to say to her. I could only lie there and cry.

I suppose I must have been pretty sick. I know I felt horrid. How I wished I was healthy Mary Jane Hunt again, with the baby and the errands, and the strict mother thrown in.

“ She is a hundred million times better than Kitty’s mother, after all,” I sobbed to the pillow.

When the doctor came, and inquired for Miss May Jennie, I screamed out that my name was Mary Jane Hunt, and I suppose he must have thought I was raving.

But Eliza explained that that was my real name, and May Jennie only my new name I had taken, and all about my coming there to live.

He was n’t the regular family doctor, for he had gone out of town; but I thought this one must be just as good, and better, too, when he took my hand and said: “Oh, ho! so that’s the trouble, is it? Well, Miss Mary Jane, we must get you back to your own mother. That ’s the kind of medicine you need.” And so a telegram was despatched that very night to Mrs. Deborah Hunt, and the next morning I was lying in her dear, kind arms.

I had to take my medicines regularly after that, and I got well, but I think the reason was because I had got back to my own mother again, and the doctor thinks so, too.

And now, if any one wants to make me real mad, they have only to call me May Jennie, or ask me if I don’t wish my mother was like Kitty’s mother.

Chapter II

OLKS say that Dot is the beauty of our family. To be sure, Lucy is her twin and

JL looks like her, of course; but the measles, and the mumps, and the whooping-cough have stolen her red cheeks and left her as thin as a wafer. Anyhow, she has the best disposition of any of us. and I suppose that counts for something. As for Baby, he has the worst disposition, and the strongest lungs, and is the greatest nuisance every way. “ But Mary Jane,” my mother says, “ is the smartest child I ever had.”

I am Mary Jane.

Perhaps you think it is vain of me to tell this at all. But I am writing my autobiography, you know, and must tell the truth, or it won’t be authentic. My father says, “ If it is not authentic, a work of this sort has little value.” So, you see, I am obliged to say that I am smart.

As I must be authentic, I shall begin by saying that, although I am so smart, I am not at all handsome. When they had the tableaux at our church, they never asked me to be in them, though Dot was stuck up in ’most every one. The idea of going to a show and having to look at Dot, whom I see every blessed day at home for nothing! Besides, when we have our pictures taken in a group, they always turn me sort of side face. I s’pose they don’t think I see through that. Well, beauty is only skin deep, as Mamie Whyte said in her composition; so I don’t care.

At our Sunday-school, there were to be two prizes given at the end of the year. The first prize was to be a Bible, and the second a prayer-book! and the tw r o scholars who should learn the greatest number of verses in the Bible would get them. I never thought of such a thing as getting a prize. I had a Bible and a prayer-book, and I did n’t want another, anyhow. Ours was the most stylish class in school. We were the most stylish girls and had the most stylish teacher. We had the minister’s daughter for our teacher.

Well, she said one day, —

“ It ’s too bad none of you girls will try for the prize. I really should like to have one of you get it.”

Milly Briggs said that some one in the minister’s daughter’s class ought to get it, but none of us wanted to try. There was Mabel Pratt, but she was going to New York for a visit, so she wouldn’t have time; and Jenny Gurney was so slow to learn, and Mamie Whyte and I did n’t want the trouble.

Miss Parks had about the meanest class in the Sunday-school. All the poorest and dowdiest girls were in it; and Miss Parks herself wore a waterproof, and was so queer looking. Jo Holland was in it, for one; and I always hated her. No, I don’t hate her, of course, for that would be wicked. I mean I hate the evil that ’s in her, and that ’s a great deal.

One day, coming out of school, Jo whispered to me: “ How many verses have you learned? ”

“ Not more than twenty,” said I.

“ Pooh,” said Julia Brown, one of Miss Parks’s girls, “ no one in that class will ever get it.”

“I do believe,” declared Mamie Whyte to me, “ that Jo Holland thinks she is going to get the prize.”

“ Well, she just sha’n’t then,” said I. “ I can learn just as many verses as she can, if I have a mind to; and I declare I will, just to spite her.”

I made up my mind not to let Jo know that I was trying for the prize, thinking she would learn

“all the poorest and dowdiest girls were in it."

— Page lJf.

more verses for fear of being beaten; and then, too, it would be such fun to surprise her at the very last moment. I did n’t even tell them at home, for fear they would let out the secret. I selected all the short verses, and left out the big ones between; and that next Sunday when Miss Newell, our teacher, asked me how many verses I had learned, I said, “ Fifty.”

“ Dear me! I can’t hear you say so many to-day,” said she, looking pleased.

Well, I didn’t have time to say more than five or six, but she gave me credit for fifty. And so with my other twenty, I had seventy in all.

It was nearly Christmastime, and I was so busy getting my presents ready, that I did not have much time to study.

For mother I was making a lovely pincushion. I began it for Aunt Jane; but that was two years ago, and. I knew she had forgotten all about it. I told Mamie Whyte that I was going to give it to her, and she said it was lovely, and thanked me for it; but that was before I dropped it in the coal-hod, and I did n’t believe she would want it after that. With mother it ’s different, because she says she values anything her children have taken pains to make for her.

I meant to get something real handsome for father, but I had only fifty cents to buy it with. Dot and I used to go shopping every day after school, and that was fun. We always went into the handsomest stores. I went into an elegant one once, and I told Dot that I knew we could find something to suit us ; but everything was so dear. The clerk was very polite, too, and we looked, and looked, and looked; by and by I found the loveliest little stand for cigars, and I knew father would like it. It did n’t look very expensive, either, but the gentleman said it was five dollars and fifty cents.

I asked him if he would n’t take off the five dollars and let us have it for fifty cents.

He said he would, take off fifty cents and let us have it for five dollars, but that would not do.

Dot told him to send us a postal card if he had anything before Christmas in his store for fifty cents. And then we went home. On the way we spent the fifty cents for pickled limes, and treated all the girls ; so I could n’t give f ather any present, after all.

I was going to make Dot’s doll a dress. Mother said that she would cut it out, and I could make it. After a while I told her that I would rather she shoidd make it, and let me cut it out; hut it was already cut out by that time, and, finally, I got mother to make it for me too.

When it came to Lucy’s present, I was tired of sewing, and mother suggested that I should give Lucy my calla; hut it had two buds on it, and I concluded to wait until summer, and give it to her on her birthday.

So you see I had lots to do; but I squeezed out time to learn a great many verses. One day, when father came home, I heard him say, —

“Mother, where is Mary Jane?” And Dot answered :

“ She is up in her room, reading the Bible.”

It sounded beautifully. That next Sunday I had fifty verses more ; and the next forty ; and then fifty again, and so on.

Well, by and by, Jo Holland found out how many verses I had learned, and gave up trying for the first prize, and bent all her energies on the second prize.

I was real mad with whoever told.

I went right to Mamie Whyte and told her, and said, —

“ Now, you must get that second prize.”

“ I can’t; it ’s so late now,” replied she.

But I told her how easy it was, if she only picked 2 out the short verses, and so many that Miss Newell could n’t hear them.

Mamie didn’t like Jo any better than I did.

“ I will try,” said she; “ but it ’s lucky we are not in Miss Parks’s class.”

“ Why? ” I asked.

“ Oh ! ’cause she makes ’em recite every single verse. I know, ’cause I used to be in it. You could n’t have beaten Jo Holland, if you had been in her class, could you, Mary Jane? ”

Sometimes Mamie Whyte can say as disagreeable things as anybody I know; but I never take any notice of her mean speeches, and that ’s the way we get on.

At last Christmas came.

I did n’t like my presents very well. One was a book — a history. I have n’t read it yet. Mother gave me a new dress ; but I should have had to have it anyway, and I don’t like clothes for presents. The worst was a horrid work-basket, with lots of needles and thread in it. Aunt Jane sent me that, and I was real glad I had n’t given her anything. She said in her letter, that perhaps I should like to sew better if I had a nice little work-basket of my own. I wanted a locket.

Dot and Lucy had lovely things; but mother says I am getting too old for toys. In the toe of my stocking I found a five-dollar gold piece, but I was n’t allowed to spend it, so I did n’t care for it. I consoled myself by thinking what fun it would be to see Jo Holland’s rage when Mamie and I got the prizes.

We were going to have our festival in the church, right after the evening service, and of course all the people would be there. Each class had a motto and an emblem. Our motto was “ By their fruits ye shall know them,” and the emblem was lovely — a silver salver, with a stick all wound around with ribbons, standing in the centre of it, and heaped around with oranges. It was the most beautiful thing! The motto for Miss Parks’s class was “No cross, no crown,” and the emblem was n’t half so pretty as ours — nothing but an old evergreen cross.

The church was as full as it could be. Mother couldn’t come, for she had to stay at home with Lucy, who was sick. But all the other mothers were there, and lots of people besides. When each class was mentioned, the scholars in it all stood up, and the one that held the emblem caried it to the altar. The minister held it up so the people could see it, and explained the motto, and then it was taken back again; Mabel Pratt carried our emblem. I suppose she was chosen because she has blonde hair, and wears such handsome clothes; but she is a clumsy thing, and tipped it up, so that some of the oranges rolled out on the floor, just opposite Miss Parks’s class, too.

After all the emblems had been carried up, the prizes were given out.

“ The first prize,” said Mr. Newell (that ’s our minister) “ is awarded to Miss Mary Jane Hunt, who has learned thirteen hundred and fifty-two verses in the Bible during the past year.”

At the words, “ thirteen hundred and fifty-two verses,” everybody turned and looked at me; and as I stood up, a chorus of “ O-o-o-o-o-o-oh’s ” went ’way round the church. I should have liked to stand there all day, but Miss Newell pulled me down.

After I had received my prize, and taken my seat, the second one was given to Miss Mamie Whyte for nine hundred and thirty verses. Everybody stared again and the “ oil’s ” went round, but not near so many as for mine. I tried to look at Jo; but she was sitting in front of us, and I could n’t get a glimpse of her face. I think it was real hard to miss seeing her after I had worked so.

Well, after Mamie came back with her prize, I supposed it was all over ; but what was my surprise when Mr. Newell popped up again to say that they had originally intended giving but two prizes, but a third was now to be awarded, as a mark of approbation, “ to Miss Josephine Holland, who had learned five verses regularly every week, without a single exception, during the entire year.”

And up pranced Jo, as proud as a peacock!

Just then, Mamie grabbed my arm and whispered that somebody said that we were all to be called up to repeat our verses, —

Mercy! How frightened I was! My heart came right up into my mouth. It did! and my knees shook so that I could n’t have walked up to that altar again to save my life.

Of course it would frighten anybody to have to recite thirteen hundred and fifty-two verses before a whole church full of people! but it turned out to be only a silly joke of Mamie’s, by which she meant to scare me.

After the congregation had been dismissed, I saw the third prize ; and what do you think it was ? A real lovely locket !

Anyway I heard lots of people say that it was a queer prize to give at a Sunday-school, and I ’m sure I shouldn’t want to wear jewelry for having learned verses in the Bible. Beside, mother said if I would break myself of my habit of interrupting, she would give me a locket! So it all came out right, after all.