she was leaving Mrs. Hobbs and, for a time at least, that lady could not
remind her of her queerness and badness. More than all, she was going on
a journey, a real journey, like a grown-up or a person in a story, and
her family--David and the dolls--were journeying with her. What the
journey might mean to her, or to what sort of place she was going--these
questions did not trouble her in the least. Childlike, she was quite
satisfied with the wonderful present, and to the future, even the
dreaded orphans' home, she gave not a thought.

Perched on the buggy seat, squeezed in between Captain Shad and Mr.
Hamilton, she gazed wide-eyed at the houses and fields and woods along
the roadside. She did not speak, unless spoken to, and the two men spoke
but seldom, each apparently thinking hard. Occasionally the Captain
would sigh, or whistle, or groan, as if his thoughts were disturbing and
most unusual. Once he asked her if she was comfortable.

"Yes, sir," she said.

"Havin' a good time? Like to go to ride, do you?"

Mary-'Gusta assumed her most grown-up air.

"Yes, sir," she said. "I just love to travel. It's been the dream of my
life."

"Gosh! I want to know!" exclaimed the astonished Shadrach; then he shook
his head, chuckled, and ordered the horse to hurry up.

The dolls were arranged in a row against the back of the dashboard. In
front of them, and between the Captain's feet and Zoeth's, the battered