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Widdemer, Margaret, 1884-1978

"The Wishing-Ring Man"

"
Joy smiled a little as she obeyed old Elizabeth. It seemed queer,
and yet natural, to come back and slip into her old place as a minor
figure in the old unbreakable routine. She had been a real person
with a major part to play, all these weeks at Wallraven.... But it
was rather a comfort, now, to feel that it didn't matter to anybody
what you did, as long as Grandfather was pleased. And she felt as if
she was willing to be a whole row of parlor bric-a-brac, she was so
meek and so tired and unhappy.
It was the amber satin she had rebelled so against that she took out
of her suitcase deliberately and put on. It was tight across the
chest, and actually a little short for her--she had _grown_,
really grown in the active open-air weeks she had been away. She was
tanned, too, she found when the yellow dress was on, and there was a
freckle on the back of one little white hand. She braided her hair
in the old way and went down to the long parlors, back to the
autographed pictures and framed letters, and Grandfather,
benignantly great at the end of the room.
Grandmother was very glad to see her. They snatched a minute in a
dark corner before they had to go on seeing guests. Joy found
herself going up and down the room saying courteous things to people
in just the old way. They were not surprised to see her. Perhaps
they had scarcely noticed that she had been away.
"It's the same old cat--I've only been away three hours," she
reminded herself with a little rueful smile.


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