Poor Marian didn't know what to think. Tears, however, cleared her views. She decided that as going to school was a thing that must be endured because Mrs. Moore would be displeased otherwise, it would do no good to make a fuss. She would draw pictures on her slate or play with the stones in her pocket—anything to pass the time. There was a great deal in knowing what one could or could not do safely, and Marian learned that lesson faster than she learned to read. When she was dismissed that afternoon, the little girl flew to the nursery to tell Mrs. Moore about her first school day. Soon after when Marian ran laughing into the hall on her way to the playground, she met Janey Clark who sat behind her in school.
"Is Mrs. Moore your ma?" asked Janey.
"What's a ma?" inquired Marian, seizing Janey's two hands.
"A ma," was the reply, "why a ma is a mother. Is Mrs. Moore your mother?"
"Maybe," agreed Marian. "Oh, no, she isn't either. I know all about mothers, we sing about 'em, of course. I guess I never had one."
"My mother just died," declared Janey, tossing her head in an important way that aroused Marian's envy.
"Well, mine died too!" responded Marian.
"Did you have a funeral?" persisted Janey.
"Did you?" Marian cautiously inquired.