MARY'S "PROMISED LAND" It was a hot, tiresome journey back to Kentucky.

Joyce, worn out with all the hurried preparations of packing her mother and Norman off to the mines, closing the Wigwam for the summer, and putting her own things in order for a long absence, was glad to lean back in her seat with closed eyes, and take no notice of her surroundings.

But Mary travelled in the same energetic way in which she killed snakes.

Nothing escaped her.
Every passenger in the car, every sight along the way was an object of interest.

She sat up straight and eager, scarcely batting an eyelash, for fear of missing something.
To her great relief the peeling process had been a short one, and thanks to the rose balm, not a trace of a blister was left on her smooth skin to remind her of her foolish little attempt to beautify herself in secret.