Florrie was desperately worried about Lena, but Marcia’s concern was for her five-dollar goldpiece and the way Lena always got there first, and the way Lena never got reality and pretending mixed up, but went straight out and did things. She and Florrie could hardly sleep for the fear that Lena would never come back and they would never see her again. Now she was out in the world maybe, like the honest Irish lad or poor little Joe. Marcia thought of the time their hearts had been wrung with woe over these sad songs; maybe it wasn’t the songs but the dim knowledge that the same fate was waiting in the future for themselves.

The next day Lena did not come back and Papa said he was not going to give Mrs. Stewart the satisfaction of asking her where his daughter had gone. At noon he came home early to see if there was any word from Lena, but there wasn’t. Mrs. Willard buzzed around him uneasily, telling him that Lena had been getting out of hand lately anyway, and was up to plenty of mischief that Papa didn’t know about. She said many was the time she had spotted Lena and a girlfriend walking down dark streets with boys on evenings Lena was supposed to be at Epworth League meetings or doing her homework with Mary Evelyn. She said that her brother Vance had told her that everybody in town knew Lena left her home looking one way, the way a girl should, but as soon as she got to Mary Evelyn’s she put paint on her face and did her hair up and put on high-heeled slippers. She never intended to mention this to him, since he wouldn’t ever listen to any criticism of his children, but did Papa know that Lena had been buying clothes and charging them to him at the Fair Store? Just ask Mrs. Stewart that, if you please, and see what she had to say. Maybe it was just as well the young lady had cleared out when she did. Maybe she had reasons of her own, but had aggravated people on purpose so as to put the blame on them. If Papa wanted to find out the sort of goings-on Lena had been up to this last year, just take a look at her diary, the one she had stolen out of the parlor bookcase and kept hidden — or rather thought she kept hidden—in the pocket of her winter coat. Papa listened to this without comment, scowling into space. Marcia and Florrie were surprised at the cleverness of their older sister as they heard this report; Marcia felt hurt that she hadn’t been allowed to share all this intrigue and that Lena had shut her off utterly again. She hastily went upstairs to get Lena’s diary, but Papa came up for it before she was through.

The entries in Lena’s diary, written in purple ink, were not too revealing of her criminal tendencies. They went along pretty much in a monotone: “May 9—From this date on I am going to keep a record of everything that happens to me. May 10—Nothing doing. May 11—Ditto. May 12—Nothing doing. May 13—Ditto. May 14—Cora Bird’s party. Not invited. May 15—Nothing doing. May 16—Circus. Not allowed to go. May 17—Nothing doing. May 18—B. G. walked home from meeting with me. May 19—B. G. and L. F. came to Myrtle’s house. May 2—Had fight with B. G. May 21—Nothing doing. May 22—Ditto. May 23—Made fudge at Mary Evelyn’s. We raised Cain. May 24—N. D. May 25—Ditto. May 26—Made up with B. G. May 27—Meeting of U-No-Us-Kids at Myrtle C’s. We raised Cain. Pinocchio. We made a rule to keep diaries all our life, so we can show our children. May 28—Nothing doing.” There was never any mention of anyone in the family, Lena’s private life deliberately excluding these necessary evils. Papa stood in the bedroom doorway frowning over the little book, then tossing it on the dresser.