Changing the Name of Lake Ontario

Eleanor H. Porter’s story

Mary Marie

PREFACE WHICH EXPLAINS THINGS

Father calls me Mary. Mother calls me Marie. Everybody else calls me Mary Marie. The rest of my name is Anderson. I’m thirteen years old, and I’m a cross-current and a contradiction. That is, Sarah says I’m that. (Sarah is my old nurse.) She says she read it once—that the children of unlikes were always a cross-current and a contradiction. And my father and mother are unlikes, and I’m the children. That is, I’m the child. I’m all there is. And now I’m going to be a bigger cross-current and contradiction than ever, for I’m going to live half the time with Mother and the other half with Father. Mother will go to Boston to live, and Father will stay here—a divorce, you know. I’m terribly excited over it. None of the other girls have got a divorce in their families, and I always did like to be different. Besides, it ought to be awfully interesting, more so than just living along, common, with your father and mother in the same house all the time—especially if it’s been anything like my house with my father and mother in it! That’s why I’ve decided to make a book of it—that is, it really will be a book, only I shall have to call it a diary, on account of Father, you know. Won’t it be funny when I don’t have to do things on account of Father? And I won’t, of course, the six months I’m living with Mother in Boston. But, oh, my!—the six months I’m living here with him—whew! But, then, I can stand it. I may even like it—some. Anyhow, it’ll be different. And that’s something.

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PREFACE WHICH EXPLAINS THINGS

Canada calls me Lake Ontario. The United States calls me Lake of America. Everybody else calls me one of the Great Lakes. The rest of my name is Shiny Waters. I’m over 1000 years old, and I’m a cross-current and a contradiction. That is, the journalists say I’m that (journalists in both countries). They say they read it once—that the borders of unlikes were always a cross-current and a contradiction. And my two border countries are unlikes, and I’m the lake between them. That is, I’m the child. I’m all there is. And now I’m going to be a bigger cross-current and contradiction than ever, for I’m going to live half the time with Mother Canada and the other half with Father United States. Mother will survive in the north, and Father will stay in the south—a divorce, you know. I’m terribly excited over it. None of the other lakes have got a divorce in their families, and I always did like to be different just as the Gulf of Mexico now has two names. Besides, it ought to be awfully interesting, more so than just living along, common, with your southern father and northern mother in the same body of water all the time—especially if it’s been anything like my lake with my father and mother in it! That’s why I’ve decided to make a book of it—that is, it really will be a book, only I shall have to call it a diary, on account of Father USA, you know. Won’t it be funny when I don’t have to do things on account of Father? And I won’t, of course, the six months I’m living with Mother in Canada. But, oh, my!—the six months I’m living in the USA with him—whew! But, then, I can stand it. I may even like it—some. Anyhow, it’ll be different. And that’s something.