Part 5 (2/2)
”I suppose we needn't feel '_obliged_' to write them at all,” she said, lifting her eyebrows a little.
”Oh, you wouldn't go back on a fellow like that!” said Morton. ”Why, it would break me all up.”
There was something so affectionately boyish in his manner that Kate said instantly: ”Of course we'll write to you, and tell you everything that happens. You may wish my letters were postscripts again before you get through with them.”
And Esther added cheerfully, ”Yes, if you want to add a few more specimens of my handwriting to that ancient collection, you shall certainly have them.”
”Maybe we'll send you our pictures too,” said Kate. ”We're going to have some taken after we get there, and if they're good-”
He broke in upon her with a sudden eagerness. ”Well, don't let your cousin get you up like statues. I hate that kind.”
Kate burst into a laugh, but Esther looked impatient. ”Oh, dear, don't you know that common, everyday faces like ours can't be made to look that way?” she said.
”Can't they? Well, I'm awfully glad of it,” he replied. ”Good-by.” And then he grasped their hands for a moment, and struck off at a long, swinging gait across the field that lay between their home and his uncle's.
The days that were left ran fast. They were full and hurried, as the last days of preparation are apt to be in spite of the best-laid plans.
But the girls managed to take some rides with their father, who, in view of the coming separation, seemed to expect more of their company than usual, and Kate contrived to hold some sittings in the kitchen with Aunt Milly, who had been in a depressed state of mind ever since the summer plan had been decided on. In spite of being one who held with no superst.i.tions, a fact she never failed to mention when she had anything of a mysterious nature to communicate, the number of dreams and presentiments she had in regard to this visit was remarkable, and they all tended to throw doubt on the probability of her darlings' return.
”Why, we came back when we were children,” said Kate one evening, when the old woman was unusually depressed, ”and it was just as far to grandfather's then as it is now. It's because you're getting old and rheumatic that you feel so blue about us, Aunt Milly.”
But Milly sighed as she shook her head. ”It was different in those days, honey,” she said. ”You couldn't help comin' back to your ole mammy when you were chil'en. But you're older now, an' a mighty good looking pair o' girls, if I do say it, an' there's no tellin' what may happen when you get to gallivantin' roun' with the young men in your mother's country.”
”Now, Aunt Milly,” laughed Kate, ”you've always pretended to think we're only children still, and all at once you talk as if we were grown-up young ladies. It's no such thing. Besides,” she added cunningly, ”didn't we come back safe and sound from Kentucky last year? And you know there are no young men anywhere to hold a candle with those down there.”
”That's a fac', honey,” said Aunt Milly, lifting her head. ”The ole Kentucky stock don't have to knock under yet, if some things is changed.”
”Trust Milly to stand up for her own country,” laughed Dr. Northmore, who had paused in his pa.s.sage through the kitchen, and caught the last remark.
”And me for mine, papa,” cried Kate. ”I shall always like it better than any other. I know I shall.”
Apparently he did not disapprove the sentiment, but he added warningly, ”Well, make it big enough.” And then he took her away with him to join the family conclave in talking over the proposed journey.
They were small travellers, the Northmores, and the excursions from home had of late years been short. The length of the one about to be taken impressed them all. Mrs. Northmore spoke of it with manifest anxiety, and the doctor spent much time poring over the railroad guide and time-table. It was a work which, in spite of its fascination, hara.s.sed him, and he alternated between the exasperated opinion that it was impossible for any man not inspired to understand its vexatious figures, and a disposition to combat with vehemence any one who reached a conclusion different from his own on a single point. By this time the course of the journey had been fully decided on. There would be but one change of cars, and this had been hedged about with so much of explanation and admonition that no two girls of average sense could possibly go wrong.
The day came at last, and a perfect day it was, when they started off.
The doctor and Virgie accompanied them to the station, but Mrs.
Northmore preferred to say the last word quietly at home. There was a crowd of young people gathered at the station, but the time for good-bys was brief. The through train for the East was not a moment behind time.
There was a short impatient stop of the iron steed, a sudden crowding together for hurried farewells, then two flushed faces, half smiling, half tearful, pressed against the window, and the great wheels were in motion again and the travellers on their way.
They drew a long breath as they settled fairly into their seats. ”I'm glad that part of it's over,” said Kate.
”So am I,” said Esther; and then she added: ”I'm glad we don't get there right away. It's nice to have an interlude between the acts.”
CHAPTER IV
AT THE OLD PLACE
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