“She can come back with me this evening,” pursued Aunt Briscoe. “You had better tell her to put up a second dress.”
I went as directed, and said to Maimie that she was going home with Aunt Briscoe for a week. Maimie gave such a start, that the little toast-rack fell from her hand.
“But I don’t want to go,” she said, trembling. “O Aunt Marion, please, must I? There are the boys’ lessons—and Jack.”
“You will teach twice as well after a week’s rest,” I said. “'The Gables’ is a very pretty house, Maimie. We shall all miss you; still, I am sure you will enjoy yourself.”
“I would much rather not,” she said mournfully. “I am so happy here. It is like being cast adrift again.”
And she clung to me, and I found difficulty in comforting her. But neither Robert nor Aunt Briscoe would listen to any objections. So, at seven o’clock, Mamie drove off in the fly with aunt Briscoe. It seemed as if a shadow fell over the house with her absence.
[CHAPTER XIV.]
NEWS FROM AMERICA.
AS Maimie went away, I had a conviction in my mind that her absence would not be only for one week. And my conviction proved true. The week grew into four weeks, before Aunt Briscoe would part with her.
It was strange how we all missed the girl. Jack was utterly miserable, and Robert seemed quite at a loss without her pretty caresses, and Cherry evidently found it not easy to be so cheerful as usual.