Meg received the news mutely, and went upstairs to begin her packing as directed.
She mechanically folded and put her belongings into her trunk. When she took out the presents Mr. Standish had given her, and that bore the marks of much handling, a movement of enraged despair seized her, and she trembled. "He'll never care to see me again, and how could I see him?" she muttered.
The girls were out in the playground as she finished her task. "I'll be glad to get away!" she said, as she sat on her box a moment and looked round her. But even as she said this her mind called up before her the departure. "Where am I going to?" she muttered. With compressed lips she whispered to herself as she rose, "No matter! no matter!"
It was two o'clock; in less than an hour she knew Mr. Fullbloom would be here. Her trunk, locked and strapped, stood in a corner; her hat and cloak lay upon it ready to be put on at his summons. No one had come near her. All her preparations were made. The old restlessness had returned; and she was walking up and down, thinking, thinking where was she to go to. What would happen to her?
"Meg! Meg!" said a little voice in a whisper. She turned; it was Elsie standing on the threshold of the door. There was a pause, during which Meg eyed the little figure, huddling up into a corner, its hands convulsively working together with a pitiful resemblance to older grief.
"Speak to me, Meg! won't you speak to me? I am so miserable," lisped the child piteously.
"You ought to be," replied Meg.
"If they would only let me go away with you!" moaned the child. "Oh, Meg, if they would only let me go away with you!"
"How could they let you go with me? I am a thief; you are a white, pure, innocent child," Meg said in bitter sarcasm.
"It is I who am wicked, not you. Oh, Meg, I love you so much, I love you so much!" reiterated the child, with that piteous quaver in her voice, stealing into the room, still wringing her little hands.