“And are you so anxious to say good-bye to us, Faithie? You know that instead of your making a visit home your father has decided it is best for you to stay; not come back unless for a visit, until another autumn,” responded Aunt Prissy.
“Yes, I know. But why does he not come?” persisted Faith.
“Perhaps to-day will bring him,” Aunt Prissy answered hopefully.
Faith came and stood close beside Aunt Prissy’s chair. She wanted to say that she loved her cousins and uncle and Aunt Prissy very dearly; to tell her that she had been happy; and that it had been a beautiful visit; but that now she wanted to see her own dear mother more than anything else. But how could she say all this so that Aunt Prissy would understand?
Aunt Prissy put down her knitting and drew the little girl into her lap.
“There! Now tell me all about it, dear,” she said, resting her face against Faith’s yellow curls.
And Faith told her all that she had been thinking; all that she had thought would be so difficult. And Aunt Prissy listened, saying, “Of course,” and “Yes, indeed,” from time to time, and understanding even more than Faith found words to tell.
“Why, Aunt Prissy, it’s almost like having two homes,” concluded Faith.
Before Aunt Prissy could answer there was the sound of voices in the kitchen, and Donald, closely followed by Mr. Carew, came into the room.
“It’s the very last day of March!” Faith reminded him.