At midsummer they heard some wonderful news about Florence. Mrs. Osgood wrote that she was going to marry very fortunately, a gentleman of wealth and position. She sent love to them, but she was very much engrossed; and Mrs. Osgood said they must excuse her not writing. She enlarged considerably upon Florence's brilliant prospect, and appeared to take great pleasure in thinking she had fitted her for the new position.
"Oh!" said Granny with a sigh, "we've lost her now. She will be too rich and grand ever to come back to us."
"I don't know," returned Hal. "She did owe Mrs. Osgood a good deal of gratitude; and it was right for her to be happy and obedient when she was having so much done for her. But now she may feel free"—
"She has forgotten us, Hal: at least, she doesn't want to remember;" and Granny wiped her eyes.
"I can't quite believe it. She had a good heart, and she did love us. But maybe it's best anyway. We have been unfortunate"—
Hal's voice trembled a little. Granny rocked to and fro, her old method of composing her mind when any thing went wrong. And, though she could not bear to blame Flossy, there was a soreness and pain in the old heart,—a little sting of ingratitude, if she had dared to confess it.
"Hal," said Dr. Meade one day, "they are going to start a new school over at the cross-roads. It's a small place, and probably there will not be more than twenty or thirty scholars,—some of the mill-children. If you would like to teach it, I am pretty sure that I could get it for you."
"Oh, if I could!" and Hal's eyes were all alight.
"To be sure you can. The salary is very small"—and Dr. Meade made a long pause.