The children hovered about her as she packed the day before she went, and hindered rather than helped her.
"Just tell me what your mother and your home is like," said Jill. "I'm going to shut my eyes and pretend I see you. Make yourself saying 'How do you do,' to her."
Miss Falkner smiled.
"Shut your eyes then. A narrow street, and a terrace of small houses with little balconies above. A cab stops at the door, and a young woman—shall I call her?—hurries up the narrow steps. Some one has been watching at the door. A gentle, sweet-faced woman with a bright smile and tired body, comes forward to greet her. Then she takes her to a little upstairs drawing-room, which is full of sweet-smelling flowers, and a canary bird and a big tabby cat—both the best of friends—are also waiting to greet the home-comer. Tea is waiting. A little rosy-cheeked maid brings the kettle in. The windows are open, but the small balcony is full of flowers, and the scent and sight of them makes one forget the narrow, dingy street outside. Can you see my home, Jill? Can you see me sitting down by my mother's side, and saying, 'No more lessons, and no more children for six weeks'?"
"Yes," said Jill with tightly closed eyes, "I can see you; but, oh, Miss Falkner," and here she flung her arms round her governess's neck as she was stooping to put some things in her travelling trunk, "promise on your word and honour that you'll come back to us!"
"Indeed I hope to do so, dear."
"And don't, don't like your mother better than us!"
Miss Falkner could not help laughing. When the very thought of her mother brought a light to her eye and a lump in her throat; when the anticipation of her mother's kiss and greeting was now the first waking thought, how could she explain to a motherless child the strong tie between an only daughter and her mother!
"You must be a good child, Jill, whilst I am away. Let me find you when I come back steadily going forward towards the Golden City. God will help you, darling."