"Yes," Mrs. Kindred said again with a smile and a sigh, pleased at such wisdom in her boy; although it was a principle of sound business which Magnus had never been known to act upon, in any one single case.
But even he sobered down a little, as the last home day drew on. When the new trunk was packed, and Magnus had said good-bye to all the neighbourhood, and taken his last walk with Cherry; cheering up her forebodings in various efficacious ways best known to himself and to her; when there was nothing left but the good-night, and the early breakfast, and the parting—then, indeed, things began to look serious, and the boy too.
He sat that evening, taking the clearest sort of mental photographs. He saw the grief that lay back of his mother's brave words and tender smiles: saw it, as it were, on that other background of the older and deeper sorrow which never left her face. He noticed the white lines that marked the brown hair above her temples. He studied her hands: slender, white, but with that unmistakable character of use and usefulness which some hands have.
He looked at his sisters: fair, innocent slips of girls as you could find, East or West: their tears coming and going, their smiles playing hide and seek. Who ever had three such blessed bits of womankind entrusted to him? and who would take care of them when he, tall Charlemagne Kindred, should be far away? Magnus registered in his heart some vows that night, which to his honour he kept.
Then his eyes went down again to his mother's hands. They were quietly folded in her lap; but as Magnus looked, he seemed to see them busy in a hundred different ways, and always for him. Steadying his baby steps, cooling his aching head; binding up scratches and cuts; sewing on buttons, knitting socks, mending gloves. Now laid tenderly on his shoulder in some time of persuasion or entreaty—and now held out, both of them, to receive the penitent.
But here Magnus jumped up and fled away, out of the room, out of the house; and poured forth his agony of tears in the old orchard, under the quiet stars.
At his age, however, such showers are brief, and often end in a highly exalted state of mind. Magnus came back to the house protector of his mother, defender of his sisters, and knight-errant for all womankind in general—especially Cherry.
Cherry would have given what coppers she had in the world, and some silver to boot, to spend that last evening and morning at the Kindred house, and the girls had entreated her to stay, but she was a very self-contained little damsel and said no. "Little" is not descriptive, however, for Cherry was growing up tall and straight as a plumed reed by the river side; with a wealth of dark brown hair, and large serious eyes, and delicate brows that, when they laughed, went into curves as lovely and mischievous as the proverbial bow of Cupid. The whole of the demure face laughed then, with dimples here and dimples there.
Brought up until six years old with a frail, invalid mother, and since then by a student father, the child had early learned to keep herself to herself with severe decision. And keep herself hid according to her own ideas, Cherry feared she could not, if she was at hand to see Magnus Kindred go. Besides—Magnus himself had not asked her!
"But why will you not stay, Cherry?" the girls persisted.