"Yes, of course,—well, it's a good idea. I feel perfectly sure you'll do everything you know how."
"Yes, I will," said Jane, resolving all over fresh that everything was going to come out fine, even to the return of Matilda herself.
"There, I hear the stage on the bridge," said her aunt, jumping to her feet suddenly. "I must go and say good-by to Susan."
"Isn't she still asleep?"
"It doesn't matter. She's my only living sister, and it's my duty to wake her up."
She rushed up-stairs, and a feeble little yell from above soon announced her duty done. Then followed a brief hum and jabber, and then she came running down again.
"Feels bad to see me go," she said briefly. "That's natural, as she's turned over to you body and soul and ain't the least idea what you're like. I told her it was no more chances than every child run just being born, and a third of them lived, but she never could see reason,—kind of clung to my arm,—she's my only sister, and it makes me feel bad." With which hasty statement Matilda gave a brief dab to each eye, put up her pocket-handkerchief, and opened the front door. Jane had her bag in her hand, and they had carried the trunk to the gate before.
The stage was empty, and the driver was tying the trunk-strap with a rope.
"Well, good-by," said Matilda; "remember to lock up well every night."
"Yes, I will," said Jane. "I hope you'll have a good time and a splendid change."