“Oh, yes, indeed, mother,” returned Caroline; and Mrs. Stanley walked away, crossed the wide hall and entered another apartment.
A young girl about the same age as Carrie was the only occupant of this room. She was dressed in deep mourning, and was sitting by the open window, looking out over the spacious and pleasant garden.
“What! all ready, Susie?—trunk packed, travelling-dress on and all?” said Mrs. Stanley.
“Yes, aunt,” replied Susan.
“I meant to have come to you before; but I see you did not need me. You are quite an expert little body. I was detained longer than I expected to be in assisting Carrie to pack her trunk. She was quite helpless in the midst of her wardrobe.”
“I do not wonder,” replied Susie. “I remember what a formidable task it was to me when I first had it to do; but it is no new business to me now.” And her voice faltered.
“You have been crying, Susie,” said her aunt. “Are you unwilling to go to Manchester? You know, my dear, that I am very sorry to part with both my children at once; but I think it best for you to go. It will make it harder still for me if you are unhappy about going.”
“I am not, dear aunt. I know you would not send me if you did not think it best; but I have had a home for so short a time, and found it so sweet, that I dread to lose it,—even for a little while. But I don’t mean to be home-sick: so don’t feel badly about it, dear aunt.”
Just then Carrie came dancing along.
“I’m all armed and equipped as the law directs,” she said; “and now, mother, I’ve a proposition to make. Instead of adjourning to your room, let us go to the arbour. It is too lovely a day to stay in the house; and, besides, it will be a long time before we sit together in the garden again.”