“You couldn’t be that, and mother isn’t the kind that could turn you into one. If only you had Maggie to manage you and get after patients—”
They both laughed.
But in spite of all the brave little jokes, in spite of all the loving words and loving caresses, David’s last two days at home were painful to him and to the others of the family. He caught his mother shedding tears in secret; he felt her looking at him with a fondness that made him wretchedly uncomfortable; he received a mournful consideration from Ralph as disconcerting as it was novel; he could not help being depressed by the grim and relentless quality of Maggie’s disapproval. In such an atmosphere Dr. Ives desperately maintained cheerfulness, assumed gayety and light-heartedness, and professed undoubting faith in David’s adventure and enthusiasm over his own share in it.
The bustle and confusion of packing lasted far into the evening; Mrs. Ives hurried now to the assistance of David, now of his father; Ralph prowled round in self-contained excitement until long after his bedtime. It was long after every one’s bedtime when David finally got into bed; and then his mother came and knelt beside him and besought him to think often of home and to do always as his father would have him do. Together they said their prayers as they had done every night when David was a little boy and as they had not done before for a long time; and it made David feel that he was a little boy again, and that he was glad to be so, this once, this last time in his life.
The next morning the expressman came for the trunks before breakfast; and before breakfast, too, Maggie showed her forgiving spirit by presenting David with a silk handkerchief bearing an ornate letter “D” embroidered in one corner. After breakfast while the family waited in the front hall, David bade Maggie good-bye, and for one who was usually so outspoken and fluent, Maggie was strangely inarticulate, saying merely, over and over, “Well good-bye, David, I’m sure; good-bye, I’m sure.”
They took the trolley car to the station, and there after the trunks had been checked they all went aboard the train. Mrs. Ives and Ralph sat facing David and his father, and occasionally some one said something—just to show it was possible to speak. David said, “Ralph, you’re to take care of mother while father’s gone,” and Ralph said, “I guess I know that.” Dr. Ives looked at his watch and said, “Well, Helen, it’s time for you and Ralph to get off the train.”
That was the hardest moment of all—the last kisses, the last embraces, the last words.
Then, for just a few moments longer, David gazed through the window at Ralph and his mother on the platform—Ralph looking up solemn and round-eyed, his mother smiling bravely and winking her eyelids fast to stem back the tears. For a few moments only; then the train started, and the little woman and the little boy were left behind.