“All right, Biffkins,” he assented. “I feel pretty much the same way myself.”
So back to the house we went, where we found mother busily engaged in packing up our belongings, assisted by Jane. That worthy woman was plainly on the verge of despair, and restrained her tears only with the greatest difficulty.
Mr. Chester was to come for us at nine o’clock, and the whole matter would probably be settled before noon, so that we could take the afternoon train back to the little house at Riverdale which had been our home for fifteen years, but which, so it seemed to me, was home no longer, and which, in any case, we were so soon to lose. The mortgage would fall due in a very few days, now; and, of course, we had no means to meet it. After that—well, I did not trust myself to think upon what would happen after that.
We had two hours to wait, and those two hours live in my memory as a kind of terrible nightmare. I moved about the house mechanically, helping mother, black misery in my heart. I had thought that I had given up hope two days before; but I realized that never until this moment had I really despaired. Now I knew that hope was over, that this was to be the end.
At last, there came the sound of wheels on the drive before the house, and a moment later Mr. Chester came in for us. For an instant, I had the wild hope that perhaps there was some provision of the will with which we were not acquainted and which would yet save us—that the past month had been merely a period of probation to test us, or perhaps a punishment for our mutiny of eight years before; but a single glance at Mr. Chester’s face crushed that hope in the bud. He was plainly as miserable as any of us. He had given up hope, too.
“Mother,” I cried desperately, “I don’t need to go, do I? Please let me wait for you here.”
“Why, my dear,” said mother, hesitatingly, “of course you may stay if you wish; but—”
“I don’t want to see that hateful Silas Tunstall again,” I burst out. “I just can’t stand it!” and then, in an instant, my self-control gave way, the tears came despite me, and deep, rending sobs.
I was ashamed, too, for I saw Dick looking at me reproachfully; but after all a girl isn’t a boy.
“You’d better go up-stairs, dear,” said mother kindly, “and lie down till we come back. We’ll have to come back after our things. Have your cry out—it will help you.”