On the eventful Wednesday, dinner was soon swallowed, and four or five of them hurried off to meet the three o'clock train.
Tom was lifted across on his couch to the grass in the orchard, where he lay looking up into the trees, and thinking. His little telescope was held tightly in one thin hand; and the other stretched out listlessly, catching at the grass and clover.
Mrs. Arundel came over the road to glance at him, and he looked up in her face as if wishing to say something. She knew the look, and waited.
"I suppose they are all very glad about Walter?" he said gravely.
"Very glad; it is so nice for us."
"It will not be nice for me; I shall not wish to see him; I don't remember him."
"But, dear Tom, he is your brother, and so kind, and when you know him, you will love him."
"No, mamma, I shall not," he answered quietly; "nothing makes any difference to me. They will all be off for walks away from me. No; I wish he were not coming."
Mrs. Arundel could not keep back a sigh, and Tom was quick to perceive it. He hated himself for his petulance, and yet he felt unable to overcome it.
"You must watch for them coming up the lane, dear," she said, trying to speak cheerfully; "and when you first hear them or see them, give a sound on your little whistle and I will come out."