"Nonsense! What makes you say that? Have I ever begrudged you anything?" he demanded, frowning.
"No, no," she replied hurriedly. "I only thought—oh, Cousin Robert, you do so much for me, and there isn't anything I can do for you. I wish there was."
"Well, there is," he said, a smile softening his face. "You can spare me a corner of your heart, eh? You'll try to be glad to come back here because you like me a little, and not only on account of Mrs. Downing, of whom you're so fond, and the friends you've made at school, eh?"
"Of course I shall!" she answered promptly. "I do like you very much, Cousin Robert," she added earnestly.
"I shall miss you, child," he told her. "Here comes Maria, ready to start. Don't forget to post my letter."
As if it was in the least likely she would forget that! She laughed at the idea as she tripped along by Maria's side, and slipped the precious letter into the first pillar-box they passed on their way.
During the days which followed the little girl talked of nothing but her coming visit. She went to say good-bye to Mrs. Downing, Miss Longley, and the twins; and told them all about the delightful time she expected to have with Aunt Eliza, and Uncle Dick, and her cousins. John Monday was the only one who attempted to put a damper on her happiness by remarking that some people got the best of everything.
"Oh, John," cried Mousey regretfully, "I am so sorry you are not going to have a holiday too! It does seem hard," and she looked so sympathetic that he regretted his grumbling speech, and felt ashamed of himself.
At last the much-looked-forward-to Monday arrived. The town porter fetched away Mousey's box, and after saying good-bye to Maria and John Monday, the little girl started to walk to the station with Mr. Harding. On the way he asked her if she had her purse in her pocket ready to receive her ticket.
"Oh, yes," she replied, wondering what she would have done without Uncle Dick's present on this occasion.