So we did. We ate and laughed and were glad together; we tidied the little house and then we sang and read. But all the time I noticed Mother looking at me in a new way, and sometimes the tears would come to her eyes, and it seemed as if she never passed me without dropping a hand on my head or my shoulder. And Jim was tender too. He neither teased me nor preached to me. He was just sweet. As for Pa, he asked me if I didn’t think all of our ways were laid out for us by One Who Knew What Was Best. Oh, yes, it surely was a day long to be remembered.
But it surprised me a little when they urged me to start on my way.
“You mustn’t be out after dark, my dear,” said Mother McBirney, patting my hand. “I want to think of you as safe at the Shoals before the twilight comes. So you’d better be on your way, honey-girl.”
“But I want to stay,” I pleaded.
“No, no,” she laughed, “you want to go. You may not know it, but you do.”
So among them they got me into my things and onto my horse. I miss my little Paprika when I ride these mountain roads, and sometimes wish I could buy her back again. The horse I ride is from the Carson stables, of course, and is a fine, gentle creature which Mrs. Carson often uses and which knows every inch of the way.
To my surprise, Jim insisted on coming along.
“But no,” I said. “What is the use, Jim? Stay with the folks.”
“I need exercise, sister,” he answered, still in that surprisingly gentle way. “You must let me do what I like when I am home so seldom. I get discipline enough at college.”
So off we went together, just as we used in the old days when we were boy and girl.