His leave-taking next morning was extremely harrowing to his own feelings, however austerely the rest took it. He wept freely after breakfast down under the barberry-bush, but he promised himself he would get it all done down there in the blessed privacy of the wilderness, and not cry another tear after he got back to the house. He had made a tour the moment he was dressed, saying good-bye to everything. Now there was nothing left but An' Jerusha and the family. Uncle Elijah might come any minute. He dried his eyes, and crept back through the rank undergrowth to the terrace, went heavily up the two flights of stone steps, saying good-bye again to the flag lilies and the crooked catalpa and the tulip-tree, and so on sedately round the house to the kitchen. On his appearance, An' Jerusha rushed towards him with wide-spread, motherly arms, but observing his involuntary recoil, she stood still, looking at him with unlessened affection.
"Good-bye, An' Jerusha," he said, holding her hand tight in both his own.
"Good-bye, honey. Be suah you come agin soon."
"Yes, I mean to; and thank you for all the songs and the cinnamon rolls."
"Law, honey! jes' listen to de chile."
She turned away to Venie with an attempt at a chuckle, but the tears had started down her cheeks.
"Good-bye."
Ethan shook hands with the smiling Venus.
"Maw and me done put yo' in a Johnny-cake," she said, an outsider might have thought enigmatically.
"Thank you," said Ethan, tremulously—"thank you both, awfully."