Ethan sank back breathless, clutching the camphor-bottle under his coat.
"Tired?" asked Uncle Elijah, looking at the flushed little face. Ethan nodded "Yes, sir."
"You needn't have hurried so; there's oceans of time. But I thought we could wait just as well at the station."
They were not going the way Ethan had been driven that day of his arrival, so long, long ago, at the beginning of the summer. He leaned forward excitedly.
"Why, he's taking us round by the Wilderness!"
"The what?" Uncle Elijah looked out. "Moses! they do let things run wild here."
Ethan's quick eye had sought out the spot where, hidden in that tangle, was a little clearing and a "heavenly secret-house," with a barberry-bush for a roof. But no hint of such a matter to the profane passer-by!
What was that? His heart gave a great jump. Why, it was An' Jerusha on the lower terrace watching to see them go by! She stood there alone, and now she was putting her apron up to her eyes. Nobody else was looking after the carriage from this side. It was plain, for all his grandmother's momentary melting, it was An' Jerusha who had felt the parting most, and he had refused to kiss her!
"Uncle Elijah," said the child, hurriedly, "do you mind, if we've got such a lot of time, I'd like to get a barberry leaf for my fire-flies. Please stop!" he called out of the window to the coachman.