Hilda had already begun school, and could be with them very little now, but she was broken-hearted, as usual, at the thought of losing her little playfellow. She and Edith Craig spent all their spare minutes with the girls, and planned eagerly for the coming year. Mamma had last year invited both Hilda and Edith to spend the Christmas holidays in town with her little daughters, and you can imagine what fine times they had there, although it proved very different from being together in the country. Sometime I may tell you about one of these visits to town.
At last everything was ready for the departure. The furniture was all done up in linen covers, and mattings and rugs were taken up and put away. The children would race up and down the great echoing halls and rooms in high glee, enjoying the commotion of the last day. Mamma was not strong enough to bear all this confusion, and she went back in town a few days earlier, to see that everything was ready and comfortable in their town house. The servant whom they left there through the summer had the house open and in order, so mamma and Kenneth, whom she took with her, had a few days of rest and quiet all by themselves.
The house at Kayuna was shut up through the winter, though the farmer’s wife came up once a week to go over it and see that everything was all right.
At last came the day of departure. Since the village was within easy driving distance of the city—twelve miles—Mike always loaded up the trunks on a big cart, and drove them all in town, himself, while the family went in by train. This year there was a little change in their going.
’Gustus John, who often drove to town, found that it was necessary for him to go that very day, and ’Manda wanted to go also, for her fall shopping. In view of this,—though he had much difficulty in getting his courage up to ask such a favour,—he begged Dr. Ward that he might have the “pleasure and honour” of driving Miss Eunice and Miss Cricket in town with them.
The doctor hesitated, but Cricket and Eunice, hearing of the plan, begged so hard for permission that their father finally consented.
The start had to be an early one, in order that the farmer and his wife should get in town to do their errands, for they had to be at home by five o’clock. So eight o’clock on Wednesday morning saw the wagon drive in at the gates of Kayuna. ’Gustus John in his big overcoat,—for the morning was chilly,—and in his new stiff Derby hat, looked a very different figure from the ’Gustus John of every day, in his blue overalls and blouse. ’Manda rejoiced in a new fall bonnet, trimmed with red and blue feathers, and was wrapped up in a gay plaid shawl. She sat in front with her husband, and left the roomy back seat to the children.
They were all ready, and came out smiling and in good spirits. It was really much easier parting from dear old Kayuna, since the pleasure of this long drive was in prospect. Mike brought Mopsie and Charcoal around to see the start, he said,—though I think it was really an excuse to be there himself,—and the girls must stop for another hug for them, and kisses on their cold little noses.
The big farm-horses, carefully groomed and shining, held up their heads, and said, as plainly as could be, that they were delighted to get off from the farm-work for one day, as they stood, stamping the ground, impatient to be off.
’Manda had some extra shawls with which she insisted on wrapping up Cricket and Eunice, for this October morning was crisp and cool. The children felt like little mummies, but they were glad of the extra warmth. Eliza charged ’Manda to take off the shawls before they reached town, so “they might look like something, when they got there.”