Presently the trunk was packed, the last day was at hand. The squire came to a dinner such as Grandmother Gaumer used to prepare on holidays. He was as excited as a child over the prospect of his journey with Katy in the morning. He would see her established; it was almost as though he were going to school himself!
Aunt Sally refused any help with the dishes. Katy must not work; she might read, she might sew, she might go to see Sarah Ann, she might walk with little Adam to the schoolhouse, but she should not lay hand to dish-towel on her last day in Millerstown!
Katy chose the taking of little Adam to school. With his hand held tight in hers, she went out the gate, past the garden, and along the open fields toward the church and the schoolhouse set on the hill together. She glanced into the schoolroom, a dull place now, no longer the scene of the prancings of a Belsnickel or the triumphs of a studious Katy; then, leaving Adam, she set off toward the mountain road. From the first ascent she looked down at the house of David Hartman. The foliage about it was thinning; she was near enough to see the golden and scarlet flowers in the garden and a cat sleeping comfortably on the wide porch. She saw David almost daily, taking the two steps into the squire's office at a bound, sitting in his father's pew at church, riding about on his tall gray horse. She could not help hearing Millerstown's discussions of his doings, of his generosity to the Koehlers, of his subscriptions to the church, of his free-and-easy ways.
Presently there was a sudden motion on the Hartman porch; a tall figure appeared, the cat rose and went with arched back to meet her master, a clear whistle lifted to the ears of Katy. She started and went on her way, angry with herself for watching. She meant to climb to the Sheep Stable and sit there upon the great rock and look down upon the valley. There she could be alone, there she could look her fill upon Millerstown, there she could fortify herself for the future.
Before the Koehler house, William was puttering about in the yard. He called to her and gave her some flowers. He had been told of Katy's part in his deliverance, and though he seemed to have forgotten the specific reason for his kindly feeling toward her, he was more friendly only with David Hartman. He seemed not so much to have lost his mind and found it as to have harked back to his childhood.
Walking more rapidly after this delay, Katy went up the mountain road. The afternoon would pass all too quickly.
"I cannot make many plans," said Katy, soberly, as she went along. "If I make plans there is a hex on them. I must educate myself for whatever comes. It would be easier to educate myself if I were sure that something would come!" cried Katy, with sudden passion. "But there is nothing any more before me!"
The woods thickened; there was the chatter of an angry squirrel, a flash of gold as a flicker floated downward through the sunshine, showing the bright lining of his wings; there was the rich odor of ripening nuts, of slippery elm. On each side of the road and arching above rose the flaming trees, the golden brown beeches, the yellow hickories and maples, the crimson oaks. It was a beautiful, beautiful world, though one's heart was sad.
At the Sheep Stable Katy climbed out on the rocky parapet and sat with half-closed, half-blinded eyes. There was not a cloud in the sky; all was clear and bright. Far to the right lay the county seat; in the middle distance stood the blast furnace, the smoke rising lazily from its chimney; far away against the horizon rose the Blue Ridge with its three gaps where the Lehigh and the Schuylkill and the Delaware Rivers made their way through its barrier to the sea.
Directly below lay Millerstown, thickly shaded, still. Looking upon it, Katy felt her eyes fill with tears. She could see the golden light which the maples cast now upon its streets; she could see also the blanket of snow which would presently cover it, the moonlight which would light it enchantingly.