"Gran'pop was the oldest, and he and the squire had to stay here. Uncle had the chance to go."
"But—" Katy crossed to her grandmother's side. Everything was still in the warm, pine-scented room. "But, grandmother, why do you cry?"
"I am not crying," said grandmother brightly.
"But you look—you look as if"—Katy struggled for words in which to express her thoughts—"as if everything were finished!"
Grandmother sighed gently. "I am an old woman, Katy, and your uncle is an old man. We may never see each other again."
"Oh, dear! oh, dear!" cried Katy. "This is a very sad Christmas!"
It was not the sadness of parting which made Katy cry. It was unthinkable that anything should change for her. Everything would be the same, always—alas, that it should be so! She, Katy Gaumer, with all her smartness in school, and all her ability to plan and manage entertainments, would stay here in this spot until she died. Grandmother Gaumer, reproaching herself, comforted her for that which was not a grief at all.
"We will be here a long time yet. And you are to go away to school, and—"
Katy sprang to her feet.