“Oh, but I think it would spoil the pretty shells to fix them on to anything! I like them to be free, so I can pour them from one hand to the other, and turn them over! Oh, David Lindsay, I am so glad to have them! And so glad you gave them to me, too!”
“Granny gave them to me to give to you.”
“Well, it is all the same, David Lindsay. And I will take the pretty little things to school with me, and look at them every day, and keep them forever and ever. Sit down by me and let us look at the little beauties together. You know that this is our last day.”
The boy obeyed her.
She said it was their “last day;” and that day was drawing rapidly to a close. The children knew that they were going to part, but they scarcely knew yet what the parting was to be to them; they had had no experience in separation; and both wondered a little in secret why they felt no more pain at the immediate prospect of losing each other.
When the sun set, which was always the signal for their daily good-night, little Gloria shut up her box of shells and arose, saying:
“I must go now. Good-by, David Lindsay.”
“Good-by.”
“God bless you, David Lindsay!”
“And you too!”