The day after Le’s departure the weather changed, bringing a dull, gray sky, and a warm rain, that melted all the splendor of the snow, and turned the hard roads into gullies of mud, so confining the family of Mondreer to their own house.
Certainly they tried “to be jolly under difficulties.”
Mr. Force reminded them that they had really nothing to mourn over, since young navy officers must go to sea, and that if they all were as steady as Le the long voyage must do them good, improve their minds, and strengthen their bodies; and that they had much to be thankful for, since sickness and death had kept away from their homes.
Mrs. Force and Odalite were a little more silent than usual, and that was all the difference to be seen in them.
Wynnette went singing about the house, to pretend that she was merry. But, while gazing from the parlor window out upon the dark sky full of soft, fine, warm rain that turned the lawn into a marsh, and hid the wooded hills on the west and the bay on the east from view, she suddenly snapped out:
“Euphonious Mondreer should be relegated to its original, descriptive name, and be called Mount Dreary, as it is in the old patents and deeds!”
“But was it Mount Dreary last week, when we had the glorious sunshine, and the splendid frost and snow, and the waters of the bay as blue as the sky they reflected, eh?” inquired Miss Meeke, deprecatingly.
“I don’t know!” said Wynnette, perversely. “I don’t remember any glorious sunshine, or splendid frost and snow, or any blue waters. It has always been rain, and mud, and darkness in this world ever since I was born! And I don’t remember anything else, and I don’t believe in anything else—there, now!”
“My dear! my dear! do not talk so!” said Miss Meeke.
“I can’t help it,” said Wynnette. “I know it always has been just this way, and it always will be. But who cares if it will? Not I, for one.