They reached the station in full time, and had twenty minutes to wait. Mr. Force had engaged a whole compartment for his party by telegraph the day before.
In the waiting room they found all the Grandieres, all the Elks, and little Rosemary Hedge, with her luggage.
There followed an animating scene—a little laughing, more crying and much talking.
Mrs. Hedge implored Mrs. Force to be a mother to her fatherless child, and to bring her back safe and well at the end of the year.
Mrs. Force promised all that a woman could, under the circumstances.
And Roland Bayard, who sat beside little Rosemary holding her hand in his, spoke up and said:
“Dear Mrs. Hedge, don’t grieve about the little maiden. If, at any time, you should be pining to have her back, you can let me know and I will just run over and fetch her.”
There was something very comforting in this promise, because Mrs. Hedge knew that Roland Bayard meant what he said; and very cheering in the manner in which he put it—“Just run over and fetch her!” Why, it sounded like such a mere trifle to cross the ocean, in these days of steam. But Roland was still talking.
“And, Rosemary, if you get homesick before our friends are ready to return, write to me, darling, and I’ll come and fetch you back.”
“Oh, Mr. Bayard! you don’t know how you have consoled me!” said Mrs. Hedge, wiping her eyes.