Lord, in the morning Thou shalt hear
My voice ascending high.”
At this interruption there were some who wept—but none who smiled.
CONCLUSION
AFTERWARD
Of course there was an afterward. There always is.
The fallow fields of the McClure estate no longer lie idle under the blue sky, a reproach to their owner. The property was not quite of the “miles and miles” in extent which Bonny-Gay had imagined, but it was still sufficient to set apart a goodly number of acres as a home for Mary Jane, who had never known how beautiful the country was until she was driven one day, along a smooth road, under over-hanging trees, and over bridges crossing here and there the prettiest trout stream in the world. The drive was interrupted, “to let the horses rest,” where there was a fine view of a cottage, freshly painted in cream and white, and with the most inviting of piazzas extending from its sides.
Mary Jane had been allowed to make a little visit at the home of Bonny-Gay, and had been absent from Dingy street for one whole week. This day her absence was to end, even with this day; and she thought it a little odd that Bonny-Gay should seem so extravagantly happy, as if she were glad that the visit were over. Though, of course, the guest knew better than that. There was not the slightest doubt in the heart of either “Sunday bairn” concerning their mutual love.
“Oh! what a pretty house! We haven’t come this way before, have we? Is it on the road to the station, Bonny-Gay? How happy the folks must be who live there. But I’m happy, too. Dingy street will seem perfectly lovely to me when I get there. Do you suppose the baby has grown much? I wonder if Polly has learned any new things. Mother’s a master hand to teach, mother is. She taught me my letters while she was working round. She thinks I can, maybe, be spared to go to school—sometime. How I want to see her. Seems as if I could hardly wait.”
“Oh! I’m so glad, so glad!” laughed Bonny-Gay, and even the old coachman’s face beamed with smiles, though in ordinary he felt that it was his business, when on duty, to conduct himself like an automaton.
“I s’pose you’ll write to me, won’t you? You promised, that other time, before you started, you know.”