The morning came and all was ready for the start. Every person at Sobrante gathered before the cottage door, and each with his or her word of farewell advice or good will. Aunt Sally, fluttering with patchwork strips of already “pieced blocks,” flung jauntily over either shoulder, her spectacles slipping off the point of her nose and her hands holding forth a fat fig pie, hot and dripping from the oven.
“I’ve been a-bakin’ all night, Ephy. There’s a pair of fowls, a ham, four loaves, some hard-boiled eggs, salt, pepper, sugar, tea, coffee, butter, dishes, five vials of medicine, some dish towels, some––”
“What in reason! How expect me to carry that great basket, as well as the saddlebags, and myself–on one horse? You’re old enough to have sense–but you’ll never learn it. One loaf––”
“Ephraim Marsh! Are you eighty years old or are you not? At your age would you starve the little darling daughter of the best friends you ever had? Here, Jessie. You get off that donkey. We’ll wait till we can pick out some other man that––”
“Give me the basket; I’ll carry it if I have to on my head!” interrupted “Forty-niner,” indignantly. But he added to himself: “I can chuck it into the first clump of mesquite I meet.”
Jessica was upon Scruff, whose loss the small boys were bewailing far more than that of the girl herself. Without Scruff they would be compelled to stay within walking distance of the cottage, and this was imprisonment. Without Jessica–well, there were many things one could do better with Jessica away.
Mrs. Trent’s face was pale but calm. Nobody knew what this first parting with her helpful child was to her anxious heart, but it was her part to send the travelers outward in good cheer.
“Put the saddlebags on Scruff, in front of Jessica. He’s strong enough to carry double, and they’re not so heavy. Few girls, in my days at the East, would have set out upon an indefinite journey, equipped with only one flannel frock and a single change of underclothing.”
“But the flannel frock is new and so is the pretty Tam that Elsa gave me last Christmas. What do I want more? specially when there’s this warm jacket you made me take, for a cold night’s ride. Isn’t it enough, mother, dear?”
“Quite, I think, else I should have made you delay till I could have provided more. Be sure to write me, now and then. One of the men will ride to the post every few days and fetch any letters. Good-by, and now–go quickly!”