“Yet I’ve enjoyed my visit very much, Ken; you can’t think how much I love your mother.”
“Thank you, Walter, for saying so. But how would you like to live always at such a place?”
“If I did I should do my best to make it happy.”
“Make it happy!” said Kenrick; and as he turned away he muttered something about making a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. Soon after he told Walter some of those circumstances about his father’s life which we have recently related. When the three days were over the boys started for Saint Winifred’s. They drove to the station in the pony-chaise before described, accompanied, against Kenrick’s will, by his mother. She bore up bravely as she bade them good-bye, knowing the undemonstrative character of boys, and seeing that they were both in the merriest mood. She knew, too, that their gaiety was natural: the world lay before them, bright and seductive as yet, with no shadow across its light; nor was she all in all to Harry as he was to her. He had other hopes, and another home, and other ties; and remembering this she tried not to grieve that he should leave her with so light a heart. But as she turned away from the platform when the train had started, taking with it all that she held dearest in the world, and as she walked back to the lonely home which had nothing but faith—for there was not even hope—to brighten it, the quiet tears flowed fast over the fair face beneath her veil. Yet as she crossed over her lonely threshold her thoughts were not even then for herself, but they carried her on the wings of prayer to the throne of mercy for the beloved boy from whom she was again to be separated for nearly five long months.
The widowed mother wept; but the boy’s spirits rose as he drew closer to the hills and to the sea, which told him that Saint Winifred’s was near. He talked happily with Walter about the coming half—eager with ambition, with hope, with high spirits, and fine resolutions. He clapped his hands with pleasure when they reached the top of Bardlyn Hill and caught sight of the school buildings.
Having had a long distance to travel they were among the late arrivals, and at the great gate stood Henderson and Power ready to greet them and the other boys who came with them in the same coach. Among these were Eden and Bliss.
“Ah, Eden,” said Henderson, “I’ve been writing a poem about you—
“I’m a shrimp, I’m a shrimp of diminutive size,
Inspect my antennae and look at my eyes;
Quick, quick, feel me quick, for cannot you see
I’m a shrimp, I’m a shrimp, to be eaten with tea?”
“And who’s this?—why,” he said clasping his hands and throwing up his eyes in mock rapture, “this indeed is Bliss!”
“I’ll lick you, Flip,” said Bliss, only in a more good-humoured tone than usual, as he hit at him.