"I guess that's it," said Olive, with a little sigh; and then the supper-bell rang.
At the end of three weeks Olive was ready to go, and it was hard to tell whether she was any more enthusiastic with the idea or not. After the fashion of all young girls, she could not help but be pleased to see the accumulating pile of pretty things; to feel all the time that something, which might prove very pleasant, was going to happen; and that she was the cause of all the little bustle of preparation that filled the house, and engrossed the mind and hands of mother and sisters. There is always something, more or less exciting in the appearance of a trunk, and when packing time actually came, Olive found that she was beginning to indulge in some very pleasing anticipations.
"I expect Jean has grown very tall," said Bea one afternoon, as the girls were all gathered in Olive's room, and the big trunk stood open in the middle of the floor.
"Probably wears long dresses, and does her hair in a chignogger," said Kat, from a perch on the foot-board of the bed, where she rested in idle moments.
"'Tisn't to be supposed that she can be treated so like a young lady, and not get stuck up. Just to think of having a maid, and being called Miss Dering, when you are only twelve. Hollo, Kittie! hand me that pile of skirts, and I'll fold them."
"Dear me," said Kittie, handing over the snowy starched heap. "You have six white skirts, Olive, and three of them trimmed. I'd feel terribly fixed up, and lady-like with so many."
"Pooh! some girls have six dozen, with tucks, and ruffles and puffles on every blessed one of them," said Kat, making the starched cloth rattle with her vigorous folding.
"All nonsense," assented Kittie, down on her knees before the trunk. "Now hand me the things and I'll pack. Kat, you're knocking everything off the table, the way you whisk those skirts around. Hand me the black dress; that's the heaviest and must go in first."
"Where's the other black tip?" asked Bea, who was trimming the travelling hat. "There it is, you blew it behind the table with your whirlwind of skirts; hand it to me, Kat."
"What fun it is to pack and go away," said Kat, fishing out the desired feather with Olive's parasol. "You pack like a captain, Kittie. I'd most likely have put her best hat in the first thing, shoe polish next, and then tumbled in anything that I happened to lay my hands on. Dear me, I wish I was going."