"Good-by," he said, with a sudden touch of emotion.
"Good-by," I answered, rather tearfully, for even the watch could not reconcile me to his absence.
He turned to go, and came back again.
"Pray for the old major," he said, in a husky whisper.
Through my tears I saw him go up the block, a little slower than usual, as if he did not want to go. At the gate he stopped and waved his hat to me, as he had done on that first day, and squared his gallant old shoulders before he passed into the house. I always wished that I had kissed him before he went.
It was not hard to pray for the major, for I believed in the efficacy of prayer. When the elastic bands became loosened in the black doll, Topsy, and she lost her wool and her legs at the same time, I went down, solemnly, on my knees on the floor, and prayed for them to grow together again. And they did, in the night. And when I lost my little front tooth, I prayed to God and He sent me a new one! So it was not hard to pray for the major. But somehow or other I did not like to do it before my mother. It seemed such a secret sort of a prayer. I waited until I was safe under the covers, and she had taken away the light. Then I climbed out of the bed, in the big darkness, and went down on the floor. I prayed to God to bless the old major, and bring him back safely to me. I said it over twice, so that God would not forget.
"So the old major has gone to the city," my father said, at the breakfast table. "I can remember him when he was in the pride of his strength, a magnificent figure on horseback. He never rose as high in the service as he should. He made powerful enemies and slipped into the background."
"It's twenty years since his wife died," my mother's soft voice added. "He has lived alone in that big house ever since. Think of it, Robert!"
"Such is the heart's fidelity," father answered, with his face turned toward hers.
"When he comes back we must make more of him," mother said.