"No, my dear, there is your good aunt. And there is God. Don't 'ee say nobody loves you when He is there. Don't 'ee think all the time of yourself. Think of making others happy. There'll be your little cousin Albert to befriend. Your Aunt Martha is kind, and will treat you well. That is why I'm letting 'ee go. Your Uncle Simeon too—"
"He's not kind," daringly.
"Hush, my dear, don't 'ee say so. He's a godly man, and fears the Lord exceedingly. He will treat you in a Christian way. And God will always be near you. Pray to Him every night, read in His word, sing to Him a joyful song of praise. Never forget that threefold duty and joy. Never forget, my dear. You will promise your Grandmother?"
"Yes, Grandmother, but 'twill be lonely."
"Your mother—my little Rachel—had worse trials than you, please God, will ever know; yet she praised God always. Will you be brave like her?"
"Yes, Grandmother," huskily, and I kissed her twice.
Next day, after an early dinner, we left Bear Lawn. I had a grim godspeed from the old armchair.
"No highty-tighty, no monkey tricks, no stubborn ways. Fear the Lord at all times,"—and a swift formal peck which was not swift enough to conceal perhaps a faint tinge of regret.
* * * * * * *
We left by rail. Uncle Simeon read his Bible the whole way to Torribridge, and never spoke a word. It was only my second journey by railway, and I had enough to interest me in looking out of the window. The country-side was bright with spring. Little did I foresee the different circumstances of my return journey.