I thought a great deal about it, and felt puzzled sometimes, wondering whether it could be wise to take a delicate woman all that tremendous distance. But I was too young, I thought, to have opinions worth consideration, and I always came to the conclusion that my elders must know best.
Then came the day for parting, so quickly that I could hardly believe it. The luggage had gone on some days before to Liverpool, and there were Esau and I seeing after the few things that were to accompany the travellers in their cabins, as we stood on the platform at Euston.
Mrs John looked terribly thin and worn, more suited, I thought, for going at once to her bed than to venture on such a terrible journey; but there was a bright, hopeful look in her eyes as I helped her to her seat, and she spoke quite cheerily as she held my hand, Mr John holding the other, and we occupied ourselves with our final good-byes, so as not to notice Mrs Dean and her son. But I could not help hearing Esau’s words—
“Oh, I say, mother, don’t—don’t! You must get to your seat now. There, good-bye, dear. It isn’t so very far after all, and we’ll be there waiting for you, and ready to welcome you when you come.”
“But is it right, dear?” she said; “is it right?”
“’Course it is. Don’t turn coward. You must go now all the things are sold.”
There was a final embrace; Mrs Dean was hurried into her seat, the door closed; Mr John pressed my hand hard without a word, and Mrs John put her arms about my neck and kissed me.
“God bless you! au revoir!” she said.
“Stand back, sir, please,” some one shouted; the engine gave a piercing shriek, and Esau and I stood on the stone platform watching the train glide away with many a head out of the window, and hand and kerchief waving growing more and more confused, while a sense of desolation and loneliness oppressed me till I quite started at my companion’s words.
“Oh, won’t poor mother have a big cry up in a corner all the way down. It’s very rum, but I suppose she is fond of me.”