He was not very elated about it at first. It was so sudden; and I do trust the reader will not think him any the less brave when I confess that he sat down beside the window and indulged in the luxury of a good cry. For remember that the boy was not very old yet. No; and I have known many much older boys than he shed tears at the prospect of leaving home.
He was to sail on the very next morning; and that day he and ’Theena went to take one last look at the hermitage and the old castle, and the woods and wilds generally. And Tom the cat followed them and kept close by his master all the way.
“Poor fellow!” said the boy, stooping down to caress his favourite; “he seems to know we are to be parted.”
“Purr-rrn!” said Tom the cat. That was all he could say, but there was more in it than either the boy or ’Theena understood just then.
“Mind,” said Tom to ’Theena, as they stood together at the window of the old castle overlooking the woods and the sea, “I am going to come back rich and bring your brother with me.”
“I don’t care so much for my brother as for you,” said ’Theena candidly. “You know you are my brother now.”
“Yes,” answered Tom abstractedly.
Then hand in hand they went down the hill and through the woods and forest, and so back home again.
Tom’s mother came to see him to bed this last sad night, and sat long with him in the moonlight giving him good advice—the best of which was that he was to read the little Bible she gave him every night, and never to forget to pray.
The bustle of starting saved everybody next day from making much display of grief, and everybody was thankful accordingly. Only poor little ’Theena was half frantic, and could hardly tear herself away from the only brother she had ever known or loved—that is, as far as she could remember.