The two girls were at the station in the morning to say good bye to Charles Augustus and his mother as they departed for New York.
Before the train left Charles Augustus complained to Helen, “Mother wouldn’t let me take my frog to New York.”
“That is too bad,” commiserated the deceitful Helen.
“Mother said that the frog wouldn’t care for New York. He might get lonesome there.”
Helen gravely considered the problem. “Your mother is right, Charles. A frog would find few friends and little amusement in New York.”
Virginia bade Mrs. Curtis good bye at the car steps. “You will write and tell us about everything, won’t you?” she begged.
The older woman embraced her. “Good bye,” she murmured. “Words can’t tell what I would say to you, dear. Of course I will write.”
Again the days passed and the best of news came from New York. The operation was performed and the twisted muscles worked into place. The surgeon was confident of the success of his efforts and felt sure that, at the worst, Charles Augustus would only have a slight limp which would disappear with age.
Yet Virginia was not happy. Very sweet she was and thoughtful of others; but she was serious and often, too, a look of sadness rested on her face.
Aunt Kate watched her with the vigilant eye of a mother in those days. One afternoon she discovered her niece alone in the hammock, viewing the pond with a melancholy countenance. “Land sakes, that child is moping again,” she groaned. Leaving her work, she joined the girl and commanded, “Tell me your thoughts, Virginia?”