“It shall remain forever,” said the lady.
“What! in your darling spare chamber?”
A violent mental struggle showed its indications in Mrs. Burton’s face, but she replied:
“The furniture can be changed. We can put a screen in front of the place; we’ll change the room in any way, excepting their blessed tokens of occupation.”
But none of this devotion found its way through the keyhole to shame the boys into silence, for the noise increased until Mrs. Burton herself hastened to draw the bolt.
“It’s us,” was the unnecessary information, volunteered by Budge as the door opened; “an’ we want to know when we’re goin’ home, an’ who’s goin’ to take us, an’ how, an’ what you’re goin’ to give us to remember you by, an’ we don’t care to have it flowers, ’cause we’ve got plenty of ’em at home.”
“Fruit-cake would be nicesht,” suggested Toddie. “Folks ’members that an awful long time, ’cause when mamma once asked papa if he ’membered de fruit-cake at Mrs. Birch’s party he looked drefful sad, an’ said he couldn’t ever forget it. Say, Aunt Alish, don’t you get extra nice dinners for folks dat’s goin’ away? Mamma always doesh; says dey need it, cauzh folks need to be well-feeded when they’e goin’ to travel.” [The distance from the Burton residence to that of the Lawrences was about a quarter of a mile.]
“You shall have a good-by dinner, Toddie, dear,” said Mrs. Burton; “and the very nicest one that I can prepare.”
“Better make it a brekspup,” suggested Toddie. “Mebbe we’ll be come for ’fore dinner-time.”
“You sha’n’t be taken until you get it, dear.”