It is not often (out of a fairy tale) that wishes to change the whole current of one’s life are granted so promptly as that wish of mine was.
The next morning’s post brought a letter from Mrs. Arkwright. They were staying in the south of England, and had seen the Bullers, and heard all their news. It was an important budget. They were going abroad once more, and it had been arranged between my two guardians that I was to remain in England for my education, and that my home was to be—with Eleanor. Matilda was to go with her parents; to the benefit, it was hoped, of her health. Aunt Theresa sent me the kindest messages, and promised to write to me. Matilda sent her love to us both.
“And the day after to-morrow they come home!” Eleanor announced.
When the day came we spent most of it in small preparations and useless restlessness. We filled all the flower vases in the drawing-room, put some of the choicest roses in Mrs. Arkwright’s bedroom, and made ourselves very hot in hanging a small union-jack which belonged to the boys out of our own window, which looked towards the high-road. Eleanor even went so far as to provoke a severe snub from the cook, by offering suggestions as to the food to be prepared for the travellers.
The dogs fully understood that something was impending, and wandered from room to room at our heels, sitting down to pant whenever we gave them a chance, and emptying the water jug in Mr. Arkwright’s dressing-room so often that we were obliged to shut the door when Keziah had once more filled the ewer.
About half-an-hour after the curfew bell had rung the cab came. The dogs were not shut up this time, and they, and we, and the Arkwrights met in a very confused and noisy greeting.
“God bless you, my dear!” I heard Mr. Arkwright say very affectionately, and he added almost in the same breath, “Do call off the dogs, my dear, or else take your mother’s beasts.”
I suppose Eleanor chose the latter alternative, for she did not call off the dogs, but she took away two or three tin cans with which Mr. Arkwright was laden, and which had made him look like a particularly respectable milkman.
“What are they?” she asked.
“Crassys,” said Mrs. Arkwright, with apparent triumph in her tone, “and Serpulæ, and two Chitons, and several other things.”