“Look here,” said the Story Girl, as we turned to leave the old orchard, “I want to ask a favour of you all. Don’t say good-bye to me tomorrow morning.”
“Why not?” demanded Felicity in astonishment.
“Because it’s such a hopeless sort of word. Don’t let’s SAY it at all. Just see me off with a wave of your hands. It won’t seem half so bad then. And don’t any of you cry if you can help it. I want to remember you all smiling.”
We went out of the old orchard where the autumn night wind was beginning to make its weird music in the russet boughs, and shut the little gate behind us. Our revels there were ended.
CHAPTER XXXIII. THE STORY GIRL GOES
The morning dawned, rosy and clear and frosty. Everybody was up early, for the travellers must leave in time to catch the nine o’clock train. The horse was harnessed and Uncle Alec was waiting by the door. Aunt Janet was crying, but everybody else was making a valiant effort not to. The Awkward Man and Mrs. Dale came to see the last of their favourite. Mrs. Dale had brought her a glorious sheaf of chrysanthemums, and the Awkward Man gave her, quite gracefully, another little, old, limp book from his library.
“Read it when you are sad or happy or lonely or discouraged or hopeful,” he said gravely.
“He has really improved very much since he got married,” whispered Felicity to me.
Sara Stanley wore a smart new travelling suit and a blue felt hat with a white feather. She looked so horribly grown up in it that we felt as if she were lost to us already.