“I can’t imagine why the thing that smells so jolly good doesn’t come upstairs,” said Charley. “It’s too bad—it’s worse than bad.”
“Oh no,” I answered; “don’t say that, Charley. Hannah is keeping it for supper. She is going to have a surprise supper; I know it for I saw the cake.”
“The cake!” cried Charley. “A cake made by Hannah?”
“Yes; and I can tell you it did smell pretty good. Oh, didn’t it just!” I smacked my lips in anticipation.
“I suppose we’ll have to make this do,” said Alex gloomily, helping himself to another slice of tough beef.
Our conversation filtered away into mere nothings, then into monosyllables; then it tailed off into utter silence. We were all very depressed, and yet we were excited; we wanted we knew not what; we were afraid, we could not tell of what. Each one of us had a sense that things could never be the same again, that we were eating our humble dinner and looking each into the humble face of the other for the last time. Everything from that hour forward would be different. Would the change be for the better? No, it could not be for the better. A change, however, we were certain was coming. We did not speak of it; we sat very still.
At last the boys said they would go for a walk; they did not ask me to accompany them, nor did I offer to go. I ran up to my own room. I took the pretty dark-blue dress which Miss Grace Donnithorne had given me. I took the jacket, the little shoes, the stockings, all the things which she had showered upon me when I was at Hedgerow House, and I put them into the trunk which she had also presented me with—the pretty trunk which I had been so proud of, and which bore my initials, R.G. On the top of all the things I put a card with the words, “Returned with thanks—Rachel Grant,” written upon it. This little trunk I myself conveyed to the bedroom which had been got ready for the Professor and his wife. There was no attempt at making this room pretty, but a huge fire burned in the grate, and that alone had a certain cheerfulness about it. I put the little trunk at the foot of the bed. I did not know what would happen. I felt afraid; nevertheless, I was quite determined to let Miss Grace Donnithorne—Mrs Grant, as she was now—know how things really stood.
At last the time came for me to make myself look as well as I could to meet my father and his wife. I put on the blue evening-dress which I had outgrown, brushed out my long hair, and went down to the parlour. The parlour certainly looked very smart. Its central table alone was worth the greatest admiration. There was a white cloth—very white indeed—in fact, dazzlingly so; and the crockery (I cannot call it by the name of china) seemed to me quite amazing. It did not matter that none of the glass matched, and that there were plates of various sorts, but what was all-important was the fact that the board groaned with goodly fare. There was a huge piece of cold roast beef, a salad made according to an old-fashioned recipe of Hannah’s, a cake (frosted) in the centre of the table, some jellies, some fruit, a pair of roast fowls, and a ham. Oh, when before had the old house close to the college seen such a feast?
Standing at the head of the table, with his arms folded and his eyes fixed upon the goodly fare, was Alex; and standing at the foot of the table, in precisely the same attitude, was Charley. They did not move when I came in, and I did not speak, but went and stood at one of the sides. Hannah bustled into the room.
“They’ll be here in a few minutes, children,” she said; “and don’t forget that I’m here to take your parts. Bless you, poor orphans—bless you!”