"Toby," Joan whispered to the cat, her soft cheek pressed against his fur, "I'm going away. And I can't believe it! I can't! I can't! I can't!"
"Toby will miss you," said Hannah. "And so will I. And so will Hughie and Hetty." She cleared her throat. "As for Mr. O'Neill, Toby won't be likely to miss him at all. He's stepped too many inches off his tail. Hughie thinks it must be paralyzed. I never saw Mr. O'Neill headin' for a new dot but what I knew Toby would be sure to stick his tail in the way and start a row."
Joan's face clouded.
"Oh, Hannah, if only I knew where Donald is!"
Hannah sighed.
"I wish you did, dear."
"It seems so dreadful with Uncle gone and everything changed. And Donald doesn't even know. Think, Hannah, I may pass him in the train."
"You may," said Hannah. "And then again you mayn't."
"What if he comes home? What if he writes? It seems that I just should be here."
"If he writes, I'll send the letter. And if he comes, Hughie can ride down and telegraph you word."