But when the next morning came and the actual parting, the spirits of most of them were not as low as they had thought they would be, for they were going home, and that is always pleasant, and there was the journey and the drive. And what an exciting, bustling time it was, packing up the last things and getting off. The children had so many more treasures too—buckets and spades, shells and pebbles and seaweeds; and Loveday had her tea-cup too, which had to be packed with special care in Mrs. Carlyon’s best hat-box. And then, when at last they reached the wind-swept station, and Priscilla in her blue cloak, and Loveday in her red one, were standing on the platform, who should appear but Mr. Winter himself to see them off!
“I thought I might be of some use in helping you,” he said kindly. “Is there anything I can do? Tell me, please, if there is.”
“Oh, will you please hold this?” gasped Loveday eagerly, pointing to the hat-box which she and Priscilla were guarding. “My cup is in it, and I am so afraid some one will run into us and joggle it.”
Mr. Winter took the box at once into his care, and then turned to help their mother, and when the train came in he found them a nice comfortable compartment all to themselves, and having first placed the precious hat-box in safety, and arranged a dozen other things in the rack, he then helped in Priscilla and Loveday and Mrs. Carlyon.
“Good-bye,” he said, when at last the whistle blew to warn them they were about to start. “Good-bye, good-bye, children, and I hope you will write to me sometimes, and tell me what you are doing, and how Miss Potts gets on, for I shall be very lonely without you,” and he stepped quietly out of the carriage as though half ashamed of having said so much; and the last thing they saw as they rolled away was Mr. Winter standing alone on the little bare platform, the wind blowing his white hair about as he waved his hat to them.
“I don’t know how we should ever have got off without Mr. Winter,” said Nurse, who had taken a great liking to him.
“Nor I; nor how we shall get on at home without him,” said Mrs. Carlyon gravely; “I think he will have to come to Trelint.”
“So do I,” sighed Priscilla. “I am sure he will be very lonely without us. I must write to him very often, to cheer him up.”
And Priscilla did. Sometimes it was difficult. She felt disinclined, or she thought there was nothing to say, or she could not spell the words she wanted to use, but she very seldom failed altogether, and she would not have done so at all, had she known how her funny little badly written letters were prized by her old friend.
One day there came a letter from Mr. Winter which sent Priscilla dancing joyously through the house.