They were thinking and speaking of other things—these waiting schoolgirls. Some of them walked about, softly speaking last words to each other, and some of them were watching the coming of the boat over the swollen waters of the river. But the beauty around them, the sweetness of the spring morning, the restful quiet on mountain and valley, were present with them all.
“Nellie Austin,” said a voice from the group that watched the boat, “do you see? Your ‘Faithful’ is coming after all.”
“My Faithful!”—and a young girl sprang forward as the boat touched the bank.
A slender girl, very plainly dressed, stepped out first—a girl with grave dark eyes and a firm mouth, which yet trembled a little as she answered her companion’s greeting.
“Faithful! my Faithful! you are coming home with me after all?”
“No, dear; I am going home to my Eunice. I thought I had better.”
“Have you heard again? Is she not well?”
“I have not heard again; but she is not very well, I am afraid. I must go and see.”
“But you will come back again? You will never, never think of not coming back!”
“Oh, yes, I hope so! I think so—unless she is really sick.”