"'When shall we all meet again?'"
said Lynn that night, at the hour for separation.
"At Christmas, probably—next summer, certainly," replied Arthur's cheerful voice.
"We have been too happy together to hope for a repetition of the pleasure," said Ida. "Two such summers would be more than falls to the share of most mortals."
"If we never meet again in this life, we shall see each other somewhere at the end of the turnpike," observed Charley.
Sad as were the feelings of the little company, they smiled at his tone and action.
"Hush, Charley! I am petitioning Ida for a song," said Carry. "One of your own, my dear. We like no other so well. Just one more, that I may fancy I hear whenever I enter this room."
"A parting lay from our Improvisatrice," entreated Dr. Carleton.
Her voice was uncertain and low, but she sang the simple ballad with a pathos, that brought the moisture to the eyes of more than one of her auditors.
"Away with thoughts of sadness, love!
I will be gay to-night!
I would awhile indulge the hopes,
To-morrow's sun will blight.
Oh! once again, our favorite songs,
Together let us sing;
And thus forget the wailing strain
To-morrow's eve will bring.
Away with thoughts of sadness, love!
I must be gay to-night!