One sweet June morning an expectant group gathered in the shade of the vine-wreathed porch of Miss Stanhope's pretty cottage. It consisted of that good lady herself Mr. and Mrs. Keith and their eight children, all attired in neat traveling costume, and awaiting the coming of the stage coach which was to carry them the first step of their journey—to the nearest town situate on the Ohio and Erie Canal.
Mr. and Mrs. Park, the new occupants of the cottage, were there too, and a few old neighbors and friends who had run in for a last good-bye.
Mrs. Keith and Mildred turned now and then, a tearful lingering look upon their deserted home and this other which was equally familiar, almost equally dear; Miss Stanhope seemed to have some ado to control her feelings of sadness and anxiety for the future; but Mr. Keith was in fine spirits in which the children evidently shared very largely.
Eager to be off, they moved restlessly about asking again and again, "When will the stage come?" and kept sending out reconnoitering parties to see if there were any signs of its approach.
At length they espied it and announced the fact with joyful exclamations as its four prancing steeds came sweeping around the corner and, swaying and rolling, it dashed up to the gate.
The driver drew rein, the guard sprang from his lofty perch, threw open the door and let down the steps.
There were hurried embraces and farewells, a hasty stowing away of bags, bundles, and passengers large and small, in the inside, and of more bulky baggage in the boot of the coach, the steps were replaced, the door slammed to, and amid waving of handkerchiefs and a chorus of good-byes and good wishes, the "toot, toot!" of the guard's horn, the crack of the coachman's whip, they swept away down the street, looking, in all probability, their last upon many a well known object, many a friendly face, nodding and smiling to them from door or window.
Frank Osborne, at work in his mother's garden, dropped his hoe to lift his hat and bow as the stage passed, and to gaze after it with a longing, lingering look.
Spencer Hall, standing, cigar in mouth, on the steps of his father's mansion, did likewise.
But Mildred had turned her head away, purposely, and did not see him.