Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home.”
Winter sped rapidly away to our friends at the Oaks, each day so full of agreeable, useful employment and quiet pleasures, that they found it all too short; time never hung heavy on their hands, ennui was unknown to them.
No unusual or startling event marked the course of the weeks and months. Mildred and Annis kept up a steady correspondence with mother and sisters, and now and then the letters from Pleasant Plains seemed to bring with them a touch of homesickness; but it would pass off directly, leaving the victims as light-hearted and happy as before.
So, until Spring had fairly set in and they knew that April suns and showers were bringing out the buds and leaves, and waking the flowers in garden and woods even in their northern home; then, in spite of a very strong affection for these relatives and kind entertainers, a very sincere regret at the thought of parting from them, they were seized with a great and unquenchable desire for home—home and mother—they longed for all the dear ones, but mother most of all.
The business affair which had called Dr. Landreth South had now been brought to a prosperous issue, and as there was no longer any necessity for remaining, an early day was set for their departure.
The doctor and his wife, conversing together in the privacy of their own apartments one bright sunshiny morning, had just settled this question, when Annis came running in.
Mildred, with the brightest, happiest face she had worn for days, was dandling little Percy on her knee, telling him between rapturous kisses, “He shall go home to dear grandpa and grandma, so he shall, the darling pet!”
“O Milly, are we going home soon?” cried Annis breathlessly.
“Yes; next week, your brother says.”
“If you think you can be ready by that time,” added the doctor.