“But they don’t look so very well dressed, uncle,” said Ethel hesitatingly; “and wouldn’t you like them to have their best clothes on?”
“Ah, yes; that is well thought of,” he replied. “Well, get them ready first and send them down here to me; then follow as soon as you and the trunk are ready.”
At that all four hurried obediently from the parlor and up to the room in which most of their time had been passed since their coming to the house. Mrs. Coote was there, down on her knees, packing their trunk with great expedition. She turned her head and looked grimly at them as they entered.
“Somebody’s been telling tales, I reckon,” she remarked gruffly. “Well, it’ll rid me of a good deal of care and bother. I shall breathe freer when you’re gone, for you’ve been no end of trouble.”
“I’m sorry if we have, ma’am,” said Ethel. “I’ve really tried to be good and helpful.”
“Yes, you have, Ethel, and I’ve been fonder of you than I ever thought to be of any child,” returned Mrs. Coote, her voice softening. “But I’ve got to give you up now, and there’s no use fretting. There, children, I’ve laid out all your best clothes on the bed. Get into them as fast as you can while I finish packing your trunk.”
They made haste to obey, Ethel and Blanche helping the younger two, and in a very short time they and their trunk were ready.
In the meanwhile Mr. Eldon had settled with Mr. Coote in full for all that was owing on the children’s account; a carriage was waiting at the gate, and the moment they appeared for their journey, he rose, told them to say good-by, then took his leave, leading Nannette, while the other three followed.
Mrs. Weston, Mrs. Keith, and little Mary were out on their own porch, watching with interest what was going on next door, fearing they were about to lose their little friends.
“Oh,” cried Blanche, “there are our friends who’ve been so good to us and whom we love dearly. Uncle Albert, mayn’t we run over and say good-by to them before we go?”