"That's exactly what I shall do after this. But—but, Mother,—don't you—isn't it just a little strange for Father to go to Italy by himself? He has never gone away without us, you know. But I s'pose he will be back in a few days, and he thinks it would be too hard for you to travel with the babies. Is he going soon?"
"The steamer sails at two o'clock Monday afternoon and will take a week to reach England where Father must stay for two or three days. Then, there is the trip across the Channel to France, and from there by train to Italy. We must allow two weeks for the entire trip."
"Two weeks! Two weeks! Why, Mother! Father to be away two whole weeks!—But no,—he will be gone much longer, because it will take two more weeks to come home, and besides that, he will have to stay in Italy a few days to attend to that business. Two weeks and two weeks are four weeks and—why, he will be gone at least five weeks, and what shall we ever do without him, Mother?"
Mrs. Selwyn's heart sank. How was she to tell the child of the long, long separation to come? But Mary must hear of it without more delay; and taking the little girl on her lap, she began: "I have something to say to you, darling, that you will not like to hear any better than I like to tell it. Father cannot put off this trip. If he had only himself and us to think of, he would surely do so even though he would lose the chance of opening a branch of the business in Rome. But he must think of his partners in the bank. Now, this is where the trouble lies. Father must be away from home, not for five or six weeks, but for a year, and Mother should be with him. It would never do, you know, to have him living alone in a hotel for a year. In case of illness or accident, it would take me nearly two weeks to reach him."
"Of course you should be with him, Mother. That is why I said it seemed strange for Father to go away without us. But Uncle Frank—can he go, too?"
"No, dear."
"But—but—won't he be very lonely without us, Mother? Oh, dear, me! How can we go away for a whole year and leave him here all by himself? But I s'pose there isn't any other way to fix it. Mother, I think I ought to try to walk to-day. I am sure I can if you and Sister will hold my hands. Then to-morrow, I shall try going down stairs so as to be ready for Monday."
"No, no, Mary, you are far too weak to do any walking yet. I fear that it will be many days before Uncle will allow you to try that. Remember, he said that you must not sit up in the big chair longer than an hour at a time. Whether you could walk or not by Monday would make no difference if you were strong enough otherwise. Father or Uncle Frank could easily carry you down to the carriage and on the steamer; but——"
"Why—why, Mother!" Mary fixed her startled eyes on Mrs. Selwyn's face. "You—you sound as if—as if you mean that I am not—not able to go!"
"That is what Mother does mean, darling," Mrs. Selwyn murmured in a husky voice, pressing her lips to the bright little head. "Uncle says that the voyage at this time of year would kill you; that the cold and dampness would bring on a relapse, and you would die before we could reach England. Oh, my baby! Father and Mother feel very, very bad about leaving you. What we should do were it not for dear Uncle Frank, I do not know. It will be a great comfort to us to feel that you are safe with him, darling, and that you are helping him not to be too lonely. He loves you so dearly and has the most beautiful plans to keep you happy and make you well and strong. He will help you to write long letters to us every Sunday, and I shall write to you every day to tell you just what we are doing and how fast the babies are growing and——"