Her mother was sitting in the firelight with her head resting upon her hand.
“Mother, Don’s gone,” burst out Judith.
“Yes, for a while. He will never forget his little cousin.”
“Genoa is a long way off.”
“Only a few days’ travel. It is good for him to go. He is engaged to do some work on a paper, and he has always desired to see the world afoot. It is good for him,” Don’s Aunt Hilda repeated.
“But it isn’t good for us, mother.”
“I hope it is not bad for us.—But I would be glad for him not to go—just yet,” she sighed.
“Will Miss Marion, his brown girl, like it?” inquired Judith, unexpectedly.
“She is not—why do you say that?”
“I don’t know, I saw her; I shouldn’t think he would like to go and leave us all,” said Don’s little cousin, chokingly, keeping back the tears.