Chapter Thirty.
More Leave-Taking—Deep Designs—Bumpus in a New Capacity.
On the particular day of which we are writing, Alice Mason felt an unusual depression of spirits. She had been told by her father of the intended departure of the widow and her son, and had been warned not to mention it to any one. In consequence of this, the poor child was debarred her usual consolation of pouring her grief into the black bosom of Poopy. It naturally followed, therefore, that she sought her next favourite—the tree.
Here, to her surprise and comfort, she found Corrie seated on one of its roots, with his head resting on the stem, and his hands clasped before him. His general appearance was that of a human being in the depths of woe. On observing Alice, he started up, and assuming a cheerful look, ran to meet her.
“Oh! I’m so glad to find you here, Corrie,” cried Alice, hastening forward, “I’m in such distress! Do you know that— Oh! — I forgot; papa said I was to tell nobody about it!”
“Don’t let that trouble you, Alice,” said Corrie, as they sat down together under the tree. “I know what you were about to say—Henry and his mother are going away.”
“How do you know that? I thought it was a great secret!”
“So it is, a tremendous secret,” rejoined Corrie, with a look that was intended to be very mysterious; “and I know it, because I’ve been let into the secret for reasons which I cannot tell even to you. But there is another secret which you don’t know yet, and which will surprise you perhaps. I am going away, too!”