And tucked the clock away down deep in one of the corner holes Aunt Bessie had left in the trunk.
He had hardly packed it in when Mother came running breathlessly up the stairs crying that the express wagon was at the door. Hurriedly she put down the trunk lid, locked it, and tied on the tag that Daddy had written for her.
“That tells the train folks what to do with it,” explained the trunk man to Sunny, swinging the heavy trunk to his shoulder as though it weighed no more than the kiddie-car and trotting downstairs with it.
Sunny Boy watched him put it in the wagon and drive away.
“Now we’re almost ready,” said Mrs. Horton smilingly. “We have to pack our bag and go to bed early, and then, in the morning, we really will be on our way to Grandpa Horton’s.”
“But there’s the canary,” Sunny Boy reminded her hesitatingly. “Can I carry him?”
“The train would frighten him so he might never sing any more,” said Mrs. Horton. “No, Aunt Bessie is going to keep him for us till we come back.”
“Well, let’s go now,” urged Sunny. “Why can’t we go this minute? Let’s, Mother.”
“And have Daddy come home to dinner to-night and find us gone?” said Mother reproachfully. “Why, Sunny!”