| 'Nothing is true but love, nor aught of worth; Love is the incense which doth sweeten earth.' Trench. |
'Oh dear, Miss Ross, what shall I do without you for seven whole weeks?' was Mollie's piteous lament one morning. Audrey was on her knees packing a huge travelling box, and Mollie, seated on the edge of a chair, was regarding her with round, melancholy eyes. It was the first day of the vacation, and Rutherford looked as empty and deserted as some forsaken city. Utter silence reigned in the lower school, from which the fifty boys had departed; and Mrs. Draper, the matron, had uttered more than once her usual formula of parting benediction as the last urchin drove off: 'There, bless them! they are all packed off, bag and baggage, thank Heaven! and not a missing collar or sock among them'—an ejaculation that Michael once declared was a homely Te Deum, sacred and peculiar to the race of Rutherford matrons.
Audrey straightened herself when she heard Mollie's plaintive lament.
'Now, Mollie, I thought you promised me that you would make yourself as happy as possible.'
'I said I would try,' returned Mollie, her eyes filling with tears; 'but how can I help missing you? I do mean to do my very best—I do indeed, Miss Ross.'
'Come, that is bravely said. I know it is hard upon you, my dear, taking Kester away.' But Mollie would not let her finish her sentence.
'Oh no; you must not say that. I am so glad for Kester to go. Do you know, he is so pleased and excited that he can hardly sleep when he goes to bed; and he wakes in the night to think about it. I do believe he loves Captain Burnett as much as I love you; he is always talking about him. After all'—here Mollie dried her eyes—'it is not so bad for me as it is for mamma: she is always wretched without Cyril; you can't think how restless and unlike herself she is when he is away from her; she spends half her time writing to him or reading his letters. Cyril always writes such nice long letters.'
'And Kester and I will write to you; you will be glad of letters, too, Mollie.'
Evidently this charming idea had not occurred to Mollie, for she darted from her place and gave Audrey a grateful hug.
'Do you mean it? will you really write to me? Oh, you dear thing! how I do love you!' with another hug. 'But you must not tire yourself, you know, or Kester either; they need not be long letters, but just nice little notes, that won't trouble you.'