Meantime the winter came and went, and spring began to be felt in the air, and an occasional early bird note, or a bunch of pussy willow by the road-side, bore witness to the fact that it was slowly but surely coming.
It had seemed a long, long winter to Mrs. Boniface. For many weeks she had lived the most retired life possible. Few had come to see her, and there were but one or two friends left whom she cared to go and see. If it had not been for Harry Avery, they would scarce have had any communication with the outside world.
There had been no further threats made against Captain Boniface. Even the most bitter of his enemies would hardly have found it in his heart to persecute a man who was so hopelessly paralyzed as never to be able to walk again; but there was something very significant in the fact that they simply left him alone. None of them in a relenting spirit had called to inquire how he was, and if any of the old friends, who had treated him so cruelly that night at the Assembly, ever felt ashamed of their behavior, they never had the grace to own it. Indeed, it is terrible to think how that great mastering passion, which we proudly call patriotism, sometimes seems to smother every noble and natural impulse.
Soon after the Assembly, in fact that very night, Captain Boniface had told his wife of the murders in South Carolina, and it seemed to her then as though every spark of sympathy with the colonies and colonial interests had that moment died within her. She was by far too noble to let actual hatred take its place; but she longed with all her heart for old England, where she had been born, and to turn her back on this new country which had treated her so harshly. So Mrs. Boniface waited, with no little anxiety, for the arrival of the long-looked-for letter, cherishing the fervent hope that her father would send for them all to come to him, planning thoughtfully all the details of their journey, and yet never once daring to put her hope into words. It might happen that, although willing enough to help them, he would not propose to do it by having her little family sweep down upon him and rob the old rectory of the quiet it had known so long, and which must be very grateful to him in his old age. But at last the letter came, and Mrs. Boniface straightway carried it off to Flutters's room, and closed the door and locked it. Her hands trembled as she broke the seal. What were they to do? that was the question that had anxiously confronted her for several long, weary months; but always she had simply to postpone any attempt to answer it, waiting for this letter; and now it was in her hand what would it tell her?
It proved to be a long, long letter, and she read it slowly through, word by word; then she buried her face in her hands and cried; but sometimes people cry for joy and not for sorrow.
Late in the afternoon of the same day, Flutters was grooming
Gladys in the barn, accompanying the process with a queer, buzzing noise, such as I believe is quite common to grooming the world over.
“Flutters, where are you?” called Hazel, coming into the barn in search of him.
“Here with Gladys, Miss Hazel.”
“What do you think, Flutters?” and then Hazel climbed up and seated herself on the edge of Gladys's trough, before adding: