He took Rotha's handbag from her hand as he spoke and dismissed her with a smile; and Rotha, feeling as if all sorts of burdens were lifted from her at once, went out and went round to where a phaeton was waiting at the front of the house. And there she stood, with her heart beating; remembering her sad coming five months before: (but the five months seemed five years;) thinking of all sorts of incongruous things; uncertain, curious as what was to be done with her; congratulating herself that she had one nice dress, her travelling dress, which she had carefully saved until now; and wondering what she should do for others, her calicos being a good deal worn and only working dresses at the best. So she stood waiting; doubtful, yet on the whole most glad; questioning, yet unable to be anxious; while five minutes after five minutes passed away. At last came the procession; Prissy in front, her husband following with Rotha's trunk on his shoulders, Mr. Southwode bringing up the rear.
"I never thought you'd go like that," said Prissy reproachfully. "If us is poor folks, us has hands clean enough to shake."
"I never meant to go without bidding you good bye, Prissy," said Rotha, grasping her hand heartily,
"Looks awful like it—" rejoined Mrs. Purcell.
"I shall always remember your kindness to me," Rotha went on.
"Pay and forget!" said Prissy. "It's all paid for now; and it's us as must give thanks." Then she added in a lower tone, "Where be you goin' now?"
"To Tanfield first, I suppose."
Prissy looked significantly at Mr. Southwode, who was ordering the disposition of the trunk, and had evidently more in her thoughts than she chose to utter. Then Joe came with his hand outstretched for a parting grasp, his face smiling with satisfaction.
"Well," he said, "we've all done the best we could; and nobody has anything to be sorry for. But we shall miss you, bad!"
"All he cares for 's the pears!" said his wife. "Come along, Joe; if you are good, I'll get you some."