So it was with the Crudens; and when at last the little trio stood on the Monday on the platform of Euston Station, all three felt that they would give anything to have the last few days back again.
“I’ll write, mother, as often as ever I can,” said Reginald, trying to speak as if the words did not stick in his throat.
“Tell us all about your quarters, and what you have to do, and all that,” said Horace.
Mrs Cruden had no words. She stood with her eyes fixed on her boy, and felt she needed all her courage to do that steadily.
“Horrors,” said Reg, as the guard locked the carriage door, and the usual silence which precedes the blowing of the whistle ensued, “keep your eye on young Gedge, will you? there’s a good fellow.”
“I will, and I’ll—”
But here the whistle sounded, and amid the farewells that followed, Reginald went out into his new world, leaving them behind, straining their eyes for a last look, but little dreaming how and when that little family should meet again.