"Yes'm," answered Billjim, with a reservoir of tears in her voice, but none in her eyes. She wouldn't have cried with Jack there for the world!
So after a lot of talking it was settled, and Billjim departed for school, and the humpy knew her no more for four long years.
Ah! what a dreary, dreary time that was to Mrs. Benson and Dick. Jack kept her flower garden going for all those years, and Snowy, her dog, lived down at his camp. These had been Billjim's last commands.
Dick worked away manfully looking for that pile, and succeeded passing well, as the account at Clagton Bank could show, but there was no alteration made at the "Nest," as the humpy was designated.
Jack passed most of his evenings up there, and on mail days was in great request to read Billjim's epistles out loud.
No matter who was there, those letters were read out, and some of us who knew Billjim well passed encouraging remarks about her improvement, etc.
We all missed her, for she had been used to paying periodical flying visits, and her face had always seemed to us like a bright gleam of sunshine breaking through that steaming, muggy, damp scrub.
One mail day, four years very near to the day after Billjim's departure, the usual letter was read out, and part of it ran so:
"Oh, mum dear, do let me come back now. I am sure I have learned enough, and oh! how I long for a sight of you and dad, and dear old Jack and Frenchy, and Jim Travers, and all of you in fact. Let me come, oh! do let me come back."
Upon my word, I believe there was a break in Jack's voice as he read. Mrs. Benson was crying peacefully, and Dick and French were blowing their noses in an offensive and boisterous manner.