Molly was very fond of Polly, and she had also a warm admiration for Jack; but no one in the world could be to her like her own twin-brother, Roy; and Roy's indifference to this first serious separation had cut her to the quick. When Polly entered the schoolroom, she at first thought that Molly had fled; but she detected a little heap in the farthest and darkest corner, and soon she heard the sound of a smothered sob, followed quickly by a second and a third.
Polly waited a moment, to draw off her gloves, and then she made her way to the corner, sat down on the ground, and put a pair of gentle arms round the child.
"O fie, little Molly, fie! This won't do at all, you know. Crying to have to go home with me! That is altogether wrong and silly. And so unkind too. It makes me feel half inclined to cry also, because I wanted to have dear little Molly, and now I know that Molly does not care to come. Molly, you dear little goose, don't you know that people can't be always and for ever together the whole of their lives? It isn't the way of the world, dear; and you and I can't alter the world to please ourselves. Roy is glad to go to Paris, of course; and so would you be, and so should I be, in his place. But everybody can't go to Paris at the same time. Fie, fie, little Molly, to mind so much what isn't worth making your eyes red about! Fie, dear! Wake up, and don't be doleful. Always laugh, if you can; because if you are unhappy, it makes other people unhappy as well. And that is such a pity. You don't wish to set me off crying too, do you?"
The elder girl's eyes had a suspicious look in them of tears not far off, as she bent over the child.
"Other people have troubles, as well as you, little Moll. Try to believe that, and try to be brave. We don't all—I mean, they don't all talk about their troubles always. It is of no use. Things have to be borne, and crying does no good. So stop the tears, Molly, and hold up your head, and think how nice it will be to see my grandmother and Jack, and the Bath Pump-room, and all the fine ladies and gentlemen walking about in their smart clothes."
A squeeze of Molly's arms came in reply.
"There will be Admiral and Mrs. Peirce to see, for the Admiral is now at home, and they are in Bath—and little Will Peirce, who soon is to be a middy in His Majesty's Navy. And Jack shall show himself to you in his new scarlet coat. You would not think how well he looks in it. I am proud of him, and so must you be; for Jack is everything in the world to me. No, not quite everything, but a great deal, as Roy is to you. Yet, I do not expect always to keep Jack by my side. He will have to go some day, and he will have to fight for old England. And when that day comes, I shall bid him farewell with a smile; for I would not be a drag upon him, nor wish to hold him back. And Roy will go also; and you will bear it bravely, little Moll. I am sure you will—like a soldier's daughter."
The soft caressing voice, the cool rose-leaf cheek against her own, the lovely dark eyes smiling upon her, all comforted poor Molly's sore heart; and she clung to Polly, and cried away more than half her pain.
"Don't tell Roy," she petitioned presently. "He doesn't mind, and he must not think that I do."
"Why not? That is naughty pride, Molly. It is always the women who care, not the men." Polly held up her head, and a far-away look crept into the soft eyes. "Dear, you must expect it to be so. Men have so much to do and to think about. But we have time to grieve, when they go away to fight; and they are always so glad to go."