"Why, Mother," said Jack, "Molly'll be back soon, and the city isn't so far away after all."
Jack felt as if he had only about enough head left to change his clothes and drive the team.
"It's just as Mother says," he thought; "I've been wishing and hoping for it, but it's come very suddenly."
His black traveling-bag was quickly ready. He had closed it and was walking to the door when his mother came in.
"Jack," she said, "you'll send me a postal card every day or two?"
"Of course I will," said he bravely.
"And I know you'll be back in a few weeks, at most," she went on; "but I feel as sad as if you were really going away from home. Why, you're almost a child! You can't really be going away!"
That was where the talk stopped for a while, except some last words that Jack could never forget. Then she dried her eyes, and he dried his, and they went down-stairs together. It was hard to say good-by to all the family, and he was glad his father was not there. He got away from them as soon as he could, and went over to the stables after his team. It was a bay team, with a fine harness, and the open carriage was almost new.
"Stylish!" said Jack. "I'll take Molly on the front seat with me,—no, the trunk,—and Miss Glidden's trunk,—well, I'll get 'em all in somehow!"
When he drove up in front of the house his father was there to put the baggage in and to help Mary into the carriage and to shake hands with Jack.