the
Notary, nor Mr Chuckster. The old gentleman thought a shilling too
much, but there was no shop in the street to get change at, so he gave
it to the boy.

'There,' he said jokingly, 'I'm coming here again next Monday at the
same time, and mind you're here, my lad, to work it out.'

'Thank you, Sir,' said Kit. 'I'll be sure to be here.'

He was quite serious, but they all laughed heartily at his saying so,
especially Mr Chuckster, who roared outright and appeared to relish the
joke amazingly. As the pony, with a presentiment that he was going
home, or a determination that he would not go anywhere else (which was
the same thing) trotted away pretty nimbly, Kit had no time to justify
himself, and went his way also. Having expended his treasure in such
purchases as he knew would be most acceptable at home, not forgetting
some seed for the wonderful bird, he hastened back as fast as he could,
so elated with his success and great good fortune, that he more than
half expected Nell and the old man would have arrived before him.

CHAPTER 15

Often, while they were yet pacing the silent streets of the town on the
morning of their departure, the child trembled with a mingled sensation
of hope and fear as in some far-off figure imperfectly seen in the
clear distance, her fancy traced a likeness to honest Kit. But
although she would gladly have given him her hand and thanked him for
what he had said at their last meeting, it was always a relief to find,
when they came nearer to each other, that the person who approached was
not he, but a stranger; for even if she had not dreaded the effect
which the sight of him might have wrought upon her fellow-traveller,
she felt that to bid farewell to anybody now, and most of all to him
who had been so faithful and so true, was more than she could bear. It
was enough to leave dumb things behind, and objects that were
insensible both to her love and sorrow. To have parted from her only
other friend upon the threshold of that wild journey, would have wrung
her heart indeed.

Why is it that we can better bear to part in spirit than in body, and
while we have the fortitude to act farewell have not the nerve to say
it? On the eve of long voyages or an absence of many years, friends
who are tenderly attached will separate with the usual look, the usual
pressure of the hand, planning one final interview for the morrow,
while each well knows that it is but a poor feint to save