the sacred secret, and
forbidden formula:

Is my finger wet?
Is my finger dry?
God'll strike me dead,
If I tell a lie.

Then Sarah's voice was heard calling, and the boys went out into the
road to watch for the coach. Laura's dressing proved a lengthy
business, and was accomplished amid bustle, and scolding, and little
peace-making words from Pin; for in her hurry that morning Laura had
forgotten to put on the clean linen Mother had laid beside the bed, and
consequently had now to strip to the skin.

The boys announced the coming of the coach with shrill cries, and
simultaneously the rumble of wheels was heard. Sarah came from the
kitchen drying her hands, and Pin began to cry.

"Now, shut up, res'vor!" said Sarah roughly: her own eyes were moist.
"You don't see Miss Laura be such a silly-billy. Anyone 'ud think you
was goin', not 'er."

The ramshackle old vehicle, one of Cobb's Royal Mail Coaches,
big-bodied, lumbering, scarlet, pulled by two stout horses, drew up
before the door, and the driver climbed down from his seat.

"Now good day to you, ma'am, good day, miss"--this to Sarah who,
picking up the box, handed it to him to be strapped on under the apron.
"Well, well, and so the little girl's goin' to school, is she? My, but
time flies! Well do I remember the day ma'am, when I drove you all
across for the first time. These children wasn't big enough then to git
up and down be thimselves. Now I warrant you they can--just look at
'em, will you?--But my! Ain't you ashamed of yourself"--he spoke to
Pin--"pipin' your eye like that? Why, you'll flood the road if you
don't hould on.--Yes, yes, ma'am, bless you, I'll look after her, and
put her inter the train wid me own han's. Don't you be oneasy. The Lord
he cares for the widder and the orphun, and if He don't, why Patrick
O'Donnell does."

This was O'Donnell's standing joke; he uttered it with a loud chuckle.
While speaking he had let down the steps and helped the three children
up--they were to ride with Laura to the outskirts of the township. The
little boys giggled excitedly at his assertion that the horses would
not be equal to the weight. Only Pin wept on, in undiminished grief.

"Now, Miss Laura."

"Now, Laura. Good-bye, darling. And do try and be good. And be sure you
write once a week. And tell me everything. Whether you are happy--and
if you get enough to eat--and if you have enough blankets on your bed.
And remember always to change your