with your heart!'" Then she added, "Did you and Julie get that
extra blanket down to-day, dear?--it's going to be very cold."
Margaret nodded. "Good-night, little girl--" "Goodnight, Mother--"

That was the real farewell, for the next morning was all confusion.
They dressed hurriedly, by chilly gas-light; clocks were compared,
Rebecca's back buttoned; Duncan's overcoat jerked on; coffee drunk
scalding hot as they stood about the kitchen table; bread barely
tasted. They walked to the railway station on wet sidewalks, under a
broken sky, Bruce, with Margaret's suit-case, in the lead. Weston was
asleep in the gray morning, after the storm. Far and near belated
cocks were crowing.

A score of old friends met Margaret at the train; there were gifts,
promises, good wishes. There came a moment when it was generally felt
that the Pagets should be left alone, now--the far whistle of the
train beyond the bridge--the beginning of good-byes--a sudden filling
of the mother's eyes that was belied by her smile.--"Good-bye,
sweetest--don't knock my hat off, baby dear! Beck, darling--Oh, Ju,
do! don't just say it--start me a letter to-night! ALL write to me!
Good-bye, Dad, darling,--all right, Bruce, I'll get right in!--another
for Dad. Good-bye, Mother darling,--goodbye! Good-bye!"

Then for the Pagets there was a walk back to the empty disorder of the
house: Julie very talkative, at her father's side; Bruce walking far
behind the others with his mother,--and the day's familiar routine to
be somehow gone through without Margaret.

But for Margaret, settling herself comfortably in the grateful warmth
of the train, and watching the uncertain early sunshine brighten
unfamiliar fields and farmhouses, every brilliant possibility in life
seemed to be waiting. She tried to read, to think, to pray, to stare
steadily out of the window; she could do nothing for more than a
moment at a time. Her thoughts went backward and forward like a
weaving shuttle: "How good they've all been to me! How grateful I am!
Now if only, only, I can make good!"

"Look out for the servants!" Julie, from the depth of her sixteen
years-old wisdom had warned her sister. "The governess will hate you
because she'll be afraid you'll cut her out, and Mrs. Carr-Boldt's
maid will be a cat! They always are, in books."

Margaret had laughed at this advice, but in her heart she rather
believed it. Her new work seemed so enchanting to her that it was not
easy to believe t