ng with you."

Susan's little chest heaved, and her fingers clung tightly to the lace
frilling; Mother gently unclasped them one by one.

"Lie down and I will tuck you up nicely. There now, a kiss.
Good-night, darling."

In another second the light of the candle, the pink dressing-gown, the
fair hair, had all vanished together, and Susan was alone again. After
all she had not been able to ask nearly all the questions she had
prepared, and she could not help crying softly to herself for a little
while before she went to sleep; for the noises in the street seemed to
be saying now over and over again:

"All the way to Ramsgate, all the way to Ramsgate. Maria's going with
you."

After this it was surprising how quickly the days went by and Monday
came. Susan had her own little preparations to make for leaving home,
and while Nurse was packing her clothes she brought her many odd-looking
parcels, and asked anxiously:

"Can you get this in?"

Some of them _were_ got in, but others had to be left behind--put away
in the nursery cupboard for the whole winter. It seemed to Susan just
the same thing as putting them away for ever. She chose, after careful
thought, among her family of dolls the one to be taken with her; not the
newest one, or the most smartly dressed, but one she had always been
fond of, because she secretly considered her rather like Mother,
especially when she plaited up her hair. It was a wax doll called
Grace, with very blue eyes and yellow curls. After Grace's wardrobe had
been looked through and packed up in a work-box, there was another very
important thing to be finished, and that was a parting present for
mother. As she was not to know of it, this had to be done in secret
corners, and hastily hidden whenever she came near, so it had taken a
good deal of time. It was a tiny pink silk pin-cushion in the shape of
a heart, which Maria had cut out and fixed for her, and when it was done
the letters "SI" were to be marked on it with pins, and it was to be put
on mother's dressing-table on Sunday-night. There was more than one
small speck of blood on it, where Susan had pricked her hot little
fingers in a too earnest effort to take very small stitches, which was a
pity; perhaps, however, as it was _pink_ silk they would not show much,
and mother would not notice. Monday came; every one in the house was in
a greater bustle than ever, and every minute there was a fresh question
to be asked abou