This was truly delightful.  Such an offer was surely worth a few days’ delay.  The plan seemed to settle itself all in one minute.  Mrs. Watson, whom every one now regretted as a complication, was the only difficulty; but a couple of telegrams settled that perplexity, and it was arranged that she should join them on the same train, though in a different car.  To have Katy as a fellow-traveller, and Mrs. Ashe and Amy, made a different thing of the long journey, and Clover proceeded with her preparations in jubilant spirits.

CHAPTER V.

CAR FORTY-SEVEN.

It is they who stay behind who suffer most from leave-takings.  Those who go have the continual change of scenes and impressions to help them to forget; those who remain must bear as best they may the dull heavy sense of loss and separation.

The parting at Burnet was not a cheerful one.  Clover was oppressed with the nearness of untried responsibilities; and though she kept up a brave face, she was inwardly homesick.  Phil slept badly the night before the start, and looked so wan and thin as he stood on the steamer’s deck beside his sisters, waving good-by to the party on the wharf, that a new and sharp thrill of anxiety shot through his father’s heart.  The boy looked so young and helpless to be sent away ill among strangers, and round-faced little Clover seemed such a fragile support!  There was no help for it.  The thing was decided on, decided for the best, as they all hoped; but Dr. Carr was not at all happy in his mind as he watched the steamer become a gradually lessening speck in the distance, and he sighed heavily when at last he turned away.

Elsie echoed the sigh.  She, too, had noticed Phil’s looks and papa’s gravity, and her heart felt heavy within her.  The house, when they reached it, seemed lonely and empty.  Papa went at once to his office, and they heard him lock the door.  This was such an unusual proceeding in the middle of the morning that she and Johnnie opened wide eyes of dismay at each other.

“Is papa crying, do you suppose?” whispered John.

“No, I don’t think it can be that.  Papa never does cry; but I’m afraid he’s feeling badly,” responded Elsie, in the same hushed tone.  “Oh, dear, how horrid it is not even to have Clover at home!  What are we going to do without her and Katy?”

“I don’t know I’m sure.  You can’t think how queer I feel, Elsie,—­just as if my heart had slipped out of its place, and was going down, down into my boots.  I think it must be the way people feel when they are homesick.  I had it once before when I was at Inches Mills, but never since then.  How I wish Philly had never gone to skate on that nasty pond!” and John burst into a passion of tears.

“Oh, don’t, don’t!” cried poor Elsie, for Johnnie’s sobs were infectious, and she felt an ominous lump coming into her own throat, “don’t behave so, Johnnie.  Think if papa came out, and found us crying!  Clover particularly said that we must make the house bright for him.  I’m going to sow the mignonette seed [desperately]; come and help me.  The trowel is on the back porch, and you might get Dorry’s jack-knife and cut some little sticks to mark the places.”