But tears were a forbidden luxury at Park Hill, and when, a little later on, I heard Chirper calling me by name, I made haste to dry my eyes and compose my features.  She scanned me narrowly as I ran up to her.  “You dear, soft-hearted little thing!” she said.  And with that she stooped suddenly and gave me a hearty kiss, that might have been heard a dozen yards away.  I was about to fling my arms round her neck, but she stopped me, saying, “That will do, dear.  Mrs. Whitehead is waiting for us at the door.”

Mrs. Whitehead was watching us through the glass door which led into the playground.  “The coach will be here in half-an-hour, Miss Hope,” she said; “so that you have not much time for your preparations.”

I stood like one stunned for a moment or two.  Then I said:  “If you please, Mrs. Whitehead, may I see Miss Chinfeather before I go?”

Her thin, straight lips quivered slightly, but in her eyes I read only cold disapproval of my request.  “Really,” she said, “what a singular child you must be.  I scarcely know what to say.”

“Oh, if you please!” I urged.  “Miss Chinfeather was always kind to me.  I remember her as long as I can remember anything.  To see her once more—­for the last time.  It would seem to me cruel to go away without.”

“Follow me,” she said, almost in a whisper.  So I followed her softly up stairs into the little corner room where Miss Chinfeather lay in white and solemn state, grandly indifferent to all mundane matters.  As I gazed, it seemed but an hour ago since I had heard those still lips conjugating the verb mourir for the behoof of poor ignorant me, and the words came back to me, and I could not help repeating them to myself as I looked:  Je meurs, tu meurs, etc.

I bent over and kissed the marble-cold forehead and said farewell in my heart, and went downstairs without a word.

Half-an-hour later the district coach, a splendid vision, pulled up impetuously at the gates.  I was ready to the moment.  Mrs. Whitehead’s frosty fingers touched mine for an instant; she imprinted a chill kiss on my cheek and looked relieved.  “Good-bye, my dear Miss Hope, and God bless you,” she said.  “Strive to bear in mind through after life the lessons that have been instilled into you at Park Hill Seminary.  Present my respectful compliments to Lady Chillington, and do not forget your catechism.”

At this point the guard sounded an impatient summons on his bugle; Chirper picked up my box, seized me by the hand, and hurried with me to the coach.  My luggage found a place on the roof; I was unceremoniously bundled inside; Chirper gave me another of her hearty kisses, and pressed a crooked sixpence into my hand “for luck,” as she whispered.  I am sure there was a real tear in her eye as she did so.  Next moment we were off.