Honora pushed back her chair.

Her lips were parted.

“Oh, Aunt Mary, is it really true that I am going?” she said.

“Why,” said Uncle Tom, “what zeal for learning!”

“My dear,” said Aunt Mary, who, you may be sure, knew all about that school before Cousin Eleanor’s letter came, “Miss Turner insists upon hard work, and the discipline is very strict.”

“No young men,” added Uncle Tom.

“That,” declared Aunt Mary, “is certainly an advantage.”

“And no chocolate cake, and bed at ten o’clock,” said Uncle Tom.

Honora, dazed, only half heard them.  She laughed at Uncle Tom because she always had, but tears were shining in her eyes.  Young men and chocolate cake!  What were these privations compared to that magic word Change?  Suddenly she rose, and flung her arms about Uncle Tom’s neck and kissed his rough cheek, and then embraced Aunt Mary.  They would be lonely.

“Aunt Mary, I can’t bear to leave you—­but I do so want to go!  And it won’t be for long—­will it?  Only until next spring.”

“Until next summer, I believe,” replied Aunt Mary, gently; “June is a summer month-isn’t it, Tom?”

“It will be a summer month without question next year,” answered Uncle Tom, enigmatically.

It has been remarked that that day was sultry, and a fine rain was now washing Uncle Tom’s flowers for him.  It was he who had applied that term “washing” since the era of ultra-soot.  Incredible as it may seem, life proceeded as on any other of a thousand rainy nights.  The lamps were lighted in the sitting-room, Uncle Tom unfolded his gardening periodical, and Aunt Mary her embroidery.  The gate slammed, with its more subdued, rainy-weather sound.

“It’s Peter,” said Honora, flying downstairs.  And she caught him, astonished, as he was folding his umbrella on the step.  “Oh, Peter, if you tried until to-morrow morning, you never could guess what has happened.”

He stood for a moment, motionless, staring at her, a tall figure, careless of the rain.

“You are going away,” he said.

“How did you guess it?” she exclaimed in surprise.  “Yes—­to boarding-school.  To Sutcliffe, on the Hudson, with Edith and Mary.  Aren’t you glad?  You look as though you had seen a ghost.”

“Do I?” said Peter.

“Don’t stand there in the rain,” commanded Honora; “come into the parlour, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

He came in.  She took the umbrella from him, and put it in the rack.

“Why don’t you congratulate me?” she demanded.

“You’ll never come back,” said Peter.

“What a horrid thing to say!  Of course I shall come back.  I shall come back next June, and you’ll be at the station to meet me.”

And—­what will Uncle Tom and Aunt Mary do—­without you?”

“Oh,” said Honora, “I shall miss them dreadfully.  And I shall miss you, Peter.”