LAST WORDS.
At last all the preparations were made, and Dolly's modest wardrobe
packed to the very last article, so that her bureau drawers looked
mournfully empty.
It was a little hair trunk, with "D. C." embossed in brass nails
upon one end, that contained all this young lady's armor--a very
different affair from the Saratoga trunks of our modern belles. The
pink brocade with its bunches of rose-buds; some tuckers of choice
old lace that had figured in her mother's bridal toilet; a few
bits of ribbon; a white India muslin dress, embroidered by her own
hands;--these were the stock in trade of a young damsel of her times,
and, strange as it may appear, young ladies then were stated by good
authority to have been just as pretty and bewitching as now, when
their trunks are several times as large.
Dolly's place and Aunt Debby's had been properly set down on Hiel's
stage-book for the next morning at six o'clock; and now remained only
an evening of last words.
So Dolly sits by her father in his study, where from infancy she has
retreated for pleasant quiet hours, where even the books she never
read seem to her like familiar friends from the number of times she
has pondered the titles upon their backs. And now, though she wants
to go, and feels the fluttering eagerness of the young bird, who has
wings to use and would like to try the free air, yet the first flight
from the nest is a little fearful. Boston is a long way off--three
long days--and Dolly has never been farther from Poganuc than she
has ridden by her father's side in the old chaise; so that the very
journey has as much importance in her eyes as fifty years later a
modern young lady will attach to a voyage to England.
"My daughter," said the Doctor, "I know you will have a pleasant
time; I hope, a profitable one. Your aunt is a good woman. I have
great confidence in her affection for you; your own mother could not
feel more sincere desire for your happiness. And your grandmother
is an eminently godly woman. Of course, while with them you will
attend the services of the Episcopal Church; for that you have my
cordial consent and willingness. The liturgy of the church is full of
devout feelings, and the Thirty-nine Articles (with some few slight
exceptions) are a very excellent statement of truth. In adopting
the spirit and language of the prayers in the service you cannot go
amiss; very excellent Christians have been nourished and brought
up upon them. So have no hesitation about uniting in all Christian
exercises with your relatives in Boston."
"Oh, Papa, I am almost sorry I am going," said Dolly, impulsively.
"My home has been always so happy, I feel almost afraid to leave it.
It seems as if I ought not to leave you and Mother alone."
The Doctor smiled and stroked her hair gently in an absent way. "We
shall miss you, dear child, of course; you are the last bird in the
nest, but your mother and I are quite sure it is for the best."
And then the conversation wandered back over many a pleasant field
of the past--over walks and talks and happy hours long gone; over
the plans and hopes and wishes for her brothers that Dolly had felt
proud to be old enough to share; until the good man's voice sometimes
would grow husky as he spoke and Dolly's long eye-lashes were wet and
tearful. It was the kind of pleasant little summer rain of tears that
comes so easily to young eyes that have never known what real sorrow
is.
And when Dolly after her conference came to bid her mother
good-night, she fell upon her neck and wept for reasons she could
scarce explain herself.
"I should like to know what you've been saying to Dolly," said Mrs.
Cushing to the Doctor, suddenly appearing at the study-door.
"Saying to Dolly?" exclaimed the Doctor, looking up dreamily, "why,
nothing particular."
"Well, you've made her cry. I declare! you men have no kind of idea
how to talk to a girl."
The Doctor at first looked amazed, and then an amused expression
passed slowly over his face. He drew his wife down beside him and
passing his arm around her said significantly,
"There _was_ a girl, once, who thought I knew how to talk to her--but
that is a good many years ago."
Mrs. Cushing laughed, and blushed, and said, "Oh, nonsense!"
But the Doctor looked triumphant.
"As to Dolly," he said, "never fear. She's a tender-hearted little
thing, and made herself cry thinking that we should be lonesome, and
a dozen other little pretty kindly things that set her tears going.
She's a precious child, and we shall miss her. I have settled her
mind as to the church question."