MORE GOOD-BYES
"They'll feel better presently," he remarked, rejoining Bob and Betty on
the platform. "I know the boarding house they've chosen is fine in every
way and they're going to have a delightful winter."
The train started slowly, and the black silk gloves of the aunts waved
dolorously from the window. They were embarked on their adventure.
"Don't look so solemn, Betty," teased her uncle. "If I'm not mistaken
that's the smoke from my train. I don't want any one to weep over my
departure."
"I could, but I won't," Betty assured him bravely. "You won't get sick or
anything, will you, Uncle Dick? And you'll write to me every week?"
"Like a clock," he promised her. "There goes the agent with my bags--this
is the local, all right. Good-bye, Bob. Remember what I've asked of you."
Mr. Gordon wrung Bob's hand and smiled down into the blue eyes lifted so
fervently to his.
"You're my boy, too," he said clearly. "Don't forget, lad, if you need
me."
Then he swept Betty into his arms.
"Be a good girl, Sweetheart," he murmured, kissing her.
They watched him climb up the steps of the snorting, smoky local, saw his
bags tossed into the baggage car, and then, with a shrill grinding of
wheels, the training resumed its way. As long as they could see, the tall
figure in the gray suit stood on the platform and waved a white
handkerchief to them.
"Oh, Bob, don't let me cry," begged Betty, in a sudden panic.
"Everybody's watching us. Let's go somewhere, quick."
"All right, we will," promised Bob. "We'll take the car to Doctor
Morrison. Hop in, Betsey, and dry your eyes. You're going traveling
yourself day after to-morrow."
"I wasn't really crying," explained Betty as she settled herself in the
shabby car that had belonged to her uncle; he had sold it to the town
physician. "But doesn't it give you a lonesome feeling to be the one
that's left? I hate to say good-bye, anyway."
Bob's experience with motors was rather limited, and what slight
knowledge he possessed had been gained in a few lessons taken while
riding with Mr. Gordon. However, the boy was sure that he could drive the
car the brief distance to the doctor's house, and Betty shared his
confidence. From the Morrison house it was only a short walk to the
Watterby farm, where they were to stay until they left for the East.
Betty forgot to cry as Bob started the car so suddenly that it shot
forward like a live thing. He jammed on the brake and brought it to a
standstill so abruptly that Betty came very near to pitching through the
windshield.
"Couldn't you do it--er--more gently?" she hinted delicately.
"Hold fast and I'll try," grinned Bob. "As a chauffeur I'd be a
good iceman."
The second time he managed better, and the battered little car moved off
with less disturbing results.
In a very few minutes they had reached Doctor Morrison's garage.
The doctor urged Bob and Betty strongly to stay to supper with him and
promised beaten biscuit and honey, but although they knew the skill of
his old Southern cook very well, they had promised Grandma Watterby to be
there for supper and such a promise could not be disregarded.
"Well, anyway," said Betty soothingly, as they walked on toward the
Watterby farm, "when we ride Clover and Reuben up to the fields we won't
have to worry about how to make them go."
"No, that's so," agreed Bob. "But, Betty, I hate to think of giving up
Reuben. He isn't much to look at, but he has been a mighty good horse."
"I'd feel worse," declared Betty, "if we had to sell them to strangers.
We wouldn't know how they would be treated then. Now we are sure they
will be cared for and petted and they won't miss us."
Reuben and Clover, Mr. Gordon had said, were to be disposed of as Betty
and Bob chose. The horses were theirs to give away or sell as they
preferred. Bob had instantly decided to give his mount to Dave Thorne,
the section foreman, who had shown him many kindnesses and who was
delighted to get a trained saddle horse. Horses were very scarce in that
section of the country, and Mr. Gordon had gone to considerable trouble
to get these.
Betty had elected to give Clover to the new superintendent's daughter,
the girl who was to move with her parents into the old Saunders
farmhouse. Betty had never seen her, but knew she was about fourteen or
fifteen and eager to learn to ride.
The day before they were to start for Washington, Bob and Betty rode the
horses up to the oil fields and gave them into the charge of Dave
Thorne. The superintendent was already on the ground but his family and
furniture were not due for a week.
Clover and Reuben bore the parting better than their young mistress and
master, and Betty was glad when all the good-byes had been said and they
stepped into the Watterby car which Mrs. Watterby had driven up for them.
The fields were about eight miles from her house.
"You'll be happier when once you're on the train, Betty," said good Mrs.
Watterby, glancing swiftly at Betty's clouded face, "This going around
saying good-bye to people and things is enough to break anybody up. Now
to-morrow me and mother won't weep a tear over you--you'll see. We're
glad you're going to school to have a good time with all those young
folks. Now what's that Chinaman want?"
Lee Chang came running from the bunk house, waving something tied in
white paper.
"Apple tart, Miss Betty!" he called imploringly. "Velly nice apple
tart--maybe the cook at that school no make good tarts."
Betty took the package and thanked him warmly and they drove on.
"People are so good to me," choked the girl. "I never knew I had so
many friends."
"Well, that's nothing to cry over," advised Bob philosophically. "You
ought to be glad. Do I get a crumb of the tart, Betsey?"
He spoke with a purpose and was rewarded by seeing Betty's own sunny
smile come out.
"You always do," she told him. "But wait till we get home. I want Ki to
have a piece, too."
Ki, it developed, when they reached the Watterby farm, had been busy with
farewell plans of his own.
"For you," he announced gravely to Bob, handing him an immense hunting
knife as he stepped out of the car.
"For you," he informed Betty with equal gravity, presenting her a little
silver nugget.
They both thanked him repeatedly, and he stalked off, carrying his piece
of the apple tart and apparently assured of their sincerity.
"Though what he expects me to do with a hunting knife is more than I can
guess," laughed Bob.