Then I went down to Hochelaga and said good-bye to them all at home.
Papa hunted up the address of Mr. Sands, that artist for whom I had done
that work when a little girl of thirteen. Papa felt sure he would help
me get something. Mama and papa seemed to have a vague idea that I had
some definite place I could go to, and they did not ask any questions.
We girls often felt older than our parents. Anyway, more worldly, and
they had the greatest trust in our ability to take care of ourselves.
Ada thought it a good thing for me to go. She said I would get better
pay for my work in Boston, and that I must be sure to send something
home each week, just as Nora was doing.
I felt a lump in my throat when I left the old house. There was still a
bit of snow in the garden, though it was April, where I had played as a
child. I put my head out of the cab window to take a last look at the
familiar places, which I told myself, with a sob, I might never see
again.
Lu was at the station. She had my ticket, and the balance of the
twenty-five dollars in an envelope which she slipped into my hand. The
train was nearly due to go. My foot was on the step when I heard
Reggie’s voice calling my name. He came running down the platform:
“Marion! You shall not go. You’re carrying this too far, darling.”
“Yes, yes, I’m going,” I said to Reggie. “You’re not going to stop me
any longer.”
“But, Marion, I didn’t mean what I said.”