HOME-SICK.
"WELL, Nellie," said Ada, turning round from a drawer she was sorting
over, "what we shall do with you away at grandmamma's all this time I
cannot imagine."
Nellie looked up from the depths of the trunk before her, and, pushing
a pair of stockings hard into its corner, answered by a sigh.
"There," exclaimed Ada, "now I've depressed you. Of course we shall get
on all right; and you like to be missed, don't you, Nellie?"
"Oh, I don't know! I wish I were not going."
"What a goose I am," said Ada, coming over and seating herself on the
floor by the trunk. "You will be glad when you are once off. I know the
feeling of home-sickness when one is packing up."
Nellie brushed away two or three tears, and went on laying-in her
clothes, in silence.
"You are tired," said Ada ruefully, "and I have worried you. We shall
get on very nicely; and mamma says you really do want a thorough
change."
"The worst is, Ada," answered Nellie, choking down a thick feeling
in her throat, "I am afraid mamma looks as if she ought to have 'a
thorough change,' and I do not quite see how she is to have it."
"She is to go away with papa when you come back."
"Yes, I know."
"That will not be long, Nellie; and papa could not go now if it were
ever so."
"No, no, Ada. Come, I am tired and stupid, and have got worried; but I
will try and cheer up."
Ada looked in her face kindly, and went back to her drawer; while
Nellie placed the last few things in the box, and then got up and began
to prepare for tea.
"Leave that drawer to me to finish, dear," she said at last.
"Why?"
"Because I know where the things go, and shall be able to find them
when I come back."
"Very well; and it is almost tea-time, so I will go and see about it.
It will be only one day before I shall have it for my duty."
She went downstairs, and Nellie was left alone. She would have given
something to have had a "good cry;" but she had a great aversion to red
eyes and anxious questions; and after a few rather bitter tears, she
washed her face and smoothed her hair, and then stood looking out on
the May sunshine across the square, and wishing from the bottom of her
heart she were not going.
Her eye fell upon her Bible lying close to her, and the sight of it
reminded her that she never sought its help in vain. She opened the
leaves, thinking, "This is my Father's message, straight from Him to
me; it must comfort me." She turned over the pages at the Psalms till
her eyes fell upon some of her favourite words—words that had been her
trust many times before:
"He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide
under the shadow of the Almighty."
Then she knelt down at the table, and laid her head on the open page,
and before long her heart had found its rest again, "under the shadow
of the Almighty." So it was a cheerful face that came down to tea, and
no one but Ada knew that there had been that bit of home-sickness and
fear, and she kept it to herself; for Ada "hated gossip," and if she
found out someone's thoughts by accident, she always felt it to be a
sacred trust, in great things or small.
The evening passed away in games and reading, and the next morning all
were early; for Nellie's train started from Waterloo at ten o'clock.
Mrs. Arundel and Dolly were to go to see her off. Arthur and Ada would
both have enjoyed to do this; but then school could on no account be
neglected, and so they could only grumble and wish her good-bye, with
many regrets at the inexorable nature of their duties.
Netta, Isabel, and Dolly were to have lessons with their mother during
Nellie's absence, and they looked forward to this as a great treat.
Mrs. Arundel usually sat with little Tom during the hours of morning
school, after she had got through her housekeeping; and when he heard
that he was to be deprived of his tender nurse, he petitioned that
"if mamma did not mind, could they all come up and have school in the
nursery with him?"
The little girls considered this was a very good idea, as something
fresh and interesting, and they also wished to compare their own
attainments with their brother's. So it was arranged; but to-day was to
be a holiday, because mamma would be too tired when she got back from
Waterloo.
By nine o'clock the goodbyes were said, and they were driving in a cab
through the rattling streets of London. Nellie held her step-mother's
hand, but she did not say many words. Mrs. Arundel talked little
chit-chat, asked her if her keys were safe and her purse; but seeing
the rather tremulous lips, she did not touch on any subjects nearer
their hearts than ordinary little travelling talk.
Dolly was kneeling up on the front seat of the cab enjoying herself
after the manner of children, and was quite sorry when, after an extra
whip-up of his poor horse, the cabman drove into the station.
They were in good time, and soon Nellie was placed in her corner, and
Mrs. Arundel and Dolly stood close to the carriage window, sending
messages to grandmamma and Aunt Ruth, and hoping she would not forget
to write.
"Now, mamma," said Nellie, leaning out of the still open door, "you
will not let the thought of your visit to the Lakes slip away to
nothing, will you?"
"Oh no, dear; I do not suppose so. I believe papa fully intends it."
Nellie gave her a loving look, but just then the guard came to shut the
door, and they drew back. Then Dolly was lifted by her mamma for one
more kiss, Nellie pressed her lips on the dear face which always was so
peaceful and true, and then there was a whistle, a strange little pause
on the platform, and insensibly, almost, the train moved on, and Mrs.
Arundel, and Dolly, and London were left behind.
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