Susan | Page 5

very much. You must think of poor Freddie and not be silly
and selfish, but go away cheerfully on Monday. Will you?"
"Are you coming with me?" asked Susan, lifting her large eyes
anxiously to her mother's face.
"All the way to Ramsgate! No, indeed, I shouldn't have time. You
know we start ourselves the next day. Maria's going with you."
Susan's little chest heaved, and her fingers clung tightly to the lace
frilling; Mother gently unclasped them one by one.
"Lie down and I will tuck you up nicely. There now, a kiss. Good-night,
darling."
In another second the light of the candle, the pink dressing-gown, the
fair hair, had all vanished together, and Susan was alone again. After all
she had not been able to ask nearly all the questions she had prepared,
and she could not help crying softly to herself for a little while before
she went to sleep; for the noises in the street seemed to be saying now
over and over again:
"All the way to Ramsgate, all the way to Ramsgate. Maria's going with
you."
After this it was surprising how quickly the days went by and Monday
came. Susan had her own little preparations to make for leaving home,
and while Nurse was packing her clothes she brought her many
odd-looking parcels, and asked anxiously:
"Can you get this in?"

Some of them were got in, but others had to be left behind--put away in
the nursery cupboard for the whole winter. It seemed to Susan just the
same thing as putting them away for ever. She chose, after careful
thought, among her family of dolls the one to be taken with her; not the
newest one, or the most smartly dressed, but one she had always been
fond of, because she secretly considered her rather like Mother,
especially when she plaited up her hair. It was a wax doll called Grace,
with very blue eyes and yellow curls. After Grace's wardrobe had been
looked through and packed up in a work-box, there was another very
important thing to be finished, and that was a parting present for
mother. As she was not to know of it, this had to be done in secret
corners, and hastily hidden whenever she came near, so it had taken a
good deal of time. It was a tiny pink silk pin-cushion in the shape of a
heart, which Maria had cut out and fixed for her, and when it was done
the letters "SI" were to be marked on it with pins, and it was to be put
on mother's dressing-table on Sunday-night. There was more than one
small speck of blood on it, where Susan had pricked her hot little
fingers in a too earnest effort to take very small stitches, which was a
pity; perhaps, however, as it was pink silk they would not show much,
and mother would not notice. Monday came; every one in the house
was in a greater bustle than ever, and every minute there was a fresh
question to be asked about something--about the journey to-day, or the
journey to-morrow, and so many small details, that a wearied frown
gathered on Mr Ingram's forehead and remained there; added to these
troubles Freddie had one of his bad headaches, and would hardly let his
mother leave him for a moment. Susan had scarcely spoken to her that
morning, and now she stood in the nursery ready for her journey,
clasping Grace in one arm, and a warm little cloak in the other. It was
almost time to start, all her other farewells had been said, but she
hesitated.
"Now, Miss Susan, my lamb," said Nurse kissing her again, "you've
just time to run down and say good-bye to Missis and Master Freddie,
and then you must be off."
She went down-stairs and softly into the room. It was darkened;
Freddie was lying on his couch with a wet bandage on his forehead,

and there was a strong smell of eau de Cologne. Mother stood near and
changed the bandage now and then for a fresh one; she looked round,
and held up her finger when she heard the door open.
"Ah, it's you dear," she said in a low voice; "be very quiet. Is it time for
you to go? Is the cab there? Where's Maria?"
Susan walked up to the sofa; she had promised not to cry, and her
throat felt so funny that she thought she had better not speak, so she did
not answer any of these questions.
"Good-bye, darling," said Mrs Ingram, stooping to kiss her. "Give my
love to Aunt Hannah, and remember that Maria has a note for her; and
be good and obedient. You may write to me once every week, and I
shall