Susan | Page 5

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 write to you when I can."
Susan clung silently to her mother's neck. If only she might have cried! Freddie pushed up the handkerchief, and looked at her with his dark heavy eyes.
"Good-bye, Susie," he murmured; "don't let old Emptycap bully you."
"And now," said her mother, "you must really go. Is Maria there? Kiss Freddie."
She led Susan to the door where Maria waited; in the hall the cabman was just shouldering the luggage.
"You know what