Tom and Some Other Girls | Page 7

and there's no reason why you should. Write
down a list of what you want, so that we shan't forget anything when
we are in town. You shall have all you need; but, oh! dear me, I don't
know how shall I live when you have gone. I shall break my heart
without you!" And Mrs Chester's tears once more rolled down her
cheeks. It seemed to her at this moment that the greatest trouble which
her happy life had known was this projected parting from her beloved
daughter.
CHAPTER THREE.
ANTICIPATIONS.

Two days later Mr and Mrs Chester started on their tour of inspection,
and Rhoda reflected that she could not employ herself better during
their absence than by preparing, so far as might be, for the life ahead.
She went upstairs to her own sitting-room, and made a sweeping survey
of her treasures. The books in the hanging cases must, of course, be left
behind, since they were too numerous to carry. She looked lovingly at
their bright gold and leather backs, and took down a special favourite
here and there, to dip into its contents. The Waverley novels ran in a
long, yellow line across one shelf; Dickens, clad in red, came
immediately beneath; and a whole row of poets on the bottom shelf.
Wordsworth was a prize from Fraulein, but his pages were still stiff and
unread; Longfellow opened of himself at "Hiawatha"; while Tennyson,
most beloved of all, held half a dozen markers at favourite passages.
His portrait hung close at hand, a copy of that wonderful portrait by
Watts, which seems to have immortalised all the power and beauty of
the strange, sad face. Rhoda nicked a grain of dust from the glass
surface, and carefully straightened the frame against the wall, for this
picture was one of her greatest treasures, and respected accordingly.
Another case held books of stories, ranging from the fairy tales of
childhood to the publications of last year; a third was devoted to bound
volumes of magazines, and a fourth to the less showy and interesting
school-books.
"It's no use taking you!" said Rhoda scornfully. "I expect you are quite
out of date. You can stay here and rest, and when I come back I'll point
out your errors, and send you into the lumber-room to make room for
the new ones!" Then she turned her attention to the mantelpiece, on
which reposed a quite extraordinary number of miniature jugs. Jugs,
jugs everywhere, and nothing but jugs; blue jugs, yellow jugs, brown
jugs, red jugs; Worcester jugs with delicate white figures against a
background of blue; jugs worth a penny sterling at the village
emporium; plain jugs, iridescent jugs; jugs with one handle, with two,
with three, with none at all. Their variety was as puzzling as their
number, but Rhoda gazed at them with all the pride of the collector.
"Jugs"--unrivalled by postcards, stamps, or crests--had been her mania
for a year on end, and the result was dear to her heart. To find a new
jug to add to the collection had appeared one of the chief objects in

travelling; an expedition to town had been a failure or success,
according as it discovered jugs or no jugs.
In her anxiety for their safety she had even volunteered to dust her own
mantelpiece, and now, alas! she must leave them to the tender mercies
of Mary and her assistants! It was a painful reflection, and after a
moment's consideration she determined not to risk it, but to store the
darlings away in some safe hiding-place until her return.
No sooner said than done. Each little jug was wrapped in a separate roll
of tissue paper, fitted into a drawer of the writing-table, and securely
locked against invasion. The process of "putting away" thus begun
extended itself indefinitely. The photographs in their various frames
must be arranged and divided; nice relations and very dearest friends,
to be taken to school, disagreeable or "middling" relations, and merely
"dearest friends," to be laid aside in another drawer; fragile ornaments
to be hidden, in case they were broken; silver and brass in case they
tarnished; letters to be destroyed, to be tied up in packets, to be
answered before leaving home; pieces of fancy work to be folded away,
in case sacrilegious hands should dare to put them to any other use than
that for which they were intended.
Rhoda set to work with the energy of ten women, and worked away
until the once tidy room had become a scene of wildest confusion; until
sofa, table, and chairs were alike piled high with bundles. Then of a
sudden her energy flagged, she grew tired and discouraged, and wished
she had left the stupid old things where she had found them. It occurred