"Why, Aunt Henshaw!" said I in a tone of acute disappointment, "Are we
not going to-day?"

"Certainly, my dear," was her reply, "But the stage coach will not be
here till two o'clock, and I have all my things ready."

What could I possibly do with the six intervening hours? I too had all
my things ready; and my spirits were now in a state that absolutely
required excitement of some kind or other. I tried to read, but it was
impossible to fix my thoughts on the subject--even the Arabian Nights
failed to interest me; and after wondering for some time at Aunt
Henshaw, who could view the near prospect of a journey that would
occupy two or three days with the most perfect composure, I proceeded to
my mother's apartment. I had not been there long before I got up a cry,
and felt more doubtful than ever whether I wished to go. But mamma
talked with me for some time; and having clearly ascertained that it was
my parents' wish that I should go, in hopes of benefiting my health by
the change, I comforted myself with the idea of martyrdom on a small
scale.

I put my doll to board with Ellen Tracy until my return, at a charge of
so many sugar-plums a week; with strict injunctions not to pull its arms
or legs out of order, or attempt to curl its hair. I could not eat a
mouthful of dinner, but Aunt Henshaw stowed away some cake for me in a
corner of her capacious bag; a proceeding which then rather amused me,
but for which I was afterwards exceedingly thankful. The time seemed
almost interminable; I threw out various hints on the value of
expedition, the misery of being behindhand, and the doubtful punctuality
of stage-coaches--but Aunt Henshaw remained immovable.