placed her carefully in the carriage, while the house servants stood
round crying.

"Good-bye, again," he said; "we shall not forget any of you," and he got
in. "Drive on, John." Joe jumped up and we trotted slowly through the
park and through the village, where the people were standing at their
doors to have a last look and to say, "God bless them."

When we reached the railway station, I think mistress walked from the
carriage to the waiting-room. I heard her say in her own sweet voice,
"Good-bye, John; God bless you." I felt the rein twitch, but John made
no answer; perhaps he could not speak. As soon as Joe had taken the
things out of the carriage, John called him to stand by the horses,
while he went on the platform. Poor Joe! He stood close up to our heads
to hide his tears. Very soon the train came puffing into the station;
then two or three minutes, and the doors were slammed to; the guard
whistled and the train glided away, leaving behind it only clouds of
white smoke and some very heavy hearts.

When it was quite out of sight, John came back. "We shall never see her
again," he said--"never." He took the reins, mounted the box, and with
Joe drove slowly home; but it was not our home now.




CHAPTER IX


EARLSHALL