while he continued to pack his goods, in his perturbation stowing
things together in strange juxtaposition. The end of it was that
Madge, after vowing that if he went she would never speak to him
again, and would hate him for ever, indignantly left him to himself.
Phil went on packing, in all the outward calmness he could muster,
though I'll wager with a very pouting and dismal countenance. At last,
his possessions being bestowed, and the bag fastened with much
physical exertion, he left it on the bed, and slipped down-stairs to
find his one remaining piece of property. Philip's cat had waxed plump
in the Faringfield household, Master Ned always deterred from harming
it by the knowledge that if aught ill befell it, the finger of
accusation would point instantly and surely at him.

Phil was returning up the stairs, his pet under his arm, when Mistress
Madge reappeared before him, with magic unexpectedness, from a doorway
opening on a landing. As she stood in his way there, he stopped, and
the two faced each other.

"Well," said she, with sarcastic bitterness, "I suppose you've decided
where you're going to."

"Not yet," he replied. He had thought vaguely of Philadelphia or
Boston, either of which he now had means of reaching, having saved
most of his small salary at the warehouse, for he was not a bound
apprentice.

"I make no doubt," she went on, "'twill be the farthest place you can
find."

Phil gave her a reproachful look, and asked where her mother and the