It came soon, her last Sabbath at home, and the sun was sinking in the
west. Beth sat by her favorite window in the parlor. Do you remember
that last Sabbath before you left home? Everything, the hills outside,
the pictures on the walls, even the very furniture, looked at you in
mute farewell. Beth leaned back in her rocker and looked through the
open door into the kitchen with its maple floor, and the flames leaping
up in the old cook-stove where the fire had been made for tea. She had
always liked that stove with its cheery fire. Then she turned her eyes
to the window and noted that the early September frost had browned her
favorite meadow where the clover bloomed last June, and that the maples
along the road where she went for the milk every evening, were now all
decked in crimson and yellow.

Her father was sitting at the table reading, but when she looked around
she saw his eyes were fixed upon her with a tender look. Poor father! He
would miss her, she knew, though he tried not to let her see how much.
Aunt Prudence, too, dear old soul, seemed sorry to have her go, but she
had her own peculiar way of expressing it, namely, by getting crosser
every day. She did not approve of so much "larnin'" for girls,
especially when Beth was "goin' to be married to that puny Mayfair."
Aunt Prudence always said her "say," as she expressed it, but she meant
well and Beth understood.

Beth was not to go until Friday, and Clarence was to meet her at the
station. He had been called away to the city with his father on business
more than a week before. Arthur was with them to-day, but he was to
leave on the early morning train to join a college mate. He was to be at
Victoria University that winter and Beth expected to see him often.