CHAPTER XIX.

LEAVE-TAKINGS.

There was a crowd of eager little faces to be seen in the old school-house one morning in the latter part of May. It had been nearly two months since Miss Anne had been obliged to forsake her flock, and now she was coming to see them.

Joshua and Josey had kept steadily on with the work, and, although there was some disaffection on the part of the scholars, the school for the most part did the self-instituted teachers credit. Josh tackled the mathematics; Joe gave herself over to interesting the little ones and in trying to foster a love of reading in the older children. Persis’s magazines and books had been the rounds, and showed hard wear, but they had done a good work. Dr. Rivers’s watchful eye saw the earnest effort given by the two young teachers, and he had his own views, which he meant should be carried out, although, as yet, he was not ready to make them known even to Persis.

On this bright May morning, when everything was throbbing with new life, when, Persis thought, the world never looked fairer, she stepped once more on the porch, her mother and the doctor having driven some distance farther.

There was a little buzz among the children inside the school-house. “Here she comes! here she comes!” was whispered; and presently, still pale and thin, but looking smiling and happy, “Miss Anne” appeared.

“I have only come to say good-bye,” she told them.

“Ah-h!” came a disappointed chorus.

“But,” she continued, “I want to sit here and hear just what you can all do, and how you have come on since I last saw you. I want to see all the blots on the copy-books. I want to know if Johnny Fairbanks can work an example in long division without making a mistake, and if Susie Hart knows her multiplication table, and all that.”

For an hour she sat there absorbed in the work, and when the wheels of Dr. Rivers’s carriage were heard returning, she arose and looked around lovingly upon the children. “I want my dear mother to see you,” she told them. “Perhaps some of you have heard that my name is not Anne Maitland, but Persis Holmes, and that I believed myself to be an adopted child. It is a story you all may hear remarked upon, so I want to tell you myself all about it.”

“But we want to call you Miss Anne,” piped up one little voice.

“Well, you may. Miss Anne I will be to you all, if you prefer it. I shall never forget you, and I hope I shall see you often again.” Then she gave them some words of loving encouragement which really came from her heart; and, seeing her mother had arrived, she brought her in and presented her to the scholars; then came the word for recess, and the scholars trooped out, only Josh and Josey staying behind. “And these are my right-hand helpers,” Persis told her mother. She had an intuitive feeling that one day they would conclude to go through life as mutual helpers, for she noted how Josh followed Joe as she moved about, and how Joe’s face lighted up when Josh spoke to her. “If I can ever help you in any way, I hope you will let me know. I owe you a debt, remember,” she said to them.

“Oh, Miss Anne,” protested Joe, “never say that! I do want to study and learn more, but I shall miss you so. I shall miss you so much! No other teacher will be the same.”

“Write, and tell me all your difficulties,” Persis encouraged her by saying. “And Joe dear, we’ll try and see what can be done about a better education.”

“And Josh, he wants so much to be a doctor,” replied Joe, with a pretty blush.

“He does? Well, now, that, too, will have to be looked into.” As indeed it was; and if any one chooses to look far enough ahead she may be able to see the fulfilment of Josh’s hopes in Dr. Rivers’s present interest in him, and her prophetic eye may further see the old doctor’s young assistant riding about the country, dreaming of the day when a new sign, bearing the name “Dr. Joshua Harman,” shall hang under the old one on which “Dr. Rivers” stands dimly forth. She can fancy, too, if she wishes, how pretty Josephine looks as she rides around by the side of her husband, the young doctor. But all this is too far ahead for any one to picture very clearly just now.

There were other good-byes to be made,—a last visit to the blacksmith’s, and a day or two with the Temples, where Persis gathered up her belongings and, with many regrets that she must leave her pet, took her kitten to Mrs. Rivers, who was devoted to cats and who promised to care for the little creature.

“I shall be glad enough to have her,” she said, “for it will be like a link to you, Miss Anne dear.”

“Yes,” put in the doctor, “the cat will be well spoiled, I can promise you.”

“Now, doctor, you know well enough you’ll be the first one to spoil her,” Mrs. Rivers predicted, as the doctor slyly offered a bit of chicken to Mistress Comfort, who took advantage of this attention to jump up on the giver’s shoulder.

“I was going to say,” continued the doctor, turning to Persis, “that Mrs. Rivers and I were talking it over this morning, and if you think you’d like to try again to be an adopted daughter, why we would not object to playing the part of the adopted parents.”

“Now, doctor,” Persis protested, “there is a small arrow hidden in that seemingly polite speech; nevertheless, I shall not allow it to hurt me, but will consider how very flattering the offer is. Oh, you dear people!” she added; “it goes hard to leave you, even when I am going to my very own.”

“I wish that boy of ours were in your city,” the doctor remarked.

“Perhaps he will decide to settle there, and then, sir, what a chance we will have to pay off old scores,” responded Persis. “By the way, doctor, there is one thing I should like to do, and that is, I want to place a little stone over poor Columbus’s grave. I have ordered it, and will you see that it is put up properly?”

“I will, indeed.”

“And tell me, was the doll buried with him?”

“Yes.” The doctor did not say that with his own hands he had arrayed the beloved doll in her white frock, and had at the last moment laid her by Columbus’s side. There was nothing irreverent in the act, but he had thought best not to create comment among the colored people, who had strange superstitious ideas, and so no one but the doctor knew when it was done, and none saw it. “Let me see,” observed the doctor, “I seem to have been given several grave responsibilities. I am to make a doctor of Joshua Harman, a lady of Joe Flint, a model institution of the district school, and what else?—oh, yes, a perfectly contented cat out of a spoiled kitten. Don’t you think, Miss Anne, I’m rather too old to take on so many burdens?”

“Not a bit of it,” returned Persis, sturdily. “It will do you good, and you’ll delight in doing it. Oh, doctor, I found out long ago that you are a great fraud in some directions. You pretend to be a lazy, cynical, blasé old martinet, and there’s not a word of truth in it. You can’t scare me again.”

“Did I ever scare you?”

“Yes, on that day when I came for my examination.”

The doctor laughed. “You took up the cudgels with a pretty good grip for a scared girl.”

“Well, I knew it was no use to do anything else, and I’ve not often shrunk from doing a thing, no matter how much it frightened me.”

Mrs. Holmes laughed. “Yes, I can vouch for that. You used to be terribly afraid of dogs when you were a tot, but you always stood perfectly still if you saw one coming, a block away, and would say, in a very loud voice, ‘Go ’way, dog.’”

“Well, Miss Anne,” said the doctor, rising, “if you want to have a last glimpse of the bridge, we’d better go there to-day.”

“Mamma,” Persis said, as they were starting out for their drive, “isn’t it strange how often our idle wishes come true? I said to Basil that I should like to see the bridge at all seasons, and so I shall have.” Her eyes took on a far-away look as she let them rest on the beautiful gray-green landscape. “The tender grace of a day that is dead,” she murmured to herself, and then she nestled close to her mother, saying, “Oh, mamsie, dearest mamsie, once in a while it comes over me that I lost you and have found you again. That ought to make up for everything, shouldn’t it?”

“And does it?”

“Yes, I think it does.” The reply was given slowly, but with conviction. “See, there!” she presently exclaimed, with animation; “there, mamma, is the bridge; but you must go on it and look down, and under it to look up, before you can have a real idea of its grandeur.”

And this was the last outing before the final one, which meant farewell to the village of Black Rock.

“You’re not to desert us entirely, remember,” were the doctor’s parting words. “We want you as often as you will come. I suppose I shall need some looking after in fulfilling all those offices you have left for me. You’ll have to come and prod me up, or I may fail in my duty.”

“I’m not afraid,” returned Persis. “Nevertheless, I shall want to come. Oh, doctor, I am sorry to leave you all.” A grinding of wheels, a puffing of steam, and the train moved, bearing away Persis Holmes, and leaving behind all that pertained to Anne Maitland.

“Shall we stop in Washington and make a call on Aunt Esther?” asked Mrs. Holmes.

“If you really want to, mamma, but——”

“But what, dear? Would you rather go right through?”

“Oh, mamma, I would. Now that I am fairly on the way, it seems as if I could not wait, and yet I long to see Annis.”

“I think, perhaps, after all, you would better not. It would be a trial to meet Annis, and I doubt if you are strong enough. So we will go straight on, if you can stand the continuous ride.”

“Oh, I can, since we have taken a sleeper. We shall get there—when, mamma?”

“In the morning, about eleven o’clock.” And at the appointed hour they arrived.

“Do they expect us?” asked Persis.

“Yes; the doctor sent a despatch to your father. Why, Persis dear, you are trembling all over. There, dear! This trip has been too much for you, I’m afraid. You were not strong enough to stand it.”

The train had stopped, and Persis had risen to her feet. The passengers were crowding out into the big station. “Don’t hurry, dear,” cautioned Mrs. Holmes. But Persis had given a little cry, and made a step forward, to be caught in the arms of her father.

Nearly every one had left the car, and the girl stood for a moment with her head hidden on her father’s shoulder. “Oh, papa! oh, papa!” she said, brokenly. “It is so good—so good to see you again!”

“I was afraid you hadn’t come,” he said.

“I didn’t want Persis to be pushed and jostled in the crowd. She isn’t very strong, as you can see,” Mrs. Holmes replied.

Mr. Holmes scanned his daughter with concern. He had never seen her so pale and thin. “Come, now, let us get ourselves out of this gloomy station,” he urged. “Come, daughter.”

“Oh, papa,” again exclaimed Persis, “I love to hear you say that.”

He smiled. “Well, you poor little runaway, I’ll say it as often as you like. There, now, this is the carriage I ordered. Get in, Mary. Get in, daughter. Now home.”

The door of the carriage snapped together, and in another moment Persis was being whirled up the familiar streets towards her home.

“How lovely and dear it all looks!” she sighed. “Oh, there are some new houses, and oh, who are the people in Mr. Todd’s house? The wistaria is in bloom. How full it is this year! Oh, mamma, papa, we’re home!”

The door stood wide open. A girlish form appeared. Mellicent came running down the walk, to be clasped in her sister’s arms. “Oh, Persis, Persis! Oh, you poor darling! How queer to see you so thin! Can I help you? Let me take that bag. Don’t carry anything. Can you walk?”

“Can I walk? Why, of course,” Persis laughs. “I am not quite such an invalid; am I, mamma? Oh, Mellie dear, it is really you. Let me look at you. How lovely it is to see you!”

At the door stood Mrs. Estabrook, holding out eager, trembling hands. She ran down the steps and folded Persis to her heart.

“Oh, grandma! dear, dear grandma!”

“My dear one, we have you once more.”

“Let us have a chance,” came a voice from the hall-way, and there stood Lisa, looking very lovely, with a new and tender light in her face, as she held out her baby towards her sister. “See him, Persis. Isn’t he a darling? Go to auntie, my precious!”

“Oh, may I take him?” cried Persis. “Isn’t he dear? Oh, you cunning thing! And you are really my nephew! Oh, Lisa, how queer to think of it!”

“Yes, isn’t it? And he’s used to being quite the most important person in the house, so you mustn’t put his nose out of joint. But oh, Perse, you do look as if you had been ill. You mustn’t hold the baby too long. I’ll take my son, if you please. Aunt Prue is waiting to speak to you.”

“Fo’ de Lawd, Miss Persy, I sholy is glad to see yuh. I nuver ‘spected to see yuh no mo’. Law, honey, ain’t yuh white? An’ dem big eyes looks lak gre’t big owl-eyes. Praise de Lawd, yuh’s home agin! Yaas, honey, I’se tollable, thank yuh.”

“Come, child, you look fagged out. I think, Mary, she’d better go lie down after her journey,” said grandmother.

“I think so too,” agreed Mrs. Holmes.

“Oh, please, don’t send me off by myself,” begged Persis. “Let me go in the sitting-room and lie on the lounge, where I can see you all. It has been so long, you know, and I have had so many weary hours alone.”

“Poor child!” said grandmother; “you have suffered so much. Yes, we’ll all go up in the sitting-room. It is time for baby’s nap; but Lisa can come after she has put him to sleep. Aren’t you hungry, dear? Hadn’t you better let Prue get you a little lunch?”

The tears sprang to Persis’s eyes. “Oh,” she said, “the prodigal’s return is surely made a season of rejoicing.”

“Bring out the best robe and put it on her,” cried Mellicent. “There, my first effort in the direction of dress-making is for you. I’ve made you a wrapper all myself. Don’t you want to put it on?”

“Oh, Melly, how good of you! Now, there. Yes, it fits beautifully, or will when I’ve a little more flesh on my bones. Now, just let me lie still and look at you all.”

The scent of the wistaria came in through the window; the drowsy hum of the bees among the blossoms, the sweet, perfume-laden air soothed and refreshed her, and at last one after another stole out of the room that she might sleep.

“How frail and ill she still looks!” Mrs. Estabrook said to her daughter, seeing the dark shadows under the eyes where the long black lashes rested. “I was shocked at her appearance.”

“She has been at death’s door,” returned Mrs. Holmes. “I felt at one time that she was lost to us indeed. It makes reproach and censure fade very far into the background when one finds a loved one hovering so very near the border-land, and you do not know how the poor child has suffered mentally. Yet she did a noble work, and has made very close friends. Even had what she believed to be true actually happened, she would never have let it spoil her character.”

“I am sure of that,” replied Mrs. Estabrook.

“Whatever error was hers she has atoned for it. She has gone through more than any of us realized, and has had a bitter cup to drink.”

“Dear girl! dear girl!” murmured grandmother, resolving that nothing but love and sympathy should meet the return of the wanderer.

Once in a while a little troubled sigh came from the sleeper, and her forehead contracted as if in pain, but at last she stirred, and smiled to see her grandmother sitting close by her. “Dearest grandsie,” she said, “I still have bad dreams, and I was so glad to wake up and see you. Oh, grandma, how glad I am to get home again! I don’t deserve to be loved, but please do love me.”

“Love you, darling! You never were more beloved. We have missed you sorely, dear, and your old granny more than any of the others. Now, don’t you want to see your room? We have given Lisa and the baby the spare room on this floor, and the little room next it. So your old quarters are waiting for you. Richard will come for his family in a few days, and take them back to Brooklyn. He is a nice fellow, Persis, and we have grown very fond of him.”

Persis followed her grandmother and Mellicent, who joined them, to her old room. Grandma opened the door, and the room’s returned occupant gave an exclamation of pleasure. The new furnishings which she had so desired were there: a pretty brass and enamel bedstead, new curtains, a comfortable, soft lounge, a long cheval glass, a beautiful old-fashioned dressing-table, and handsome Oriental rugs, all had been added. The old desk, beautifully polished, stood in its accustomed place near the window.

“Oh, grandma! oh, Mellicent!” exclaimed Persis. “What a lovely surprise! Who did it?”

“All of us,” Mellicent told her. “The table is from grandma, the glass and lounge from papa and mamma, the rugs from Richard and Lisa, and the curtains from your baby sister.”

“And all those pretty toilet furnishings?”

“Oh, Annis contributed those, and oh, I forgot, that rocking-chair is from Aunt Esther.”

“How dear, how lovely of you all! Was ever girl so blest! And to think that Richard, too, should join in; he is a real brother, isn’t he? I am even better off than I used to be, and I once thought——” her lip trembled.

“Never mind, dear child.” Grandmother’s arms were around her. “Let all that go with the rest of the bad dreams. We are once more together, a united circle.”

[Illustration: '[Fleuron]’]