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Hollowdell Grange: Holiday Hours in a Country Home, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 28. Good-Bye |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. GOOD-BYE At last the morning dawned that was to be Fred's last at Hollowdell Grange, and sadly and gloomily he had proceeded overnight to pack up his things in the box he had brought down with him, merely leaving out such articles as were required for immediate use. A month had slipped away so swiftly, that it seemed almost impossible that such a space could have elapsed since that hot, breathless day, when, so new and strange, he had met his cousins upon the platform, after asking Jem Barnes, the porter, to direct him to his uncle's house. So strange, and so rough and countryfied everything had appeared; and so low, dejected, and tired had he felt when he first left the train; how he had wished himself back in town! And now, how different he felt; he was as low-spirited as when he first came down, but it was with the idea of going away. All those upon whom he had at first looked with distant eyes, now seemed so dear to him. There were his uncle and aunt; his cousins; there was Old Sam; Dusty Bob, the maids; Dick, the dog; and even the raven and parrot: he was mournful at parting with all of them, and would have given anything to have stayed, if only for another day. And now he stood in his little bedroom, looking around it, almost with tears in his eyes, as he slowly dressed himself, and placed the remainder of his things in his box. He had just finished, and was sitting moodily upon the box-lid, when Harry and Philip entered the room, both looking as dull and miserable as himself. "Oh! dear," said Harry, "what a thing it is that holidays will go so jolly fast, and work-days so horribly slow! It ain't fair. Don't I wish that they were all to come over again; there's lots of things we have not done yet, and lots of places where we ought to have gone." "When are you coming down again, Fred?" said Philip. "I don't know," said Fred; "I don't want to go away. I should like to see Papa and Mamma, but I'd rather they came down here. I shall never never like old bricks-and-mortary London again. It will be so smoky, and noisy, and nasty, and miserable. Oh! I do wish I could stop." "But you used to say that you could not think how people could live in the country, and would not believe that we could find plenty of fun down here," said Harry. Fred would not hear this last remark, but sat moodily upon his box till breakfast time; and his cousins stayed with him--Harry all the time cutting viciously at a bit of stick with his keen-edged knife, and strewing the bedroom carpet with chips. The sun shone brighter, the sky looked more blue, and the trees greener than ever; but the boys could not enjoy that glorious morning; there was no elasticity of spirit, no bounding out into the garden; no teasing of poor old Sam; no race round the cedar-field before breakfast, for Fred sat on his box, gloomy and out of heart, Philip sat with his legs stretched out and his hands in his pockets, and Harry sat and carved away at his stick, until he was obliged to get up,--which he did with a sigh,--and go down stairs to get a fresh piece of wood. Just then the breakfast bell rang, and Mary walked along the passage with the hot cake and eggs; but no one ran against her, for the boys tidied slowly into the room, and took their places at the table in the most dejected way imaginable. Fred could not eat; Philip could not eat; Harry could; but he ate viciously, and in a tigerish manner, and smashed in the top of his egg as though it had been the head of the engine-driver who was to take Fred up to London; while as for coffee, he kept asking for cups until Mrs Inglis refused to give him any more, when the wretched boy consoled himself with another wedge of cake. "Come, boys; come, boys," said Mr Inglis at last; "this will never do; partings must follow meetings, and all holidays must have an end. I am sorry that your cousin must leave you; but I feel glad to see that he leaves us with regret, for that seems to say that he has enjoyed his trip. Is it not so, Fred? You have enjoyed your visit, I hope?" "Oh! so much, Uncle," said Fred; "only it has been such a short one, and it makes me so cross to think that I didn't want to come." Mr Inglis smiled, and said, "But you will want to come another time, I hope?" "Oh! may I? may I come again?" burst out Fred, with eyes sparkling, and half rising from his chair. "I shall be only too happy to see you again, my boy; but what say Harry and Philip. Have they asked you to come again?" "We did not ask him," said Philip; "but Fred knows we want him to come again." "I don't want him to go now," said Harry, with his mouth full of cake. "Do, Papa, write and ask for another week's holiday for him!" "But you go back to school yourselves the day after to-morrow," said Mr Inglis; "and what would you do then? No, my boys, depend upon it the real secret of enjoyment is to leave off when you have had enough; and nothing is more surfeiting, more cloying, than too much pleasure. Fred must come down again; and I hope the next time he visits us we shall not nearly have him drowned. I fear that he will take a sad report of us all back with him to town." Fred was very anxious to go away good friends with everybody, and would have liked very much to have shaken hands with Mr Jones, Bill Jenkins, and the Stapleses; but this could not very well be managed, for Mr Jones had left for the sea-side, and Bill Jenkins had gone to a situation. However, Fred bade farewell to everybody he could think of, and left messages for those he could not see; and at last the time of starting arrived, and Old Sam brought the pony and chaise round to the door. The box was lifted in; and the little hamper filled with fruit, and the large bandbox full of curiosities that Fred had collected, all found a place by the departing visitor. The morning was brighter than ever, and everything around him looked so fresh and lovely, that a great sob would keep trying to get up into poor Fred's throat to make a noise, and the efforts he made to keep it down quite upset him. He gave such a longing farewell look up at the front of the house, and round at the garden, then kissed Mrs Inglis, and shook hands with Sam, who returned the grasp warmly, and said in a whisper about the greatest thing he could say, and that was that he wished he "warn't a-going." Harry and Philip were in the dickey of the four-wheel chaise, both sitting in very uncomfortable positions on account of Fred's luggage; but I very much doubt whether they ever thought of their position, so engrossed were they with the _one_ sole idea--that Fred was going, and the holidays were over. But Mr Inglis had now taken the reins from Sam, and had mounted to his seat; so that nothing remained but for Fred to follow his example, for the train would soon be due at the station-- though the boys were rather in hopes that they would be too late, and so secure another day; but Mr Inglis knew what uneasiness this would cause to friends in town, so he prepared to start at once. Fred put one foot on the step, and was just going to wave his adieu, when a sudden thought seemed to strike him, and leaping down, he rushed round by the shrubbery in the direction of the stable-yard and was out of sight in a moment. But before any one could surmise where he had gone, he reappeared, and a loud rattling of chain, and the barking of Dick, told that he had been to say good-bye to the dog. Fred was in his place in a moment; Sam let go of the pony's head; Mrs Inglis waved her hand from the porch; and Cook and Mary shook their aprons from one of the upstairs windows; the pony darted forward, the wheels spun round, and Fred felt that indeed his holiday was ended. But the bright day and the quick motion through the air served in some degree to raise the spirits of all three boys, so that, by the time they reached the railway, the excitement and bustle of hurrying Fred off gave them no time to think of sorrow; for the train came shrieking and grinding into the station; Jem Barnes was running about shouting "'ll'dell," "'ll'dell", "'ll'dell," as loudly as he could, but not a passenger responded; though a stranger would have been sadly puzzled to know what he meant. Then there was the banging of a door; the ringing of a bell; a shrill chirruping whistle; and then "puff-puff", "pant-pant," the train glided slowly past the faces of Mr Inglis, Harry, and Philip; then faster and faster past the various objects familiar to the young traveller; and then again faster and faster still, till at last all grew stranger and stranger, and Fred Morris sank back in his seat, thought over the events of the past month, and began to thoroughly realise the truth that he had finished his visit to Hollowdell Grange. [THE END] _ |
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