The next morning the rector and John were at the station of Westways Crossroads when the Grey Pine carriage drove up. Mrs. Ann and Leila were a half hour too early, as was Mrs. Penhallow's habit. Billy was on the cart with the baggage, grinning as usual and full of self-importance.
"Well, Billy," said Leila, talking to every one to conceal her child-grief at this parting with the joyous activities of her energetic young life. "Well, Billy, it's good-bye for a year."
"Won't have no more fun, Miss Leila--and nobody to snowball Billy, this winter."
"Found another ground-hog yesterday. I'll let her alone till you come back."
John laughed. "Miss Leila will have long skirts and--hoops, Billy. There will be no more coasting and no more snowballing or digging up ground-hogs."
"Hoops--what for?" said Billy. John laughed.
"Please don't, John," she said, "it's too dreadful. Oh! I hear the whistle."
"Mark," said Mrs. Ann, "if George Grey comes--James, did you leave the wine-closet key?"
He turned to Leila, and kissing her said, "A year is soon over. Be a good girl, my child. It is about as bad for me as for you. God bless you. There, get on, Ann. Yes, the trunks are all right. Good-bye."
He stood a moment with John looking after the vanishing train. Then, he said, "No need to stay here with me, Mark," and the rector understanding him left him waiting for the westbound train and walked home across the fields with John Penhallow.
John was long silent, but at last said, "It will be pretty lonesome without Leila."
"Nice word, lonesome, John. Old English, I believe--has had its adventures like some other words. Lonely doesn't express as well the idea of being alone and sorrowful. We must do our best for your uncle and aunt. Your turn to leave us will come, and then Leila will be lonesome."
Rivers glanced at the strong young face. "Why do you say that?"
"I don't know, Mr. Rivers. I--she is more of a child than I am."
"That hardly answers my question. But I must leave you. I am going to see that scamp misnamed Lamb. See you at dinner. Don't cultivate lonesomeness, John. No one is ever really alone."
Leaving his pupil to consider what John thought rather too much of an enigma, the young clergyman took to the dusty highway which led to Westways. John watched the tall figure awkwardly climbing a snake fence, and keeping in mind for explanation the clergyman's last remark he went away through the woods.