"Oh, I can't bear to think it's all over!" the interested travelers heard her say, as she embraced the three girls in turn. "It's been absolutely the most perfect six weeks I've ever, ever known. Don't lose your quirt, Vivian! And don't leave Allan's knife around, Mary. It isn't fair to tempt even a porter. You'll write from every large place, won't you, Priscilla?"
In spite of an amused and impatient conductor, the last-named girl turned back for a last hug. Her hat was askew, her brown hair disheveled, and her brown eyes full of tears, which were coursing freely down her cheeks.
"Oh, Virginia," she cried, "you're the biggest peach I ever knew! Remember, you're going to think of me every night at seven o'clock. It'll be nine for me in Boston, but I'll not forget. And it's only three weeks before I see you again. That's a comfort!"
She hurried toward the waiting train, at the steps of which a boy in khaki stood ready to help her.
"Good-by, Carver," she cried, shaking hands for at least the fourth time. "I'm going to see your grandfather the very first thing and tell him what a good sport you are!"
A mad rush for the observation platform ensued--the three girls, the boy, and the young woman reaching it just in time to wave good-by to those left behind. The brown-eyed girl swept the faces of her fellow travelers at one glance, nodded to the interested brakeman with a surprised and pleased smile, and then, just as the train began to move, hurried to the railing.
"Oh, Virginia!" she cried to the girl in the riding-suit. "What do you think! I've got the very same brakeman! Doesn't that make the ending just perfect?"
Two hours later a boy and a girl on horseback forded Elk Creek, rode up the Valley, and to the summit of the highest foot-hill.
"I'm glad we rode up here," said Virginia. "I'm missing them already, and to be up here with you helps a lot! Do you remember a year ago, Don? 'Twas in this very spot that we planned and planned, and the day was just like this, too--all clear and golden. It just seems as though every year is lovelier than the last, and this one has been the very loveliest of all my life."
"I guess," said Donald thoughtfully, leaning forward in his saddle to pat MacDuff, "I guess it's been the best of my life, too, counting this summer and all. Last year at school was great, with college always ahead--sort of a dream almost true, you know. And then to have Jack and Carver here, and all the girls with you, finished everything up just right. But the best part of the year to me, Virginia," he finished hesitatingly, "was June when you came back, and I found you weren't a young lady after all. I was some glad, I tell you!"