Poor Daffodil's heart was torn by the regrets. It seemed as if uncle was the only one who was like to help her bear the parting, and he was so tender that at times she almost relented. Mr. Bartram did not count. He was polite, and to a degree sympathetic. He did not tease her, nor laugh about Pittsburg, that would have made her indignant now. She had come with such a little parcel, now there was a trunk to be packed. M. de Ronville slipped in some dainty little boxes that were not to be opened until she reached home. And at last the day came, and there were sad enough good-by's. There was a new Post coach in its shining paint, and four stout horses. Mr. de Ronville pressed Daffodil's hand the last one, but he turned his eyes away. Yes, the light of his house had gone. But he could not give up all hope. CHAPTER X THE PASSING OF THE OLD Oh, how queer it looked at Old Pittsburg, after the fine city she had left. Daffodil almost shrank from the sight of the old dilapidated log houses, the streets that were still lanes. But there were the two households to greet her, with not a change in them. Oh, how dear they were! The familiar room, the chair so endeared to her, the high shelf, with its brass candlestick, and there in the corner her mother's little flax wheel. "We were so afraid they'd keep you," said Felix. "Didn't they want you to stay?" "Ah, yes," and the tears came to her eyes. "And you look queer, changed somehow. Your voice has a funny sound. And I want you to tell me all about Philadelphia. Did you see that Mr. Benjamin Franklin, and the men who signed the Declaration of Independence?" "Mr. Franklin was abroad. And they don't all live there. I believe I saw only three of them. But there was Governor Mifflin. And they hope sometime to have the Capitol there." "Felix, let your sister have a little rest. There will be days and days to talk. Dilly, are you not tired to death? Such a long journey as it is. I don't see how Mrs. Craig stood it." "Yes, I am tired," she answered. How plain her room looked, though it had been put in nice order with the best knitted white quilt on her bed, and a bowl of flowers on a pretty new stand grandfather Bradin had made. She hung her coat in the closet, and took off the frock she was so tired of, glad to change it for a fresher one. "Now you look natural," declared grandmere. "We have our little girl back, but it does seem as if you had grown. And, oh, how glad we are to have her!" There certainly was some mysterious change. Her mother studied it as well. It seemed as if the little girl had vanished, one could almost imagine the seven years had come and gone, and she had been to fairyland. But she put her face down on her mother's shoulder and cried. "Dear, are you glad to see us all again, to come back to us? For I have had a heart-breaking fear that I know it must have been delightful there, and Mr. de Ronville had a great love for you. Oh, I really wonder that he let you come."