He transferred from the over-full knapsack to his own some packages of flowers. The flower-press would not enter either knapsack. The Doctor had it strapped on outside his. I watched these little arrangements, glad of the time they took. Harry helped the Doctor on with his pack. I would have done the same for Harry, but he was too quick for me. I adjusted the strap from which the green tin case hung, that I might do something for him. Doctor Borrow took a serious leave of my mother,--for this, at least, was a final one. But Harry would not have it so. The tears were gathering in her eyes. "You will see us again," he said, confidently. The Doctor shook his head. "You have made us too happy here for us not to wish that it might be so." But my mother accepted Harry's assurance. They looked round for Tabitha. She appeared from my mother's room, the door of which had been a little open. Both thanked her cordially for her kind cares. She gave them her good wishes, affectionately and solemnly, and disappeared again. "I shall not bid you good-bye," said the Doctor, yet taking my hand. "Only till the nineteenth," said Harry, clasping it as soon as the Doctor relinquished it. "Till the eighteenth," I mean; "till the eighteenth," he repeated, urgently. "Till the eighteenth," I answered. The Doctor mounted the blue spectacles. This was the last act of preparation. The minute-hand was close upon the appointed moment. At the first stroke of twelve, they were on their way. I followed, slowly, as if the reluctance of my steps could hold back theirs. The gate closed behind them. The Doctor took at once his travelling gait and trudged straight on; but Harry turned and gave a glance to the house, to the barn, to the little patch of flowers,--to all the objects with which the week had made him familiar. Then his look fell upon me, who was waiting for it. He searched my face intently for an instant, and then, with a smile which made light of all but happy presentiments, waved me adieu, and hastened on to overtake the Doctor. I was glad it was not a working-day,--glad that I could go in and sit down by my mother, to talk over with her, or, silent, to think over with her, the scenes which had animated our little room, and which were still to animate it. Harry's parting look stayed with me. I felt all my gain, and had no more sense of loss. Can we ever really lose what we have ever really possessed? EVENING.