CHAPTER XI. GOING HOME. THE evening came which was to have been our last in the old home, for the very next day we were to have left it—just one week before Christmas Day. It was bitterly cold weather, and grannie seemed to shrink under the cold, as she had not been used to do. The other house was all furnished and ready, except just the room for grannie and me, and that was to have its furniture taken from the cottage on the morrow. Everything left behind would be sold. I didn't think the cottage had ever seemed more snug and home-like than on that day. Snow lay thick on the roof and in the little garden, but all inside was so cosy. I could not believe we were really going. Grannie seemed to have upon her a strange dread of the new home, a strange shrinking from it, as if she were leaving a warm nest, and going out into the cold and damp. I could not talk her out of the feeling. She said it was silly, she knew, and she could not account for it, but she had the dread. And many times that day she said sorrowfully—"It won't be home, Phœbe. I've no home now on earth. I didn't think I should ever have to leave the old place." And then she would add—"But it is God's will, and I mustn't grumble. What does it matter? There's a better Home above." She was very tired in the evening, with a sort of pinched blue look in her face, which I hadn't ever seen there before. Father noticed it, and he said she had done too much, and he made her sit in the arm-chair, and was quite nice and kind to her. I think she found that a comfort. Mother was rushing about everywhere, making believe to be busy, though really not doing much, for there was not much to be done. Grannie had put everything into beautiful order for the move. "Miles," grannie said, all of a sudden—"I'm wondering if you'll do something to please your old mother." "To be sure I will," said he, for he was in great good humour that day. "What is it? Something new you want? Sue buys lots of things, and you don't spend a penny on yourself." "I've enough and to spare," she said. "I'll wait till the pennies come before I spend 'em, my dear. No need for more borrowing and buying than goes on already. I hope it isn't all a mistake, Miles." "Mistake!—no," says he. "There's no mistake about the five thousand pounds. That's sure enough." "So you may think—so you and me may think," said she, in a dreamy sort of way. "But who knows? Riches take wings and fly away." "Mine shan't," father said. "I'll take right good care to hold my own fast. Money don't fly away if it isn't thrown away, I take it. But what did you want me to get for you?" "It wasn't anything I wanted you to get," she said. "Because I don't mind what it is," said he. "I can afford it, you know. Only I'd have you use what I get, not lay it by like that black dress, you know." "Ah—that dress," says she softly. "I'm glad it's black. Yes, it'll do—for Sue." Father stared, and she gave him a little smile.