“Well, it is all the same, David Lindsay. And I will take the pretty little things to school with me, and look at them every day, and keep them forever and ever. Sit down by me and let us look at the little beauties together. You know that this is our last day.” The boy obeyed her. She said it was their “last day;” and that day was drawing rapidly to a close. The children knew that they were going to part, but they scarcely knew yet what the parting was to be to them; they had had no experience in separation; and both wondered a little in secret why they felt no more pain at the immediate prospect of losing each other. When the sun set, which was always the signal for their daily good-night, little Gloria shut up her box of shells and arose, saying: “I must go now. Good-by, David Lindsay.” “Good-by.” “God bless you, David Lindsay!” “And you too!” Now, according to custom, she should have run home; but she lingered, loth to leave the spot. “You know we are going to start long before daylight to-morrow morning,” she said. “I—know it!” he gasped with a great sob. “Oh! David Lindsay, don’t cry!” she wailed, with the tears rushing to her eyes. “I’m not crying. It’s a lump in my throat,” said the poor boy. “Oh, dear! Oh, dear! What shall I do? I don’t want to go to school! I don’t want to be a lady! I don’t! I don’t! And poor Marcel don’t want me to go, neither!” wept the child. “And no more do I!” cried the boy, struggling with the “lump in his throat.” “Don’t cry, David Lindsay. Oh! please don’t cry!” “I’m not crying a bit! But I don’t want you to go away,” sobbed the lad. “Nobody does, but Aunt Grip. It is all Aunt Grip! Oh! I wish she had never come near the place! We were all so happy until she came! And she says it is all for my own good. And I think that is too bad!” Little Glo’s last words awoke the better spirit of the boy. He sobbed and sighed, and then set himself to comfort the little lady. “She means it for your good. Even granny says you ought to go to school. And so I know it must be all right for you to go. And you will come back again, and be able to tell me lots of things.” “Oh, yes, indeed; I will come back for the Christmas holidays, you know. And oh! David Lindsay, every time I write to dee-ar Marcel I will send a message to you. And will you send one back to me, too?” “If the master will let me.” “Why, of course he will let you! Dee-ar Marcel is too tender-hearted to refuse. Let me tell you something. Aunt Grip, ever since she has been here, has been trying to prevent me from coming out here and playing with you, and if it had not been for dee-ar Marcel, she would have prevented me; but Marcel would not let me be grieved that much.” The twilight was fading so fast that the child looked up to the sky in alarm, exclaiming: “Oh! I must go! I must go! Good-by, dee-ar David Lindsay!” “I must walk with you up to the house. It is too dark for you to go by yourself,” said the boy, rising to accompany her.