“Yes, he means it, sister. The time has come for our bird to leave the nest and fly away.” CHAPTER XX Explanations. “It’s just this way, aunties,” he explained. “Somehow, while you and father made me feel you only wanted me to stay at home with you, I was too easy-going and happy to care about the future at all.” He had come over to the fire place now and pulled a chair between them, so that he was quite close to each. The ice being once broken, it was easier, and Miss Jane was helping him by her brave self-control. “Then, a little while ago something happened which made me suddenly think of what I meant to be or do in the future, and I realised how I was wasting the years. Since the dear old General died, and we heard that Paddy and Eileen and their mother were poor, I have felt awful about it, as if, had I only been making the most of these years, I might have been able to help them now.” “Poor Jack,” murmured Miss Jane gently, and little Miss Mary laid her small withered hand upon one of his big ones. “I am afraid it is chiefly our fault, sister,” she said sadly. “In our love we have been selfish.” Miss Jane pressed her lips together tightly. She was thinking the same thing, but it was hard to say it. “You will have all that we have some day, Jack,” she said presently. “You will not be poor.” “I know you will do all you can for me, aunties,” he answered, “but I hope it will be a long, long time before anything that is your becomes mine.” Then he told them all about his plans and about his friend, and they tried to listen as if they were glad for his sake, and finally arranged that Mr Wilkinson should be brought over to the Parsonage the following day, so that they might get to know him and hear all about the country he had come from. It was quite late when they finally went upstairs to bed, and no one spoke as they kissed their usual good-night in the sisters’ room, for their hearts were too full. Five minutes later, however, there was a gentle tap upon Jack’s door, and in answer to his voice little Miss Mary slipped into the room and softly pushed the door to behind her. Jack was sitting on his bed, feeling utterly wretched, and he had remained so since he came upstairs. Miss Mary sat down beside him and slipped one arm through his. “Jack dear,” she said, “you know that sister and I don’t really care for anything in the world except you and your happiness, and that if we thought you were unhappy it would be impossible for us to be otherwise?” “Yes, auntie, I know,” he answered, with a catch in his voice. “You are just too good to me, that’s all.” “No, dear, because no words could ever tell all you have done for us. If you had not come into our lives to keep us young and hopeful, a sorrow that nearly broke my heart, and Jane’s for my sake, would probably have ended in making us sour, embittered old maids.” Jack shook his head; he knew how impossible that would have been.