“Thee relieves me of all fear that Peggy will not be well taken care of,” declared Mrs. Owen as the two left the room. “And sheets, friend? Has thee plenty of them? If there is room I could give thee a number.” The nurse’s eyes filled with tears. “We have need of everything, madam,” she said. “’Twill gladden our hearts to receive anything in the nature of supplies.” They were ready at last, and Peggy approached her girl friends for a last good-bye. “Thee has a silent knight for thy escort, Peggy,” whispered Betty through her tears, with a glance in the direction of Nurse Johnson’s son, who had not spoken to them. “Be sure to write in the diary if he speaks to thee at all through the journey. And mind! thee must put down the very words he says.” “Betty, Betty, thee is grown frivolous,” expostulated Peggy. “Sally, thee must deal with her severely.” “She shall help me to care for the next doughty Englishman that comes to the hospital,” declared Sally. “Still, Peggy, if the young man should break his silence ’twould be naught amiss to record the happening, for the delectation of The Circle.” “Thee is as bad as Betty, Sally. I shall keep the diary right with me, girls, and put down whatever of interest occurs.” “And thou wilt send word of thy safe arrival as soon as thou canst, my child,” said Mrs. Owen, holding her close. “If such a thing should be that thy cousin recovers we will see what can be done anent his coming here. And now farewell!” Peggy clung to her without replying, and then quietly took her place in the cabriolet beside the nurse. She smiled bravely at them, and as the cabriolet started she leaned out and waved farewell as long as she could see her mother. CHAPTER XI—ON THE ROAD “The rolling world is girdled with the sound, Perpetually breathed from all who dwell Upon its bosom, for no place is found Where is not heard, ‘Farewell.’” —Celia Thaxter. As the little caravan turned from Chestnut Street into Seventh so that she could no longer see her home Peggy’s lips quivered, and it was with difficulty that she refrained from bursting into tears. “Give not way to idle grief at our parting,” her mother had admonished her. “Thee will have need of all thy fortitude to attend thy cousin, and ’twere sinful to waste thy strength in weeping.” With this counsel in mind the girl struggled bravely against her emotion, and presently, wiping her eyes, turned toward the nurse. For youth is ever buoyant, and it is not natural for it to give way long to sadness. They had passed the Bettering House by this time and were well on their way toward the lower ferry. “Thee will think me but a dull companion, I fear, friend nurse,” she said. “But I grieve to leave my mother even for so short a time. In truth, I have but recently returned home after a long absence.”