Everything was being wound up as quickly as possible; and Sheila soon began to wish it were all over. It was so trying and sorrowful; and she could not bear to see her uncle’s grim face as he looked about him and made arrangements. She knew he was feeling how hard it was that a fine property had been allowed to go to rack and ruin for want of a strong hand on the reins, and a managing and unselfish heart to dictate reforms and retrenchment in times of depression. Sheila was not one who attached herself very greatly to inanimate objects; but she was devoted to her live pets. And her uncle found her in tears in the stable once, with her arms about the neck of her little mare Shamrock, who had been broken on the place, and had carried her young mistress ever since she had been a colt. She was quite young still, and a very pretty creature. The thought of parting from her was heartbreaking to Sheila. “I would almost rather she was shot, Uncle Tom,” she said, with a little sob in her voice. “I can’t bear to think what may become of her. She will have a good home, I daresay, whilst she is young and handsome; but when she grows old she may be so badly treated. I can’t bear to think of it!” “Tut, tut, my dear, don’t cry! Why, I don’t see why you and your horse shouldn’t go together. There is plenty of room at Cossart Place; and it would do Effie a world of good to put her on horseback. We’re not much of riders ourselves, we Cossarts; but Effie did have a pony once. She would take to it again. There, there, my dear, don’t smother me. You shall have your horse right enough. I’ll make that all square here, and with your uncle and aunt yonder.” “Oh, Uncle Tom, you’re a darling!” cried Sheila in her impulsive way with her arms about his neck; and though Mr. Tom Cossart had probably never been called a darling since his babyhood, and was not at all used to being hugged, he found it amazingly pleasant to be so treated by his pretty little niece. Not that Sheila was really little; but she seemed so from her childlike appealing ways; and her uncle had slipped into the way of calling her “Baby,” which from him she did not mind a bit. It was almost a relief at last both to Oscar and Sheila to say their final farewells, and feel they had left the old life behind them. As the train bore them away from the familiar country in which they had been born and brought up, Sheila was able to dry her wet eyes and look at her uncle with a brave little smile. “I’m not going to cry any more, Uncle Tom,” she said; “I’m going to try and be happy and useful and good. I’ve made lots and lots of good resolutions. Don’t you think it’s a good plan when one is beginning a different sort of life? And it’s so nice of you to take me in at your house for a few days—just till I get used to being away! It won’t seem quite so strange if I am with you and Oscar for a little while.”