His leave-taking next morning was extremely harrowing to his own feelings, however austerely the rest took it. He wept freely after breakfast down under the barberry-bush, but he promised himself he would get it all done down there in the blessed privacy of the wilderness, and not cry another tear after he got back to the house. He had made a tour the moment he was dressed, saying good-bye to everything. Now there was nothing left but An' Jerusha and the family. Uncle Elijah might come any minute. He dried his eyes, and crept back through the rank undergrowth to the terrace, went heavily up the two flights of stone steps, saying good-bye again to the flag lilies and the crooked catalpa and the tulip-tree, and so on sedately round the house to the kitchen. On his appearance, An' Jerusha rushed towards him with wide-spread, motherly arms, but observing his involuntary recoil, she stood still, looking at him with unlessened affection. "Good-bye, An' Jerusha," he said, holding her hand tight in both his own. "Good-bye, honey. Be suah you come agin soon." "Yes, I mean to; and thank you for all the songs and the cinnamon rolls." "Law, honey! jes' listen to de chile." She turned away to Venie with an attempt at a chuckle, but the tears had started down her cheeks. "Good-bye." Ethan shook hands with the smiling Venus. "Maw and me done put yo' in a Johnny-cake," she said, an outsider might have thought enigmatically. "Thank you," said Ethan, tremulously--"thank you both, awfully." "Dat's de do'-bell, an' Massa Efan's knocker," said Aunt Jerusha, sniffing violently. "You go, Venus; I ain't 'spectabel." "Oh, it's my uncle," said Ethan, rather relieved at the interruption; and he hurried after Venus, feeling, however, deeply dissatisfied with his leave-taking of An' Jerusha. She had been so _awfully_ kind--it was useless to pretend there was any other way of putting it--and she had cared so much for his father. _Ought_ he to have kissed her? It was plain she had expected it. It was all very uncomfortable and heart-achy. Now he was in the hall, and Uncle Elijah was there, and so was grandmamma, being very stiff to poor Uncle Elijah. Aunt Valeria came down-stairs, and the good-byes were said. Uncle Elijah's hack was at the door, and Ethan's trunk was being carried out. Suddenly, at the very last, "Come here a moment," said his grandmother, retreating into her own long room. Ethan followed, quaking. Had he been doing something wrong? And yet she had just kissed him good-bye so kindly. As she turned and faced him, he saw her eyes were full of tears. He could hardly believe his senses, but he began to cry, too. "I _do_ wish I was going to stay with you," he said, breaking down and forgetting his fears. "You will come back to me," she said; and she put her arms round him, and held him close to her for a moment, while he cried silently against her white veil, thinking the while she wouldn't like it when she discovered it was wet.