Once they
threw themselves down on the grass and hid their faces, and cried and
sobbed, until their grandfather came out and led them away. The blinds
were all drawn next morning, and the gardener came and cut down nearly
all his lilies, and great armfuls of the Gold of Ophir roses to carry
into the house.
Another quiet day went by, and then there was such a rumbling of
carriage wheels outside the garden, that I climbed up a tree and
looked over the high walls. There was a long, slow procession winding
up the white mountain road toward a far-away grove of pines. I knew
then what had happened. They were taking the children's mother to the
cemetery, and they would have to go home without her. "Poor children,"
I thought, "and poor old great-aunt Patricia."
The next evening I heard the old gentleman tell David to bring Matches
and me into the house. The next thing I knew I was dropped into a big
bandbox with holes in the lid, and somebody was buckling a
shawl-strap around it. Then I heard the old gentleman say to Doctor
Tremont, "Tom, I don't want to add to the inconveniences of your
journey, but I should like to send these monkeys along to help amuse
the boys. Maybe they'll be some comfort to them. Dago is for Stuart,
and Matches is for Phil. It would be a good idea to keep them in their
boxes to-night on the sleeping-car. They are unusually well behaved
little animals, but it would be safer to keep them shut up until the
boys are awake to look after them.
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