“Then I shall come home and teach drawing for
my living,” replied the aspirant for fame, with
philosophic composure. But she made a wry face
at the prospect, and scratched away at her palette
as if bent on vigorous measures before she gave up
her hopes.
“No, you won’t. You hate hard work,
and you’ll marry some rich man, and come home
to sit in the lap of luxury all your days,”
said Jo.
“Your predictions sometimes come to pass, but
I don’t believe that one will. I’m
sure I wish it would, for if I can’t be an artist
myself, I should like to be able to help those who
are,” said Amy, smiling, as if the part of Lady
Bountiful would suit her better than that of a poor
drawing teacher.
“Hum!” said Jo, with a sigh. “If
you wish it you’ll have it, for your wishes
are always granted—mine never.”
“Would you like to go?” asked Amy, thoughtfully
patting her nose with her knife.
“Rather!”
“Well, in a year or two I’ll send for
you, and we’ll dig in the Forum for relics,
and carry out all the plans we’ve made so many
times.”
“Thank you. I’ll remind you of your
promise when that joyful day comes, if it ever does,”
returned Jo, accepting the vague but magnificent offer
as gratefully as she could.
There was not much time for preparation, and the house
was in a ferment till Amy was off. Jo bore up
very well till the last flutter of blue ribbon vanished,
when she retired to her refuge, the garret, and cried
till she couldn’t cry any more. Amy likewise
bore up stoutly till the steamer sailed. Then
just as the gangway was about to be withdrawn, it suddenly
came over her that a whole ocean was soon to roll
between her and those who loved her best, and she
clung to Laurie, the last lingerer, saying with a
sob . . .
“Oh, take care of them for me, and if anything
should happen . . .”
“I will, dear, I will, and if anything happens,
I’ll come and comfort you,” whispered
Laurie, little dreaming that he would be called upon
to keep his word.
So Amy sailed away to find the Old World, which is
always new and beautiful to young eyes, while her
father and friend watched her from the shore, fervently
hoping that none but gentle fortunes would befall
the happy-hearted girl, who waved her hand to them
till they could see nothing but the summer sunshine
dazzling on the sea.
OUR FOREIGN CORRESPONDENT
London
Dearest People, Here I really sit at a front window
of the Bath Hotel, Piccadilly. It’s not
a fashionable place, but Uncle stopped here years
ago, and won’t go anywhere else. However,
we don’t mean to stay long, so it’s no
great matter. Oh, I can’t begin to tell
you how I enjoy it all! I never can, so I’ll
only give you bits out of my notebook, for I’ve
done nothing but sketch and scribble since I started.
