“They are some of the things you like,” he said, when he had returned from putting it in the berth.

“How good of you, Peter!  I shall never be able to eat all that.”

“I hope there is a doctor on the train,” said Uncle Tom.

“Yassah,” answered the black porter, who had been listening with evident relish, “right good doctah—­Doctah Lov’ring.”

Even Aunt Mary laughed.

“Peter,” asked Honora, “can’t you get Judge Brice to send you on to New York this winter on law business?  Then you could come up to Sutcliffe to see me.”

“I’m afraid of Miss Turner,” declared Peter.

“Oh, she wouldn’t mind you,” exclaimed Honora.  “I could say you were an uncle.  It would be almost true.  And perhaps she would let you take me down to New York for a matinee.”

“And how about my ready-made clothes?” he said, looking down at her.  He had never forgotten that.

Honora laughed.

“You don’t seem a bit sorry that I’m going,” she replied, a little breathlessly.  “You know I’d be glad to see you, if you were in rags.”

“All aboard!” cried the porter, grinning sympathetically.

Honora threw her arms around Aunt Mary and clung to her.  How small and frail she was!  Somehow Honora had never realized it in all her life before.

“Good-by, darling, and remember to put on your thick clothes on the cool days, and write when you get to New York.”

Then it was Uncle Tom’s turn.  He gave her his usual vigorous hug and kiss.

“It won’t be long until Christmas,” he whispered, and was gone, helping Aunt Mary off the train, which had begun to move.

Peter remained a moment.

“Good-by, Honora.  I’ll write to you often and let you know how they are.  And perhaps—­you’ll send me a letter once in a while.”

“Oh, Peter, I will,” she cried.  “I can’t bear to leave you—­I didn’t think it would be so hard—­”

He held out his hand, but she ignored it.  Before he realized what had happened to him she had drawn his face to hers, kissed it, and was pushing him off the train.  Then she watched from the, platform the three receding figures in the yellow smoky light until the car slipped out from under the roof into the blackness of the night.  Some faint, premonitory divination of what they represented of immutable love in a changing, heedless, selfish world came to her; rocks to which one might cling, successful or failing, happy or unhappy.  For unconsciously she thought of them, all three, as one, a human trinity in which her faith had never been betrayed.  She felt a warm moisture on her cheeks, and realized that she was crying with the first real sorrow of her life.