13
Going Home to Spend Vacation
All was now life and activity, and preparations for going home were made rapidly. Trunks were packed, carried downstairs, and piled up on the sidewalk in front of the institution. The large farm wagons were brought around and soon heaped high with trunks of various sizes, capacity, and weight. They rolled away toward the Grand Union Depot.
Oh, how slowly the hours of that afternoon seemed to pass to the impatient throng awaiting the coming of the morrow, which would witness their departure for home—sweet home. They wandered aimlessly through the large, airy rooms, or strolled listlessly about the beautiful grounds, scarcely noticing how soft and green was the carpet of grass beneath their feet, or how lovely the trees clothed in their robes of living green. The thoughts of all seemed centered on the “dear ones” at home. All did I say? I should not have said all; for there were some who were homeless. On the morrow, parents of the fortunate ones would be waiting with eager expectation to greet their unfortunate children, doubly dear to them because unfortunate. How proud they would be to note the progress made in knowledge during the term. How gratified they would feel to witness their growth out of ignorance and helplessness into attractive, intelligent youths and maidens, or budding into respectable and refined manhood or womanhood.
But those homeless ones whose parents had died leaving them behind in the wide world! Who would welcome them? And who would rejoice over their progress? Were they to be entirely neglected? No! God has promised to care for the fatherless and to be a father to them; he had raised up kind friends for some of these homeless children, who would be waiting to welcome them and provide for their wants, while others were to be provided with places where they could earn their daily bread.
The longest and most wearisome day must some time come to an end. And so that long day, anon, drew near its close. Supper was eaten a little earlier than usual. After that meal—which was sadly slighted on account of the excitement caused by pleasant anticipations—was over, the pupils were divided into companies according to the route they were to take to reach their homes. Each company was instructed as to the time to be ready to start. One company, composed mostly of pupils living at long distances from the institution, was to leave that evening, and they at once began to prepare for the journey. Soon their good-byes had been said, and they were on their way. As the night came on, groups of girls gathered under the two solitary gas jets, which only dimly illumed their large study room, to engage in little chats; but the supervisor soon came into the room to bid them all retire to rest and gather strength for their coming journey. Some of them declared they could not sleep any that night, but, in spite of these assertions, “gentle slumber” visited every one of them.
Bright and early the next morning all were astir. Breakfast was soon served, and lunches for the travelers were prepared and brought up to the library. Company after company soon left the building and started down the street toward the depot.
Carrie Raymond had been informed on the previous day that her father would come for her and that she must remain at the institution until his arrival. She waited cheerfully for a while; but as one company of pupils after another departed, until the place was almost deserted, and still he did not come, she began to feel very lonesome and homesick. Noticing her dejected appearance as she stood in the library, Mattie Mayhews, one of the superintendent’s daughters, asked, “Are you expecting your father?”
“Yes; but he does not come,” Carrie answered.
“He will come,” Mattie said, assuringly. But Carrie had now become rather despondent, and the tears would well up and fill her eyes in spite of her attempts to keep them back. Seeing that she was crying, one of the girls, at the superintendent’s suggestion, led her away; but she refused to be comforted. “Carrie Raymond has been crying nearly all morning,” said one of the girls to Miss Tyndall, the matron, who, by chance, came into the hall where Carrie was standing. “You must stop crying,” said the matron, somewhat severely. That admonition was scarcely heeded by Carrie. A little while later the nurse, a kind-hearted little woman, with pock-marked face and hair arranged in the queerest fashion, came idling along in her usual spry manner, and, seeing Carrie still looking depressed, began talking to her, cheerily. She knew the cause of Carrie’s trouble, and assured her that her father would soon come. “Watch for him,” she said, wishing to give Carrie something to occupy her mind. She glided swiftly away to attend to some little duty. Carrie’s spirits rose somewhat after hearing the pleasant talk of the nurse, and, stationing herself on a broad windowsill from whence she could see partly down the avenue leading to the principal gate, she proceeded to watch for her father. At length, after about half an hour more of watching and waiting, she discerned the lower part of a man’s form as he came up the avenue. The overhanging boughs of trees prevented her from seeing more at that distance. But she felt sure, from the way the man walked, that it was her father; hurrying up to the nurse’s room, she informed her of the fact. When they together, a minute or so later, looked out of the window, the man was in full view, and Carrie was not disappointed.
The nurse hurried her into the grand entrance, where she stood ready to greet her father. “We assured you he would come,” said the superintendent, after Mr. Raymond had been ushered into the pleasant little reception room. Carrie’s only answer was a smile. After a short conversation, Mr. Raymond, bidding Carrie remain a while longer, left the building in company with the superintendent and strolled down the pleasant avenue.
Presently Victor Walling, a pleasant-dispositioned deaf-mute young man, came up the steps to the portico, and, addressing the teacher with whom Carrie was conversing, said, “I have got a place to work this summer. I met a man in company with the superintendent, just now, who offered me a position at fair wages on his farm.” “It was Carrie’s father,” replied the teacher. Victor Walling thought he was joking and expressed as much. Just then the superintendent came back and said to Carrie, “Victor Walling is going to work for your father this summer.” Victor was now convinced and expressed his pleasure at the turn of affairs, and at once began to make ready to accompany Carrie and Mr. Raymond to their home.
The superintendent had ordered an early dinner for the travelers, but Carrie could hardly eat a mouthful. Mr. Raymond, who had gone to get a hack, returned in the course of an hour.
The superintendent stood beside Carrie, watching her happy expression of countenance as she put on her hat; and the dainty pink gingham cape that corresponded with her dress was fastened by Miss Tyndall.
“Are you glad to go home?” the superintendent asked.
“Yes,” Carrie replied, with a happy smile. Good-byes were then said, and she tripped lightly down the broad flight of steps and entered the hack, followed by her father. Victor Walling entered a few minutes later. The driver closed the door, mounted to his seat, and the hack rolled away down the avenue and proceeded toward the depot.
It was dark when Carrie reached home, but her heart was full of sunshine. It seemed so nice to be at home with loved ones once more, and she had a beautiful home, too. The weeks of vacation were not long in gliding by; all too soon, thought some, the time for the reopening of school came around.