All was ready at last, the rugs, the hand-bag, and the tin trunk, to which at the last moment Kate came running to tie a piece of red braid, by which to distinguish it, making Ella and the boys laugh at what they called her "incurable old-maidishness."
"Never mind," she replied, nodding sagely, "you will thank me when you have to hunt for your box amongst twenty others exactly like it."
Kate had suggested going to the station to see them off, but her father objected.
"We shall get on better alone," he argued. "We settle ourselves comfortably in our corners at once, unroll our rugs, and make everything ready before we start, instead of having to make spasmodic efforts to think of last remarks and messages. Of course, if Ella were going alone I should go to see her off, but as it is I would rather not have anyone with us."
Mrs. Hastings thought this a rather hard-hearted way of looking at the matter; but as Ella quite agreed with her father, feeling convinced she could not be able to keep from crying if the farewells were too long protracted, there was nothing for it but to yield, and as soon as the cab came to the door the parting was hurried through, and, almost before she had time to realise that she was really going, Ella found herself halfway to the station.
The railway journey was a long and troublesome one, involving several changes. Before midday Ella had recovered her spirits and her appetite, and acted on Kate's advice. "Do not wait for father to suggest lunch," she had said; "you may be sure he will not begin to feel hungry till you are quite ravenous." Remembering this, Ella laughed to herself at Mr. Hastings's surprise when she suggested that she was ready for her lunch, and proceeded to unpack her stores.
"This is the first course, I suppose," she said, as she produced two neat white-paper packages, each with the name of the contents written on it. "This one contains potted meat sandwiches, and these are chicken. They look very nice, too. These sprigs of watercress between the sandwiches are a great improvement."
"Yes, I must confess they are very good ones," assented Mr. Hastings, after trying one of each kind. "I think someone must have been giving the cook a lecture on the art of cutting them. Home-made sandwiches have generally too much butter, so that they are too rich to eat, and the paper they are wrapped in is greasy and disagreeable; but these have just the right quantity, and they are made with suitable bread--not, as I have often had them, of spongy bread, full of holes, through which the butter and meat oozes on to one's fingers."