walked out, taking their way to the hut in the wood.

It may be supposed what they talked of; they talked of the change that
was coming, and the time which was gone. They made each other cry more
by trying to remember things which had happened in every place they
passed through. They went as far back as the time when Mr. Fairchild
used to carry Henry in his arms when they went out, and only now and
then set him down to walk. They had a story belonging to almost every
tree, to the brook and the bridge, to each little path, and many for
the hut at the end of their walk.

In this hut they sat down and began to ask each other what neither
could answer, whether it was likely they should ever come back to that
dear place.

"It is papa's, we know," said Lucy; "but then he will let the house,
and we don't know who will have it; people always let houses which they
don't live in. He said, one day, that he should let it. But," said
Lucy, with a deep sigh, "I do not think we ought to cry so much; if
grandmamma sees our eyes red, and asks the reason, we shall be obliged
to tell her, and then she will think we do not like going with her."

"Henry does not mind going," said Emily; "he likes it now John is to
go."

They were talking in this way, and had not yet succeeded in quite
stopping themselves from crying, when they thought they heard a voice
from the wood on the other side of the brook. They listened again, and
plainly heard these words: "Lucy! Emily! where are you?"

They came out to the mouth of the hut, and listened, but could not hear
the voice again. Then there came the sound of steps, and they were
frightened and ran back into the hut. The steps were heard more plainly
as they pattered over the bridge, and, not a minute afterwards, who
should appear before the hut but Bessy Goodriche! She was quite out of
breath and all in a glow with running; her hair all in disorder, and
her bonnet at the very back of her head. She could not speak for a
moment, but her face was bright with joy. Lucy and Emily ran to her and
kissed her, and said how she had frightened them.

"Poor little things!" she answered: "you would not do to be lost in a
wood on a dark night. But I am come to tell you it is all settled,
though, to be sure, you know it already; I am so glad and my aunt is so
glad. No more chimneys to come down and clatter over our heads;--and
then, you know, you can come whenever you like, the oftener the more
welcome, and s