"No crying, now!" She clenched her hands together tightly and
set her teeth.
Something moved in the room. Somebody leaned over her. It was Cousin
Ann, who didn't make a sound, not one, but who took Betsy in her strong
arms and held her close and closer, till Betsy could feel the quick
pulse of the other's heart beating all through her own body. Then she
was gone--as silently as she came.
But somehow that great embrace had taken away all the burning tightness
from Betsy's eyes and heart. She was very, very tired, and soon after
this she fell sound asleep, snuggled up close to Molly.
In the morning, nobody spoke of last night at all. Breakfast was
prepared and eaten, and the team hitched up directly afterward. Betsy
and Uncle Henry were to drive to the station together to meet Aunt
Frances's train. Betsy put on her new wine-colored cashmere that Cousin
Ann had made her, with the soft white collar of delicate old embroidery
that Aunt Abigail had given her out of one of the trunks in the attic.
She and Uncle Henry said very little as they drove to the village, and
even less as they stood waiting together on the platform. Betsy slipped
her hand into his and he held it tight as the train whistled in the
distance and came slowly and laboriously puffing up to the station.
Just one person got off at the little station, and that was Aunt
Frances, looking ever so dressed up and citified, with a fluffy ostrich-
feather boa and kid gloves and a white veil over her face and a big blue
one floating from her gay-flowered velvet hat.
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