John Clark came that night, and it was arranged that he should take the children home the next day. He was a kind-hearted, upright man, and he thought it a shame that any one else should need to look after his sister's children, while he had a home to give them.
His only child, Jack, a boy of ten years of age, gave him little pleasure, and being very fond of children, he liked the thought of having these little ones about him. His wife, a quick-tempered, irritable woman, failed to make his home happy, and had spoiled their only child. She did not like the thought of the children's coming, but her husband had asserted his authority and told her firmly, "It will have to be."
Dr. Brookland kindly offered to help John Clark with the expense. The Clarks owned a small, prosperous farm near a country village, and John being a steady, industrious man, was each year able to save a little money.
Next day the children's clothes were collected and put together in a small box, and the three little ones were lifted into the wagon beside the farmer.
Their kind friend, Miss Brookland, parted from them with tears in her eyes, and slipped a bit of money into each little hand. Their mother was not expected to live more than twenty-four hours.
At first they clung to Marian crying, and could not be persuaded to leave happily, but when she drew a pleasant picture of the farmhouse to which they were going, and the drive by the way, they allowed the kind-hearted farmer to place them in the wagon. They did not know they were going to live with their uncle, but just thought that he was going to take them for a short visit to his farm.
Rose held little May tightly in her arms as they drove off, but Robin was looking full in his uncle's face, and as he saw a tear roll down his cheeks, he said, "What are you crying for?"
The farmer did not answer, but turned away his head and snapped the whip at his horse, after which he examined his whip handle carefully.
"What did you cry for?" said Robin, pulling his sleeve.
The farmer's chest heaved as he answered, while he drew his hand across his eyes,
"I was very fond of your mother when I was a lad, Robin; she was a good sister to me."
"Did you love my mother?" asked Robin, getting close to his uncle.
"Yes I did, and so I do now, little one."
"Well, I'm glad," answered the child, "I suppose you will love us too. But did you know, Uncle John, my mother is going away to a beautiful land? I hope she will soon come back, but I'm to go and see her there. Will you take me?"
"Some day," he answered, not knowing what else to say to the child's question.
"Thank you," said Robin, clapping his hands; "Rose, we will all of us go together at the very same time."
"Oh, how is little Rose getting on?" said her uncle, turning round kindly. "Whenever will you stop wearing that solemn little face? I have lots of nice things around my house. There are pigs, and cows, and chickens, and pretty flowers, and if you are a good child to your aunt, you'll get along well. Now, gee up, old horse," he said, touching the steady old mare, and on she trotted, jolting the children in the wagon, and making them swing first to one side and then to the other.
They jolted away for more than two hours. The evening grew dim; the sun sank down behind the trees, leaving a bright red glow. The little birds began to chirp their evening songs, and the thrush sent out every now and then his clear wild note.
The baby laughed and tried to talk. Now and then she would say, "Mum, mum," and pat Rose's face so prettily to make her smile, that eventually Rose half forgot her sadness, and began to join in May's merry ways.
Soon their uncle said, "In five minutes we shall be home. Listen, Robin, and you'll hear Bouncer bark."
"Is he a dog?" asked Robin. "I like dogs, and horses. I almost wish I was one."
"Yes, he is a dog, but don't go too near him at first because he is fierce. He'll bite you."
"Dogs never bite me," said Robin, solemnly. "You'll just see if they do."