aculously with the needs of the Ingrams. The boys, each with their modest hand-luggage, stood on the stone step of Ingram Mansion, rather solemn in the sunset. The aunts were too much wrapped up in the present to think of the other Marks, sailing to the Orient from the wharf at the end of Chesley Street, but Mr. Bolliver thought of it, and perhaps Jane did, too. She kissed the boys very hard, and they let her, and Mark said gruffly, "Wish you were coming along, too, old girl," and Alan said, "We'll write from everywhere," and the aunts cried, "You're sure you have all your socks, Mark?"
But then the taxicab that had come across the bridge stood chugging below, and the boys turned and ran suddenly down the steps. The aunts stood and waved their little lace handkerchiefs. The wisteria had long ceased blooming, and the sun was setting now, but Mr. Bolliver waved his hand and the taxicab bumped off over the cobbles. Mark's face showed for a moment at the little window in the back. Then the taxicab was gone and Chesley Street was very still. The elms sighed a little and a ship's bell sounded somewhere down-harbor. The sun was very nearly gone, and only the last
