Chapter 7

           

           OnthemorningappointedforherdepartureTesswasawakebeforedawnatthemarginalminuteofthedarkwhenthegroveisstillmute,saveforonepropheticbirdwhosingswithaclear-voicedconvictionthatheatleastknowsthecorrecttimeofday,therestpreservingsilenceasifequallyconvincedthatheismistaken.Sheremainedupstairspackingtillbreakfast-time,andthencamedowninherordinaryweek-dayclothes,herSundayapparelbeingcarefullyfoldedinherbox.

           Hermotherexpostulated.“Youwillneversetouttoseeyourfolkswithoutdressingupmorethedandthanthat?”

           “ButIamgoingtowork!”saidTess.

           “Well,yes,”saidMrsDurbeyfield;andinaprivatetone,“atfirsttheremidbealittlepretenceo’t....ButIthinkitwillbewiserof‘eetoputyourbestsideoutward,”sheadded.

           “Verywell;Isupposeyouknowbest,”repliedTesswithcalmabandonment.

           AndtopleaseherparentthegirlputherselfquiteinJoan’shands,sayingserenely“Dowhatyoulikewithme,mother.”

           MrsDurbeyfieldwasonlytoodelightedatthistractability.Firstshefetchedagreatbasin,andwashedTess’shairwithsuchthoroughnessthatwhendriedandbrusheditlookedtwiceasmuchasatothertimes.Shetieditwithabroaderpinkribbonthanusual.

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