Chapter 7

           OnthemorningappointedforherdepartureTesswasawakebeforedawn—atthemarginalminuteofthedarkwhenthegroveisstillmute,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.