*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 67309 ***

                          Transcriber’s Note

In the following transcription, italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Small capitals in the original text have been transcribed as ALL
CAPITALS.

See end of this document for details of corrections and other changes.

               ————————————— Start of Book —————————————


                     A LIST OF THE ELSIE BOOKS AND
                          OTHER POPULAR BOOKS

                                  BY

                             MARTHA FINLEY

                              ———————————

                  _ELSIE DINSMORE._
                    _ELSIE’S HOLIDAYS AT ROSELANDS._
                      _ELSIE’S GIRLHOOD._
                        _ELSIE’S WOMANHOOD._
                          _ELSIE’S MOTHERHOOD._
                            _ELSIE’S CHILDREN._
                  _ELSIE’S WIDOWHOOD._
                    _GRANDMOTHER ELSIE._
                      _ELSIE’S NEW RELATIONS._
                        _ELSIE AT NANTUCKET._
                          _THE TWO ELSIES._
                            _ELSIE’S KITH AND KIN._
                  _ELSIE’S FRIENDS AT WOODBURN._
                    _CHRISTMAS WITH GRANDMA ELSIE._
                      _ELSIE AND THE RAYMONDS._
                        _ELSIE YACHTING WITH THE RAYMONDS._
                          _ELSIE’S VACATION._
                            _ELSIE AT VIAMEDE._
                  _ELSIE AT ION._
                    _ELSIE AT THE WORLD’S FAIR._
                      _ELSIE’S JOURNEY ON INLAND WATERS._
                        _ELSIE AT HOME._
                          _ELSIE ON THE HUDSON._
                            _ELSIE IN THE SOUTH._
                              _ELSIE’S YOUNG FOLKS._
                                _ELSIE’S WINTER TRIP._
                                  _ELSIE AND HER LOVED ONES._

                              ——————————

                  _MILDRED KEITH._
                    _MILDRED AT ROSELANDS._
                      _MILDRED’S MARRIED LIFE._
                        _MILDRED AND ELSIE._
                          _MILDRED AT HOME._
                            _MILDRED’S BOYS AND GIRLS._
                              _MILDRED’S NEW DAUGHTER._

                              ——————————

                  _CASELLA._
                    _SIGNING THE CONTRACT AND WHAT IT COST._
                      _THE TRAGEDY OF WILD RIVER VALLEY._
                        _OUR FRED._
                          _AN OLD-FASHIONED BOY._
                            _WANTED, A PEDIGREE._
                              _THE THORN IN THE NEST._




                            [Illustration]




                            ELSIE’S FRIENDS

                                  AT

                               WOODBURN


                                  BY

                             MARTHA FINLEY

           AUTHOR OF “ELSIE DINSMORE,” “ELSIE AT NANTUCKET,”
              “OUR FRED,” “MILDRED AND ELSIE,” “WANTED—A
                         PEDIGREE,” ETC., ETC.


                              ——————————


                               NEW YORK
                         DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
                              PUBLISHERS




                           COPYRIGHT, 1887,
                                  BY
                         DODD, MEAD & COMPANY.




                     ELSIE’S FRIENDS AT WOODBURN.


                              CHAPTER I.


The twenty-fourth had been cold and stormy: a keen, biting wind blowing
continuously, during the greater part of the day, bringing with it a
heavy fall of sleet and snow.

The weather on Christmas Day was an improvement upon that—the wind
being less boisterous and the snow-fall only an occasional light
flurry, but the sun scarcely showed his face, and as evening drew on
the moon shone but fitfully and through skurrying clouds; the ground
was white with snow, but as it had drifted badly, the roads were not
in condition for sleighing, and Max Raymond and Evelyn Leland made the
journey from Woodburn to the Oaks in a close carriage.

Captain Raymond handed Evelyn in. Max took a seat by her side and
gallantly tucked the robes about her feet, remarking that it was the
coldest night of the season so far.

“Yes,” she said, “but I suppose we shall have still colder weather
before the winter is over. This is nothing to some I have known in my
old home at the north.”

“Oh no!” returned Max, “I remember it used to be very much colder where
we lived when I was a little fellow.”

Eva smiled, thinking he was not nearly grown up yet.

“And hardly a breath of wind reaches us in this close carriage,” she
said. “I shouldn’t care if the ride was to be twice as long.”

“No, nor I,” said Max. “But I dare say we’ll have a fine time after we
get to the Oaks.”

“Yes; but I am so sorry your father thought best to decline the
invitation for Lulu; I shall not enjoy myself half so well without
her,” sighed Evelyn.

“I’m sorry too,” Max said: “for I know it was a great disappointment to
her when papa told her she was not to go. I don’t know why he refused
to let her, but I do know that he always has a good reason when he
denies any of us a pleasure.”

Eva said, “Of course; I am quite sure he is the best and kindest of
fathers,” and then they began talking of the approaching festivities
at the Oaks, and those whom they expected to meet there.

“Do you know who are invited besides ourselves?” asked Max.

“I believe I do,” replied Evelyn. “There are to be two or three sets;
little ones—Walter Travilla, and the eldest two of Aunt Rose Lacey’s
children—as mates for little Horace and his sister, Rosie Travilla,
Lora Howard and myself for Sydney and Maud; you and Ralph Conly, Art
and Walter Howard for their brother’s companions, besides Bertram Shaw,
a school-friend of the Dinsmore boys, who, for their sakes, has been
asked to the Oaks to spend the holidays.”

“Eva,” queried Max, “Do you know exactly what relation Horace Chester
Dinsmore and his brother and sisters are to the rest? they seem to call
everybody cousin, so far as I’ve noticed; even Grandpa Dinsmore.”

“Yes; I was asking Aunt Elsie about them the other day,” replied Eva,
“and she told me their father was own cousin to Grandpa Dinsmore;
his father’s brother’s son; and when he died he left them to Grandpa
Dinsmore’s care; made him their guardian, I mean, and as Uncle Horace
and his wife were kindly willing to have them at the Oaks, they were
invited to make it their home till they are grown up. It’s a lovely
place, and I know they are very kindly treated, but I can’t help
feeling sorry for them because both their parents are dead.”

“Nor I,” said Max, “for no matter how kind other folks may be to you,
it isn’t like having your own father or mother. I’m ever so fond of
Mamma Vi though,” he added with emphasis, “and just as glad as I can
be that papa married her.”

“And that she married him,” put in Eva, laughingly. “I think it was a
grand match on both sides; she is so sweet and lovely, and he in every
way worthy of her.”

“My opinion, exactly,” laughed Max. “I am very proud of my father, Eva.”

“I don’t wonder; I am sure I should be in your place,” she said. “Ah
see, we are just turning into the grounds! The ride has seemed very
short to me. But it’s quite a little journey yet to the house. I admire
this winding drive very much. It gives one quite a number of beautiful
views, and it’s really obliging in the moon to come out just now from
behind that cloud and show us how lovely every thing is looking. I
think newly-fallen snow gives such a charming variety to a landscape.

“There’s witchery in the moonlight, too,” she went on, glancing out
through the windows, now on this side, now on that. “I don’t wonder
Grandma Elsie is so fond of this place where, as she says, she lived
so happily with her father and Grandma Rose when she was a little girl,
and until she was married.”

At that moment a turn in the road brought the front of the mansion
into full view. Lights were gleaming from every window, seeming to
promise a warm welcome and an abundance of good cheer, a promise whose
fulfillment began presently as the carriage drew up before the door.

“You are the last, my dears, but none the less welcome,” Mrs. Dinsmore
said, as she kissed Evelyn and shook hands with Max.

“Thank you, ma’am. I hope you have not kept your tea waiting for us,”
returned Eva a little anxiously.

“Oh no, my dear, we had been told not to expect you to tea, so did not
wait.”

“And Rosie Travilla has only just come,” said Maud, taking possession
of Evelyn and hurrying her away to the room appropriated to their joint
use during Eva’s stay.

“These rooms that used to be Cousin Elsie’s have been given up to our
use for the present,” she said. “This was her bedroom; there is another
adjoining it on that side, and her dressing-room on the other is
turned into a bedroom for the time, so that we six girls are all close
together, and have her boudoir for our own private little parlor, where
we can be quite to ourselves whenever we wish. Isn’t it nice?”

“Yes, indeed!” returned Evelyn.

“Oh Rosie, so you got here before me!” as the latter came running in,
followed by Sydney, and greeted her with a hug and kiss.

“Yes; a little. But where’s Lu?”

“The captain thought it best for her to stay at home, and she preferred
to do so, since Gracie is so unwell as to need her nursing.”

“How nice and good of her!” cried Sydney; “but I’m ever so sorry not to
have her with us, for I like her very much indeed.”

“I love her dearly,” said Evelyn. “I never saw a more warm-hearted,
generous girl, and it’s just beautiful to see how she and Gracie love
one another; their father and brother, too.”

“I really think the captain might have let Lu come, and I am very sorry
for her disappointment,” said Rosie.

“She was disappointed at first,” said Evelyn, “but after Gracie took
sick she wouldn’t have come if her father had given permission; she
told me so, saying that she couldn’t enjoy herself at all, knowing her
darling little sister was suffering without her there to comfort and
amuse her.”

“Vi would have done that quite as well, I am sure,” remarked Rosie.

“And so we’re only five instead of six,” said Maud. “Well, we’ll each
one of us just have to try to be all the more entertaining to the rest.
Your dress and hair are all right, Eva, and let us hurry out to the
parlor, where the others are: for they’ll be wanting us to take part in
the games.”

The door opened as she spoke, and an attractive-looking little girl,
about Evelyn’s age, looked in. It was Lora Howard, the youngest of the
Pine Grove family.

“Come, girls,” she said, “we’re waiting for you. O Eva, how do you do?”

“What’s the game to be?” asked Rosie; “some sort of a romping one to
please the little ones, I suppose.”

“Yes; either Pussy Wants a Corner, or Blindman’s Buff,” replied Lora,
leading the way to the scene of festivity.

For a time mirth and jollity ruled the hour, the older people joining
in the sports of the young, with the double motive of watching over
them and adding to their enjoyment; then light refreshments were
partaken of. After that the servants were called in, and the head of
the family read aloud a short Psalm, offered a brief prayer, giving
thanks for the blessings of life and the pleasures of the past day, and
asking for the protecting care during the silent watches of the night,
of Him who neither slumbers nor sleeps.

Then the good-nights were spoken, and all scattered to their rooms.

The little ones were carried off by Mrs. Dinsmore and their nurses; the
five young girls retreated to the suite of rooms set apart to their
use, and the lads—seven in number—trooped up the broad stairway leading
to the second story.

“You and I are to be bed-fellows, Max, and to share the same room with
Art and Walter Howard,” said Frank Dinsmore. “You see we have to crowd
a little—there being such a lot of us—but it’ll be all the jollier,
don’t you think, boys?”

He had led the way, as he spoke, into a most inviting-looking room,
large enough to seem far from crowded, even with the two double beds
filling opposite corners.

“Yes, yes, indeed!” the others responded, in chorus, Art adding: “The
more the merrier, and we’ll have no end of a good time, if I’m not
mightily mistaken.”

A door of communication with another room stood wide open, and through
it they could see the three older lads, gathered about a blazing wood
fire.

“Walk in, boys,” called Chester, addressing Max and his companions, as
he saw them sending curious glances in that direction.

“We’re expected to go to bed, aren’t we?” queried Max in reply, coming
in last, and speaking with some hesitation.

“We’re not at boarding-school, my lad,” laughed Chester, “and no one
has given orders as to the exact hour for retiring, so far as I am
aware.”

“Of course not,” said his brother, “Cousin Horace and Cousin Sue are
not of the sort to be over strict with a fellow, and would never think
of laying down the law to visitors, any way.”

“And it’s not late,” added Walter, accepting the chair Chester had set
for him.

“Come on, Max, we’re a respectable crowd, and won’t damage your
morals,” said Ralph, lighting a cigar and beginning to smoke it.

“I should hope not,” said Chester, “and I presume if any such danger
had been apprehended he would hardly have been allowed to come to the
Oaks.”

“Are his morals supposed to be more easily damaged than those of the
common run of fellows?” asked Bertram Shaw, regarding Max with a
sneering, supercilious stare.

“I am inclined to think they are,” said Ralph.

“Come, come, now, I’m not going to have Max made uncomfortable,”
interposed Chester, good-naturedly. “He’s my guest, you know. Here, sit
down, laddie, it’s early yet,” pushing forward a chair as he spoke,
“have a cigar?”

“No thank you,” returned Max pleasantly; “I tried one once and got
enough of it. I never was so sick in my life.”

“Oh, that’s nothing unusual for a first trial; likely it wouldn’t have
the same effect again,” said Bertram.

“Better take one; you’ll seem twice the man if you smoke that you will
if you don’t.”

The box of cigars had been passed around to all, and each of the other
boys had taken one, but Max steadily refused.

“My father says it is very injurious to boys, and will stunt their
growth,” he gave as a reason; adding, with a laugh, “and it’s my
ambition to be as tall as he is, and like him in every way.”

“Very right,” remarked Frank, “but do you mind the smoke?”

“Oh no, not at all.”

But the next minute he saw something that he did mind. A table was
drawn into the middle of the room and a pack of cards and a bottle of
wine produced from some hiding-place and set upon it, while Chester
invited them all to draw up their chairs and have a glass and a game.

The others accepted without hesitation, but Max rose and, with burning
cheeks and fast-beating heart, uttered a protest.

“Oh, you can’t be going to drink and gamble, surely! What would Uncle
Horace say if he knew such things were going on in his house?”

“No, my son,” said Chester, laughingly, “we’re not going to do either;
we’ll not play for money, so it won’t be gambling, and the wine isn’t
strong enough to make a fellow drunk; no, nor anywhere near it. So you
needn’t be afraid to join us.”

“No, thank you,” returned Max firmly. “I can not think it right or
safe to drink even wine, or to play cards, whether you put up a stake
or not.”

“No, ’twouldn’t be safe for you, I presume,” sneered Ralph. “He’s
awfully afraid of his governor, lads; so we’d best not try to persuade
him.”

“Do you mean my father?” demanded Max, a trifle hotly.

“Of course, my little man; whom else should I mean?”

“Then I want you to understand that I never would be so disrespectful
to my father as to call him that!”

“It’s not so bad,” laughed Chester, while Bertram frowned and muttered
something about a “Muff and a spooney,” and Frank said, “Come now, Max,
sit down and have a game with us. Where’s the harm?”

“Don’t urge him,” sneered Ralph, “he’s afraid of a flogging. He knows
he’d catch it, and the captain looks like a man that wouldn’t mince
matters if he undertook to administer it.”

Max’s face flushed more hotly than before, but he straightened himself
and looked his tormentor full in the eye as he answered: “I don’t deny
that I should expect a flogging if I should weakly yield and do what my
conscience tells me is wrong, even if my father had not forbidden it,
as he has; but I’m not ashamed to own that I love my father so well
that the pained look I should see in his face when he learned that his
only son had taken to such wicked courses, would be worse to me than
a dozen floggings. Good-night to you all,” and he turned and left the
room.

“Coward!” muttered Ralph, as the door closed on him.

“Any thing else than that, I should say,” remarked Chester. “I think
he has just shown himself the bravest of us all. Moral courage, we all
know, is courage of the highest kind.”

“Yes, boys, I am sure he’s in the right, and I, for one, shall follow
his example,” said Arthur, rising; and with a hasty good-night, he too
disappeared.

Walter and Frank exchanged glances.

“I think myself we might be at better business,” remarked the one.

“That’s so!” assented the other, and they, too, withdrew to the next
room.

Max had taken a tiny volume from his pocket and was seated near the
light, reading.

“What have you there, old fellow?” asked Frank, stepping to his side,
laying a hand on his shoulder, and bending down to look. “A Testament,
I declare!”

The tone expressed astonishment, not unmixed with derision.

Max’s cheek flushed again, but he replied without hesitation, and in
his usual pleasant tones, “Yes, I promised papa I would always read at
least one verse before going to bed at night.”

“And say your prayers, too, I suppose?”

Max felt very much as if he were called to march up to the cannon’s
mouth, as a glance showed him that not Frank only, but the other two
boys also, were standing regarding him with mingled curiosity and
amusement. His heart quailed for a moment, but the remembrance of what
his father had once told him of his having to pass through such ordeals
in his youthful days, gave him courage to emulate that father’s example
and stand to his colors in spite of the ridicule that seemed so hard to
face.

“And God’s eye is on me, his ear open to hear what I say,” was the next
thought; “I will not dishonor either my earthly or my heavenly father.”

All this passed through his mind in a second of time, and he hardly
seemed to pause before he answered in a firm, steady voice, “Yes; I
did promise that too; and even if I had not, I should do it. Don’t you
think, you fellows, it would be mean and ungrateful for a boy that is
so well off as I am, and has been having such a splendid time all day
long, to tumble into his bed without so much as saying thank you to the
One he owes it all to?”

“Does look like it when you put it so,” muttered Arthur.

“And then,” proceeded Max, “who is there to take care of us while we
and every body else are all fast asleep? May be we’ll wake in the
morning all right if we don’t take the trouble to ask God to keep us
alive and safe, for He’s always a great deal better to us than we
deserve, but don’t you think it’s wise to ask him?”

“I reckon,” said Frank, forcing a laugh, for Max’s seriousness was
rather infectious: “we’ll not hinder you any way, old boy, and while
you are in the way of asking for yourself, you can just include the
rest of us, if you like.”

“How old are you Max?” queried Arthur.

“Thirteen.”

“And I, though four years older, am not half the soldier you are.”

Max shook his head. “I am not brave at all; it was awfully hard to
speak out against the cards and wine, and I did hope I’d have this room
to myself till—till I’d got through with reading and—and the rest of
it.”

“Of course; but you went through the fight and stuck manfully to your
colors for all your fright. I say, old fellow, you’re worthy to be the
son of a naval officer.”

“Thanks,” said Max, flushing with pleasure; “I wouldn’t be worthy of
my father if I couldn’t brave more than I have to-night.”

“Well, go ahead and finish up your devotions; we’ll not disturb you,”
said Frank, turning away and beginning to undress for bed.

The Howards followed his example, all three keeping very quiet while
Max was on his knees.

They had all been brought up under religious influences, and while not
controlled by them as Max was, yet felt constrained to respect his firm
adherence to duty and the right.




                              CHAPTER II.


Captain Raymond had foreseen the probability that his son would be
subjected to such an ordeal, and had tried—successfully as the event
proved—to prepare him for it.

Max was busy with his preparations for bed on the previous night, when
his door opened and his father came in.

“Well, my boy,” he said in his usual kind, fatherly tones, “I hope you
have had a happy day and evening?”

“Yes, papa; oh yes, indeed! Never had a more splendid time in all my
life!”

“In all your long life of thirteen years!” laughed the captain, seating
himself and regarding his son with a proud, fond look.

“No, sir; and such splendid presents as you and the rest have given
me! Why, I’d be the most ungrateful fellow in the world if I wasn’t as
happy as a king!”

“Happy as a king?” echoed his father. “Ah, my boy, I should be sorry
indeed to think that your life was to be less happy than that of most
monarchs. ‘Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.’

“I want to have a little chat with you,” he resumed, after a moment’s
silence, his countenance and the tones of his voice much graver than
they had been a moment since. “I heard to-day that Ralph Conly, who
exerted so bad an influence over my son some time ago, is to make one
of the party at the Oaks.”

“Is he, papa? then I suppose you have come to tell me you can’t let me
go?” Max returned, in a tone of keen disappointment.

“No,” said his father, kindly, “I do not withdraw the consent I
have given; you may go, but I want you to be on your guard against
temptation to do wrong. I am told Ralph professes to have reformed, but
I fear it may prove to be only profession, and that he and others may
try to lead my son astray from the paths of rectitude.”

Max looked very sober for a moment; then said with an effort, “I’ll
give up going papa, if you wish it—if you’re afraid for me.”

“Thank you, my boy,” returned his father, heartily, taking the lad’s
hand, as he stood by his side, and pressing it with affectionate
warmth, “but I won’t ask such self-denial. You must meet temptation
some time, and if you go trusting in a strength not your own, I believe
you will come off conqueror.

“Don’t let persuasion, sneers or ridicule induce you to do violence to
your conscience, in either shirking a known duty, or taking part in
any wrong or doubtful amusement. Remember it would go nigh to break
your father’s heart to learn that you had been drinking, gambling, or
taking God’s holy name in vain.”

“Oh, papa, I hope I shall never, never do such wicked things again!”
Max said with emotion, calling to mind how he had once fallen under
Ralph’s influence.

“I know you don’t intend to,” his father said, “and I trust you will
have strength given you to resist, if the temptation comes; but I know
too, that it is very difficult for a boy to stand out against the
sneers, ridicule and contempt of his mates. But how much better to have
the smile and approval of God, your heavenly Father, than that of any
number of human creatures! Do not be like those chief rulers among the
Jews who would not confess Christ because they loved the praise of men
more than the praise of God!”

“No, papa, I hope I shall not. Besides, I don’t care half so much for
the good opinion of all the boys in the land as for yours,” he added,
gazing into his father’s face with eyes brimming over with ardent
filial love and reverence. “I am proud to be your son, papa, and I do
hope you’ll never have cause to be ashamed of me.”

“No, my boy, I trust you will be always, as now, your father’s joy and
pride,” responded the captain, again pressing affectionately the hand
he held. “Rest assured that nothing but wrong doing on your part can
ever make you any thing else. Nor would even that rob you of his love.”

“Then, papa, I think I shall never try to hide my faults from you,”
returned the lad with impulsive warmth; “for I’m sure a fellow feels a
great deal more comfortable when he isn’t trying to make believe to his
father that he is a better boy than he is really.”

“Yes; when his effort is not merely to seem, but to be all that he
knows his best earthly friend would have him. You needn’t stand in awe
of me, Max, as of one who knows nothing by experience of sinning and
repenting. I sometimes think you are a better boy than I was at your
age, and I hope to see you grow up to be a better man than I am now.”

“Why, papa, I never see you do wrong, and I don’t believe you ever do,”
said Max.

“I do try to live right, Max,” his father answered, “to keep the
commands of God, honoring him in all my ways, and setting a good
example to my children, but I am conscious of many shortcomings, and
could have no hope of heaven but for the atoning blood and imputed
righteousness of Christ.”

“And that’s the only way any body can be saved?” Max said in a low
tone between inquiry and assertion.

“Yes, my boy; for all human righteousnesses are as filthy rags in the
sight of Him who is of purer eyes than to behold evil, and can not look
upon iniquity.”

“Papa,” Max said, after a moment’s thoughtful silence, “I’m afraid you
wouldn’t think it from the way I act and talk, but I have really been
trying to be a Christian ever since that time when I wrote you that I
hoped I had given myself to God.”

“My dear boy, I have noticed your efforts,” was the kindly response; “I
see that you try to control your temper, and are always truthful, and
obedient and respectful to me, kind and obliging to others.”

“But you know, papa, it’s only a few weeks since you came home, and you
haven’t found me out yet,” replied Max, näively. “I’ve often a very
hard fight with myself to go right, and sometimes I fail in spite of
it; then I grow discouraged; and so I’m ever so much obliged to you
for telling me that it’s a good deal the same way with you. It makes
a fellow feel better, you see, to find out that even those he respects
the most don’t always find it easy to do and feel just as they want to.”

“Yes, my boy, we have the same battle to fight—you and I—the same race
to run; so we can sympathize with each other, and must try to be
fellow-helpers.”

“You can help me, papa, but how can I help you?” asked Max, with a look
of surprise, not unmixed with gratification.

“By being a good son to me and your mamma, and a good brother to your
sisters; if you are all that, you can not fail to be a very great help,
blessing and comfort to me. But best of all, Max, you can pray for me.”

“Oh, papa, I do; I never forget you night or morning; but——”

“Well?”

“I—I’m afraid my prayers are not worth much.”

“Why not, my son? the Bible tells us God is no respecter of persons,
but is ready to hear and answer all who come to him in the name of his
dear Son, who is the one mediator between God and men. If you ask in
his name—for his sake—you are as likely to receive as I or any one else.

“Now I must bid you good-night, for it is high time you were asleep.”

The next evening, about the time the good-nights were being said at the
Oaks, Captain Raymond left Lulu, who had just passed a very happy half
hour, seated on his knee, in her own little sitting-room, and went down
to the parlor where Violet was entertaining her guests.

There was quite a number of them, though it was only a family
gathering. Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore, from Ion; Grandma Elsie, as Evelyn
and the Raymond children called her; Lester Leland and his Elsie;
Edward and Zoe, and Herbert and Harold, who were at home from college
for the Christmas holidays, beside the Lacey’s from the Laurels,
several of the Howards of Pine Grove, and Calhoun and Arthur Conley
from Roselands.

Violet looked up with a welcoming smile as her husband came in, and
made room for him on the sofa by her side.

“I was just telling Lester and Elsie,” she said, “how beautifully Lulu
is behaving—bearing so well the disappointment about her invitation to
the Oaks, and showing such devotion to Gracie in her sickness.”

“Yes, she is a dear child, and well deserving of reward,” he said,
feelingly. “It pained me to deny her the pleasure of sharing the
festivities at the Oaks, though as matters have turned out she would
not have gone had I given permission—loving Gracie, too dearly to leave
her while she is not well—and I have been thinking whether it may not
be made up to her by allowing her to have a party of her own next week:
inviting her young friends who are now at the Oaks, and perhaps some
others, to come here on Monday and stay until Saturday. Does the idea
meet your approval, my dear?”

“Yes, indeed!” cried Violet, looking really delighted! “how happy it
would make her and Max? Gracie, too, I think, if we can only get her
well enough to have a share in the sports.”

“And, I believe,” she added with a laugh, “I am child enough yet to
enjoy it greatly myself.”

“I hope so,” her husband said, smiling fondly upon her; “you are
looking full young enough for mirth and jollity, and must not allow
yourself to grow old too fast in an endeavor to match your years with
mine.”

“No, captain, the better plan would be for you to match yours with hers
by growing young,” said Zoe, laughingly. “Can’t you turn boy again for
a few days?”

“I should not be averse to so doing,” laughed the captain. “I’ll see
what I can do, Sister Zoe. May we look to you for some assistance in
the work of contriving amusements?”

“Yes, indeed; if you give me an invitation to the party. I was not
favored with one to the Oaks, you know, because of being a married
woman; though Ella Conly was, in spite of her superiority of years.”

“Too bad!” returned the captain, gallantly; “but we will not draw the
line just where they did; all the present company will please consider
themselves invited for each evening’s entertainment, mothers and all
under twenty-five, for the whole time—from Monday morning to Saturday
afternoon. I am taking for granted that my wife approves and joins me
in the invitations,” he added, turning smilingly to her.

“Oh, yes; yes, indeed!” she said; “I hope you will all come.”

There was a chorus of thanks and acceptances, some only partial or
conditional.

“I promise you I’ll be here when I can,” Arthur said; “but you know
a doctor can seldom or never be sure of having his time at his own
disposal.”

“You’ll be heartily welcome whenever you do come,” responded the
captain; “but please take notice that you will be expected to be quite
as much of a boy as your host.”

“No objection to that condition,” returned Arthur, smiling; “if I don’t
out-do you in that, it shall be no fault of mine.”

“The next thing in order, I suppose, will be to consider how our young
guests are to be feasted and amused,” remarked Violet.

“Yes,” replied her husband; “but my wife is to be burdened with no care
or responsibility in regard to either. Christine and I will see to the
first—preparations for the feasting—and I imagine there will be no
trouble about the other; the children themselves will probably have a
number of suggestions to make.”

“Some of the older ones, too,” said Zoe, eagerly; and went on to
mention quite a list of games.

“Besides, we can act charades and get up tableaux; and oh, let us
try something I read about the other day in Miss Yonge’s ‘The Three
Brides,’ a magic case with a Peri distributing gifts, oriental genii,
turbaned figures, like princes in the ‘Arabian Nights,’ singing and
piano accompaniment. Oh, it would be fun, and delight the children, I’m
sure! And I know we could manage it all among us very easily.”

“It sounds charming,” said Violet; “we must study it out and see what
we can do. Shall we not, Levis?”

“I like the idea very much, so far as I understand it,” he said. “Who
will volunteer to take part?”

“Zoe and I may be counted on,” said Edward, with a smiling glance at
his young wife.

“And Herbert and I,” added Harold. “We’ve had some experience, and it’s
a sort of thing we enjoy.”

“Yes, and we’ll help with the charades and any thing else, if we’re
wanted,” said Herbert.

But it was growing late, so further arrangements were deferred to
the next day, and the company presently separated for the night. The
Lelands and Edward and Zoe remained in the house; the rest departed to
their homes.

“Why, Gracie; here before me, though you’re the sick one!” exclaimed
Lulu, as, early the next morning, she entered the little sitting-room
they shared between them and found her sister lying on the sofa ready
dressed for the day.

“Yes,” Grace said, “I was so tired of bed, and Agnes said she would
help me dress before mamma’s bell should ring. So I let her; but I’m
tired and have to lie down again a little bit.”

“Yes; you’re not nearly strong enough to sit up all day yet,” returned
Lulu, stooping over her to give her a kiss. “But you’ve been crying,
haven’t you? your eyes look like it.”

Grace nodded, hastily brushing away a tear.

“Why, what’s the matter?” asked Lulu, in surprise. “I can’t think of
any thing to make you cry, unless it’s pain; are you in pain, dear?”

Grace shook her head. “No, Lu, but,” sobbing, “I—I’ve been thinking
’bout that time I was so naughty, meddling with mamma’s things, and—and
oh, you know the rest.”

“Yes, but why does it trouble you now? it was all over such a long time
ago.”

“Yes, but papa doesn’t know about it, and—oughtn’t I to tell him?”

“I don’t know,” Lulu said reflectively; “but you needn’t be afraid; he
wouldn’t punish you after this long while, especially as Mamma Vi knew
all about it at the time, and punished you herself.”

“Such a little bit of a punishment for such a wicked thing,” Grace
said; “papa would have punished me a great deal harder, I’m most sure.”

“But he won’t now; so you needn’t be afraid to tell him.”

“But he’d look so sorry, and I can’t bear to see my dear papa look
sorry for something I did.”

“Then don’t tell him. It isn’t as if it had happened just the other
day.”

“But, Lulu, I oughtn’t to let him think I’m a better girl than I am.”

“Maybe he doesn’t. You _are_ a good girl; a great deal better than I
am.”

“No, I’m not; you would never, never do the wicked thing I did. But I’m
afraid papa thinks I’m better, ’cause when—when he thought the baby was
going to die, he was hugging me up and kissing me, and he said ‘You
never gave me a pang except by your feeble health,’ and I said I didn’t
ever want to, and I forgot all about how bad I’d been that time, and
that papa didn’t know about it.”

“What is it that papa didn’t know about, my darling?” asked a voice
close beside the sofa, and both little girls started in surprise, for
their father had come in so quietly, his slippered feet making no noise
on the carpet, that they had not been aware of his entrance.

He took Grace in his arms as he spoke, sat down with her on his knee,
drew Lulu to a seat by his side, then kissed them both, saying in
tender tones, “Good-morning, my two dear children.”

“Good-morning, my dear papa,” responded Lulu, leaning her cheek
affectionately against his shoulder.

But Gracie only hid her face on his breast with a little half-stifled
sob.

“What is it, my precious one?” he asked, holding her close with loving
caresses.

“Lu, you tell papa; please do,” she sobbed.

“Lulu may tell it, if you want papa to hear it,” he said, softly
smoothing her hair, “otherwise it need not be told at all. But if it is
about some wrong-doing that has been repented of and confessed to God
and mamma, you need not dread to have your father know of it, for he,
too, has been guilty of wrong-doing many times in his life, and needs
to seek forgiveness of God every day and every hour.”

“Papa,” she exclaimed, lifting her head to give him a look of
astonishment not unmingled with relief, “I don’t know how to b’lieve
that, if you didn’t say it your own self; for I never, _never_ see you
do any thing wrong. But I want you to know ’bout this, so you won’t
think I’m a better girl than I am. Lu, please tell,” and again her face
was hidden on his breast.

“Papa, it was a long, long, while ago,” began Lulu, as if eager to
vindicate her sister as far as possible, “and it was only that she
accidentally broke a bottle of Mamma Vi’s, and then she was frightened
(you know she’s always so timid, and can’t help it), and so,’most
before she knew what she was saying, she told Mamma Vi she never
meddled with her things when she was not there to see her.”

There was a moment’s silence, broken only by Grace’s sobs, which were
now quite violent.

Then her father said low and tenderly, “My dear little daughter, I can
not comfort you by making light of your sin; lying is a very great sin,
one that the Bible speaks very strongly against in very many places;
but I have no doubt that you long ago repented, confessed it to God and
received forgiveness. And I trust you will prove the sincerity of your
repentance by being perfectly truthful all the rest of your days.

“It was very honest and right in you to want me to know that you have
not always been so good as I supposed; and so, my darling, I love you,
if possible, better than ever,” he added, caressing her again and again.

“Oh, I’m so glad to hear you say that, papa!” exclaimed Lulu, looking
up into his face with shining eyes.

“And you are no less dear than your sister,” he said, drawing her
closer to his side. “My child, I have felt very sorry over your
disappointment in missing the festivities at the Oaks, and have been
trying to think of some way to make it up to you. How would you like to
have something of the same sort here at home? a party of children and
young people to come next Monday morning and stay till Saturday?”

“Oh papa,” cried Lulu, opening her eyes very wide in surprise and
delight, “it ’most takes my breath away! Do you really mean it?”

“I do indeed,” he said, smiling on her. “It will be your, and Max’s and
Gracie’s party, and we older folks will do all in our power to make the
time pass pleasantly to you and your guests. We will have games and
charades, tableaux, stories, and every thing delightful that can be
thought of.”

“O papa! how very, very nice! how splendid!” cried Lulu, springing to
her feet, clapping her hands, and then jumping and dancing round the
room. “Dear me! I’d never once dreamed of such a thing! And it’ll be
ever so much nicer than going to the Oaks. I’m glad you didn’t let me
go: because I couldn’t be there now and get things ready for my own
party too, and it’s so much splendider to be the one to have the party
than one of the visitors. Isn’t it! won’t it be, Gracie? Oh isn’t papa
just the best and kindest father in the world?”

“’Course he is,” said Grace, putting her arm round his neck, and
lifting her eyes to his with a very grateful, loving look.

“Does it give you pleasure, papa’s dear pet?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” she answered with some hesitation; “if I don’t be sick when
they’re here, and if I may sit on your knee sometimes.”

“Indeed you may,” he said; “and papa will try to take care that his
feeble little girl has nothing to tire her.”

“No, she needn’t entertain,” said Lulu; “I can do it for both of us. Oh
it is so nice, so _nice_, so perfectly _splendid_, to think we’re going
to have a real party of our own for several days together!” she cried,
again clapping her hands, jumping, dancing and pirouetting round the
room.

Grace laughed at the sight, and so did their father.

“Why, Lulu, daughter,” he said, “you seem to be going quite wild over
the prospect! I am very glad indeed to have hit upon something that
gives you such pleasure. But come here; I have something more to tell
you about it.”

“Oh, have you, papa?” she cried, running to him to put her arm round
his neck and kiss him again and again; “what is it?”

“Ah,” he returned, laughing, “I doubt if it is well to tell you; you
are so nearly crazy already.”

“Oh, yes, do tell me please. I won’t get any crazier; at least I don’t
think I shall, I’ll try not to.”

So he told her of Zoe’s suggestion, and that he intended it should be
carried out.

A conservatory opened from one of the parlors, and there, he said, they
would have the magic cave.

“Oh papa, _how_ lovely, how _lovely_!” both little girls exclaimed,
their eyes sparkling and their cheeks flushing with delighted
anticipation.

“That entertainment will be for New Year’s Eve,” he said, “and the
Peri must have a present for each one who visits her case. That will
necessitate a shopping expedition to the city to-day or to-morrow.
Lulu, would you like to be one of the purchasers? shall I take you to
the stores with me?”

“Oh!” she cried half breathlessly, “wouldn’t I like it? But,” with a
sudden sobering down of demeanor and a tender look into the face of her
little sister, “I—I can’t leave Gracie, papa, she would miss me and be
so lonesome without me.”

“But I could stand it for one day, Lu; and I couldn’t bear to have you
miss such fun—such a good time—just for me,” said Grace, with winning
sweetness.

“And Mamma Vi will contrive that she shall not be lonely,” the captain
said, drawing them both closer into his arms.

“The mutual love of my little girls is a great joy to me,” he added,
caressing them in turn.

Just then a servant came in bringing Gracie’s breakfast.

She ate it sitting on her father’s knee, while Lulu, standing
alongside, kept up a lively strain of talk on the all-absorbing theme
of the hour. She had a good many questions to ask too, and they were
all answered by her father with unfailing patience and kindness.

The proposed festivities were the principal topic of conversation at
the family breakfast, also; for the ladies were deeply interested, the
gentlemen not quite indifferent.

The storm had passed, the morning was fine, and the captain announced
his intention to drive into the city, starting within an hour, winding
up with the query, “which of you ladies will volunteer to go along, and
assist in this important shopping?”

“Zoe would enjoy it, I am sure, and you could not have a more competent
helper,” Violet said, smiling kindly into the eager face of her young
sister-in-law.

“I should not object, if I can be of service,” said Zoe, “but don’t
you want to go yourself, Vi? I haven’t a doubt that the captain would
prefer your company to any other.”

“I think I should abide by the stuff,” returned Violet in a lively
tone, “or rather by the little ones, baby and Gracie. Lulu must go with
her papa—I would not have her miss it for a great deal—and I am eager
to make the day a happy one to Gracie in spite of the absence of her
devoted sister-nurse,” she added with an affectionate glance and smile
in Lulu’s direction.

“Oh, Mamma Vi, thank you ever so much!” exclaimed the little girl. “I
do think it will be just splendid to go with papa and help choose the
things, but I couldn’t bear to leave Gracie alone.”

“You are a dear, good sister, Lulu,” remarked Mrs. Elsie Leland. “It
does one good to see how you and Gracie love one another.”

“Thank you, Aunt Elsie,” said Lulu, flushing with gratification; then
catching the look of proud, fond affection with which her father was
regarding her, she colored still more deeply, while her heart bounded
with joy. It was so sweet to know that he loved her so dearly and was
not ashamed of her, faulty as she felt herself to be.

“Yes,” he said, “their mutual affection is a constant source of
happiness to their father. I pity the parent whose children are not
kind and affectionate to each other.

“Well, Mrs. Zoe,” turning smilingly to her, “am I to have the pleasure
of your company today, and the benefit of your assistance and advice in
the selection of the ornaments and gifts necessary or desirable for the
successful carrying-out of your proposed entertainment?”

“Thank you; I shall be delighted to go and to give all the assistance
in my power,” she answered. “That is if Ned is willing to spare me,”
she added, turning to him with a merry, mischievous look and smile.

“I don’t think I can,” he said, in a sober, meditative tone, “but if the
captain is sufficiently anxious to secure your valuable services to
take me too, my consent shall not be withheld.”

“Then it’s a bargain,” laughed the captain, and Lulu’s eyes sparkled.
She was saying to herself, “Then I shall be sure to sit beside papa;
because they always want to be together; so they’ll take one seat in
the carriage, and we’ll have the other.”




                             CHAPTER III.


“Oh, Gracie, Gracie, I’ve had the nicest, the most splendid time that
ever was!” cried Lulu, rushing into their own little sitting-room where
Grace lay on the sofa, having that moment waked from her afternoon nap.

“Oh, have you, Lu? I’m so glad,” she exclaimed, as her sister paused
for breath: for Lulu had rushed up stairs so fast in her joyful
eagerness to tell every thing to Grace, that she had not much breath
left for talking.

“I’ve had a good time, too, looking at pictures and playing with
baby, and hearing lovely stories that mamma and Aunt Elsie told me,”
continued Gracie. “But tell me ’bout yours.”

“Oh, it would be a long story to tell you every thing,” said Lulu. “I
enjoyed the drive ever so much, sitting close beside papa, with his arm
round me, and he giving me such a loving look every once in a while,
and asking me if I was quite warm and comfortable. Then we went to ever
so many stores and bought lots of things, some handsome and some not
worth much, but just to make fun (when we have the case, you know). And
papa was, oh, _so_ kind! he let me buy every single thing I wanted to.
And he says I may label the presents this evening—he helping me because
it would be too much for me to do all alone—and decide which present is
to be given to which person.”

“Oh, Lu, what fun!” cried Grace.

“Yes; and you shall have some say in it too, if you want to,” returned
Lulu, generously, throwing off her coat as she spoke, then bending down
to give Grace a loving kiss.

“I’m to make out the list of folks to be invited, too,” she ran on,
“and write the notes, with papa’s help. He says this is to be all our
own party—Max’s, and yours, and mine—and he wants us to get every bit
of pleasure out of it we can. Isn’t he a dear, kind father?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“And, Oh Gracie, how nice it is to have him at home with us all the
time and to live with him in this lovely home!”

“Yes, Lu, I think we ought to be ever such good children.”

“So do I. Oh, here comes papa!” as a manly step drew near the door.

It opened, and the captain came in and bending over Gracie kissed her
several times, asking in tender tones how she was and if she had had a
pleasant day.

“Yes, papa; oh, very! I’ve just had a nice nap and now I’d like to get
up and sit on your knee a little while, if you’re not too tired.”

“I’m not at all tired, my pet, and shall enjoy it perhaps as much as
you will,” he said, seating himself and complying with her request.

“Lulu, daughter, put your hat and coat in their proper places, and make
your hair neat.”

“Yes, sir,” Lulu returned, in bright, cheerful tones, and moving
promptly to obey.

She was back again almost immediately. “Oh, Gracie,” she said, “I
didn’t tell you about our dinner! Papa took us to Morse’s, the best
and most expensive place in the city, and he let me choose just what I
wanted from the bill of fare, and he paid for it.”

“And my wise little girl, who thinks it so delightful to have her own
way, chose several dishes that she found she could not eat at all,”
remarked the captain, with a humorous look and smile directed at Lulu,
who was now standing close at his side.

“Yes,” she said, blushing, “you told me I wouldn’t like them, papa, and
I found you knew best after all, but you and Aunt Zoe enjoyed them so
that they weren’t lost.”

“Quite true,” he responded.

“And then, papa, let me choose again,” Lulu went on, addressing Grace,
“and I took things I knew I liked.”

“You did have a splendid time,” remarked Gracie, rather wistfully.

“I hope you will be able to go with us next year, my pet,” her father
said, caressing her tenderly.

“O, papa! are we to have another party next year?” queried Lulu, in
almost breathless excitement.

“That depends,” he said; “if a certain little girl of mine should
indulge in an outburst of passion while she is playing hostess to her
young friends, I think the prospect of a party for her next year will
not be a very brilliant one.”

“Oh, I hope I won’t, papa; please watch me all the time, and do every
thing you can to help me keep from it,” Lulu murmured, her arm round
his neck and her cheek laid to his.

“I certainly shall, my dear child,” he answered, putting his arm about
her and drawing her into a close embrace; “and I am very hopeful in
regard to it; you have been behaving so well of late. It gives me great
pleasure to be able to say that.”

She lifted dewy eyes to his. “Thank you, papa. Oh, I do mean to try as
hard as I can!”

“Suppose we decide now who are to be invited,” he said. “Gracie must
have a say about that, as well as the rest of us.”

“I s’pose we’ll have all the relations—least all that aren’t too
old—won’t we papa?” she asked.

“Yes, I think so; the same company they had at the Oaks, for the
whole time, and the grown people in the evenings, when we are to have
tableaux or the magic cave or something else not too juvenile for them
to enjoy.”

“Papa,” said Lulu, “I thought you said I was to have some choice.”

“Yes, daughter; mention any one else you may wish to invite.”

“I don’t care to have any body else, but—papa, please don’t be angry
with me, but I’d rather not have Rosie Travilla here.” She hung her
head and blushed, as she spoke in a low, hesitating way.

The captain looked a little surprised, but not angry. “Why not, my
child?” he asked. “You ought to have a very good excuse for leaving her
out.”

“Papa, its because—because I’m afraid she’ll get me in a passion.”

“Ah,” he said with an involuntary sigh, “I remember now that she was
mixed up in some way with that unfortunate affair of a few weeks ago.
But can you not forgive her for that?”

“Yes, papa, if I only could be sure she wouldn’t say horrid things to
me that—but, oh, I didn’t mean to tell tales!”

“And I certainly don’t want to hear any; yet I should be far from
willing to have your hard task of controlling your temper made harder
for you.”

“I don’t want to be a tell-tale either,” Grace said timidly, “and I
do like Rosie; but sometimes she isn’t very good to Lu. Sometimes she
teases her so that I think its ’most more her fault than Lu’s when Lu
gets in a passion.”

“Ah, that is news to me; and perhaps I have been too hard on my
quick-tempered little daughter,” he said in a remorseful tone, drawing
Lulu into a closer embrace, and pressing a tender kiss upon her
forehead.

Lulu looked up with a flash of joy in her eyes, then dropping her head
on his shoulder so that her face was half hidden there, “I’ll invite
Rosie if you want me to, papa,” she said, “and if she teases me I’ll
try to be patient.”

“That’s my own dear child,” was his kindly response. “I should not
like to have her left out considering how very kind her mother and
grandfather have been to my children, and that she is your mamma’s
sister; and I hardly think she will do or say unkind, trying things to
you when she is your guest in your father’s house. I feel quite sure
she will not in my presence, and I shall arrange matters so that I can
be with you almost all the time while your guests are here.”

“O, papa, thank you!” cried Lulu, drawing a long breath of relief;
“then I’m quite willing to have Rosie here. I shouldn’t like to hurt
Grandma Elsie’s feelings, or Mamma Vi’s or even Rosie’s own, by leaving
her out.”

“I am rejoiced to hear you say that; I trust there is little or no
malice in your nature,” he said, repeating his caresses.

“Papa, I think Lu’s very good ’cept her temper,” said Grace, putting an
arm affectionately round her sister’s neck.

“No,” said Lulu, “I’m willful, too; I’ve disobeyed papa more than once
because I liked my own way best; and I’m bad other ways, sometimes. But
I do love our dear father, and I am trying to be a better girl,” she
added, lifting her head to look affectionately into his face.

“Yes, daughter, I see that you are, and it makes me very happy,” he
said.

“Now, I have something to tell you, two, that will please you, I think.
We are all invited to spend to-morrow afternoon at the Oaks to see some
tableaux they are getting up there, and I hope even my little Grace
will be able to go.”

“Oh, how nice!” cried Lulu, while Grace asked, “Will you go and take
us, papa?”

“I hope to,” he answered, smiling fondly down upon her. “Ah, there is
the tea-bell! Will you travel down to the table in papa’s arms?”

“Yes, sir; if you like to carry me, and it won’t make you tired.”

“It won’t tire me at all, my pet. I only wish you were heavy enough to
be something of a burden,” he said, as he rose with her in his arms and
moved on toward the door, Lulu following.

“Oh, Lu, don’t you wish you were in my place?” Grace asked with a
gleeful laugh, looking down at her sister over their father’s shoulder.

“No; I’m so big and heavy that it must tire papa to carry me.”

“Hardly,” he said; “you remember it is not many weeks since I did carry
you quite a distance?”

“But didn’t it tire you, papa?”

“Very little; I was scarcely sensible of fatigue.”

“Oh, its nice as nice can be to have such a big strong papa!” cried
Grace, giving him a hug.

It was quite a party, and a merry one that gathered about the
tea-table, enlarged, since breakfast by the addition of Violet’s mother
and her two college boys.

The talk ran principally upon the holiday amusements going on at the
Oaks and those in course of preparation at Woodburn.

“They boast of being able to get up some very fine tableaux at the
Oaks,” remarked Harold, “and expect to quite astonish us to-morrow.”

“I hope you are going, captain, and will take Lulu and Gracie with
you,” Grandma Elsie said, half inquiringly, smiling kindly upon the two
little girls as she spoke.

“Yes,” he said, smiling also into the eager young faces, “I shall
certainly take them both, unless something unforeseen happens to
prevent; my wife having promised to go with us,” he added, with an
affectionate glance at Violet.

“Yes, indeed! I shouldn’t like to miss it,” she said gayly; “I believe
Zoe and I are about as eager over these holiday doings as either of the
children.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he responded; “a man enjoys having a young wife
even when not young himself.”

“And the older he is, the younger he wants his wife to be,” remarked
Zoe in a lively tone: “at least so I have heard people say.”

“But papa isn’t old, aunt Zoe!” exclaimed Lulu, indignantly.

“My dear child,” laughed her father, “it’s no sin to be old, so you
need not be so ready to take up the cudgels for me.”

“Have you sent out your invitations, Lulu?” asked Zoe.

“No, ma’am, not yet.”

“You will have an opportunity to give them verbally to-morrow
afternoon, if you like,” remarked her father.

“But I—I don’t think I want to, papa,” she said. “I’d like to send nice
little notes—only it’s a good deal of trouble to write them.”

“Oh!” said Zoe, “you can have plenty of help in it; I’ll volunteer for
one.”

“I, too, am at your service,” said Grandma Elsie; and her offer was
followed by several others.

“‘Many hands make light work,’” said Zoe, “and we’ll have the thing
done in a few minutes after leaving the table. Then there’ll be plenty
of time for the selection of subjects for our tableaux, which I intend
shall outshine those at the Oaks.”

“Don’t make rash promises,” said Edward, laughingly, “you have not seen
those at the Oaks yet.”

“Are we who abode by the stuff to-day, to see your purchases now?”
asked Mrs. Leland, lightly, as they left the table.

“Why, no; of course not,” cried Zoe, with emphasis; “half the fun will
be in the surprises when the Peri hands out her gifts. O, captain,”
turning hastily to him, “is it to be decided beforehand who is to have
what?”

“I think that would be the better plan,” he answered, “and I propose
that you and Lulu share that privilege, if privilege you consider it.”

“That I do,” she returned, quite delightedly; “and if you like I’ll
help label them, so there need be no mistake in the distribution.”

“Suppose you three attend to that business, in the children’s
sitting-room, while the rest of us repair to the library and write the
invitations,” suggested Violet; adding “then you can join us and help
in the selections for the tableaux.”

“An excellent arrangement, my dear,” said her husband. “Shall we carry
out our part of it, Madam Zoe?”

“With all my heart, Sir Captain,” rejoined Zoe, merrily.

“Then I will order our purchases carried up to the appointed place.
Gracie, shall I take you up there to oversee us at our work?”

“O, papa, mayn’t I help, too?” asked the little girl, with a very
wistful, coaxing look in her sweet blue eyes, as she lifted them to his
face.

“Help, darling? What could such a feeble little one as you do?”

“I mean help say whose the things are to be,” she said.

“Ah, I did not understand! Yes, my pet, you may; the gifts are to be
from you as much as from your brother and sister; so no one has a
better right to a voice in the matter of distribution.”

He was rewarded by a very bright, glad look and smile as she held up
her arms to be taken.

He held her while giving his order to a servant whom he had summoned,
then carried her up, settled her comfortably in an easy chair, and
wheeled it up beside a table whereon the day’s purchases were presently
piled.

Zoe and Lulu had followed. The captain politely placed a chair for
each, then seated himself, and the work began; he writing the labels
and they affixing them.

It was all done very harmoniously; there seemed to be but little
difference of opinion, and Lulu behaved as well as could have been
desired, gracefully yielding her wishes now and again to those of Zoe
or her little sister.

That pleased her father very much, and she felt amply rewarded by his
smile of approval.

“There, that job is done!” announced Zoe at length.

“Why,” exclaimed Grace, in a tone of mingled surprise and dismay,
“there’s nothing for papa! No, nor for you, Aunt Zoe; nor Lu either!”

“Oh, that is all right, little girlie!” laughed Zoe, “for of course if
we provided our own gifts we should miss the surprise, which is more
than half the fun.”

“Oh, yes!” she said, “I forgot that.”

“You and I will contrive to find something for Aunt Zoe and Lu,” her
father said to her in a low aside; at which she clapped her hands and
laughed gleefully.

“Now we are going down to the library,” he continued, aloud, “shall I
carry you there?”

“I’m afraid it will make you too tired, papa, to carry me up and down
so often,” she answered, but with a longing, wistful look that plainly
told her desire to be with others.

So, with the assurance that she was a very light burden and he enjoyed
carrying her, he picked her up and bore her on after Zoe, while Lulu
brought up the rear.

“We’ll soon have to make this journey again,” he said, “for it will be
your bedtime in about half an hour.”

“O papa, can’t I stay up a while longer tonight?” she pleaded.

“If you were well and strong I should say yes without any hesitation,”
he answered; “but I think you will find yourself weary enough to be
glad to go to bed at the usual hour.”

And he was right; for though much interested at first in the talk
that was going on among the older people, her eyelids presently began
to droop, and her head dropped on her father’s shoulder, for she was
sitting in her favorite place upon his knee.

“Ah, birdie, you are ready for your nest, I see,” he said, passing his
hand softly over her golden curls; “papa will carry you up and put you
in it.”

“Yes,” she murmured sleepily. “Lulu, won’t you come too?”

Lulu hesitated, and looked half inquiringly, half entreatingly at her
father. She was very loath to leave the room while the interesting
discussions in regard to arrangements for the anticipated amusements
were going on, questions of drapery, scenery, costumes, and who should
be given this part and who that, were being settled.

“You are free to go or stay, as you choose,” the captain answered to
the look, speaking in a very kind tone.

He waited a moment for her decision. There was evidently a struggle
in her mind for a brief space, but love for her little feeble sister
conquered.

“I’ll go, papa,” she said. “I’ve been away from Gracie all day, and it
would be too bad to refuse her.”

“That is right and kind, daughter,” he returned with an approving
smile, as he rose with the little sleeper in his arms, for Gracie was
already too far on the way to the land of dreams to be aware of the
sacrifice of inclination Lulu was making for her sake.




                              CHAPTER IV.


“Get me Gracie’s night-dress, and we’ll put her to bed—you and I,” the
captain said pleasantly to Lulu, when they had reached Gracie’s bedroom.

Lulu made haste to obey, and stood by his side ready to give her
assistance when needed.

“Poor darling,” she said in a low tone, “how tired and sleepy she is,
papa.”

“Yes, she is not at all strong yet,” he sighed, thinking to himself
it was not likely she would ever be any thing but feeble and easily
exhausted.

The child did not rouse to consciousness, but was still fast asleep as
he laid her gently down upon her pillow.

He covered her up with tender care, then seating himself again, drew
Lulu into his arms with a fond caress.

“Dear child,” he said, “your unselfish love for your sister makes me
very happy.”

There was a flash of joy in Lulu’s eyes as she lifted them to his, then
blushing and half hiding her face on his shoulder, “But I don’t deserve
to have you say that, papa,” she murmured; “for I didn’t want to come
up with you and Gracie.”

“No, but if you had had no desire to stay behind there would have been
no self-denial in your yielding to her wish. You deserve all the credit
I am giving you. Now do you want to go back again?”

“If you like me to, papa, Gracie is so sound asleep that she will not
miss me.”

“Yes; and if you are not too tired with all the shopping you have done
to-day, you may stay up half an hour later than your usual bedtime,” he
said, taking her hand and leading her from the room.

“Oh, thank you, papa!” she cried, “I don’t think that I’m too tired,
and I should like to so very much!”

“You are very greatly interested in what is going forward?” he
remarked, inquiringly, and smiling down on her as they descended the
stairs, her hand in his.

“Yes, indeed, papa! Oh, may I read the book that tells about the magic
cave?”

“Some day, when you are a little older; at present you may read only
what it says about that.”

Once such a reply to such a question would have brought a frown to
Lulu’s brow, and she would have asked sullenly why she could not
read the whole book now. But she was improving under her father’s
training; growing much less willful and more ready to yield to his
better judgment, having become convinced that he was really wiser
than herself, and that he loved her too well to deny her any harmless
indulgence.

So she responded in a perfectly pleasant tone, “Thank you, papa, I’ll
read only that part.”

“I can trust you,” he said, “for I know you to be a truthful child; and
I think, too, that you are learning to be an obedient one also.”

Lulu was allowed to stay in the parlor as long as the older people did,
as it so happened that they were ready to retire earlier than usual
that evening; they separated and scattered to their respective rooms
before ten o’clock.

Captain Raymond lingered behind to see that every thing was made secure
for the night. Passing into the library on his round he was a trifle
surprised to find Harold there.

“Ah, I thought you had gone up-stairs with the rest!”

“So I did—part of the way at least—but the remembrance of something I
heard this afternoon and which ought, I think, to give you pleasant
dreams, brought me back to tell it. That boy of yours, captain, is a
son to be proud of.”

“So I have thought myself, at times, but feared it might be only a
father’s partiality,” returned the captain, his face lighting up with
pleased surprise. “What have you to tell me of him?”

“He had an experience over at the Oaks last night, that might have
easily proved too severe a test of moral courage to an older fellow
than he, yet he came out of the trial with colors flying. I heard the
whole story from Art Howard as we were driving together from the Oaks
over to Roselands.”

And Harold went on to give a detailed and perfectly correct account of
what had taken place among the lads after retiring to their rooms for
the night.

He had an intensely interested and deeply gratified listener.

When he had finished, his hand was taken in a cordial grasp, while the
captain said with emotion, “A thousand thanks, Harold! You can never
know until you are a father yourself, what joy you have brought to
my heart. I have strong hope that my boy will grow up a brave, true
Christian gentleman, neither afraid nor ashamed to stand up for the
right against all odds.”

“I believe it, sir; he’s a fine fellow; I’m so proud of him myself that
I regret the fact that there is no tie of blood between us.”

The next morning Lulu was hurrying through the duties of the toilet,
saying to herself that she wanted a little talk with Gracie about
the Peri’s present to papa, before he should come in to bid them
good-morning, as was his custom, when she heard his voice in their
sitting-room, which adjoined her bedroom.

Half glad, half sorry, he was there already, Lulu made all haste to
finish her dressing, then softly opened the communicating door.

Her father was seated with Grace on his knee, his back toward herself,
and before he was aware of her presence she had stolen up behind him
and put her arms round his neck, her lips to his cheek, with a loving
“Good-morning, my dear, dearest papa!”

“Ah, good-morning, my darling daughter,” he responded, drawing her
round in front of him into his arms and returning the kiss. “How happy
it makes me to see you looking so bright and well. Beautiful, too,” he
added to himself; but that he did not say aloud.

“You’ve come in ’most too soon this morning, papa,” she remarked,
lifting laughing eyes to his.

“Ah! how is that?” he asked.

“Why, I was just coming in to consult with Gracie about the gift you
are to get from the Peri; and now I can’t, because it has to be a
secret from you, you know.”

“Papa,” said Grace, “please name over lots of things you would like to
have, so we can choose one, and you needn’t know which.”

“Lots of things that I should like to have!” he repeated, “I really
can not think of one. I have been deluged with beautiful and useful
presents; the lovely bracket Lulu sawed out for me, the pincushion
Gracie made with her own small fingers for my toilet table, Mamma Vi’s
beautiful painting that hangs over the mantel in my dressing-room, the
watch case from Max, beside the too-numerous-to-mention gifts from
others not quite so near and dear as wife and children.”

“But you’ve got to have something, you see, papa,” laughed Lulu,
“whether you want it or not. Never mind, though, Gracie, we’ll think up
something. Perhaps Aunt Zoe can help us.”

“Ah, that reminds me,” the captain said, “that we are to think of a
gift for her. What shall it be, Lulu?”

“Suppose we say a ring, papa? When we were in that large jewelry store
I saw her looking at one with an emerald in it, and she admired it very
much. Would it cost too much!”

“Perhaps not,” he said; “I shall see about it.”

“Did you like the things we gave you for Christmas, papa?” asked Grace,
affectionately stroking his face with her little white hand.

“Yes, indeed! particularly because they were all the work of your own
hands. I could hardly have believed such tiny fingers as my Gracie’s
could do work so fine as that on the cushion she made for her papa. And
Lulu’s carving surprised and pleased me quite as much.”

“Isn’t it just lovely, papa?” cried Grace with enthusiasm. “I can’t do
that kind of work at all.”

“No, you are not strong enough.”

“And I can’t sew half so well as she can,” added Lulu; “I’m not at all
fond of plain sewing.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” remarked her father, “for I think every
woman should be skilled in that sort of work.”

“I’d like sewing on a machine pretty well,” said Lulu, “but it’s slow,
tedious work with a needle in your fingers.”

“Then I fear if I should buy you a machine now, you would never learn
the skillful use of your needle. I want you to persevere with that,
daughter, and I promise that as soon as your mamma tells me you have
become an accomplished needle-woman, I will buy you the best machine
that is to be had. And perhaps,” he added with a humorous look, “it
will not be necessary to forbid you to use it too constantly.”

“I don’t believe it will, papa,” returned Lulu laughingly, “I don’t
believe I should ever enjoy working it half so well as sawing and
carving.”

Just then the breakfast-bell put an end to their talk.

Shortly after the meal was over Zoe drew Lulu aside and asked if she
had decided upon the present from the Peri to the captain.

“No, not yet, Aunt Zoe; have you thought of any thing?”

“Yes, one that is spoken of in the book we take the idea from, the idea
of the magic cave, the Peri and so on, I mean. It’s a pen-wiper with an
ass’s head, and the words ‘There are two of us.’”

“Why, Aunt Zoe! that would be just insulting papa! I shan’t consent to
it at all!” Lulu burst out indignantly.

“Oh no; it would be only to make fun, and your father would understand
it and be as much amused as any one else.”

“I don’t like it; I couldn’t bear to have such a thing as that given to
him,” returned Lulu. “I want to buy him a gold pen and holder that I
saw in the city. I have money enough, and don’t you suppose I can get
somebody to go for it?”

“Oh that will be easy enough,” said Zoe good-naturedly. “Edward is
going in to-day, and I know he will do the errand willingly.”

“Oh, that will be nice! Thank you,” said Lulu, in a tone of delight, “I
must run and tell Gracie about it.”

She was turning to go, but Zoe detained her. “Wait a moment,” she said.
“There are some pretty things to be made for adorning the magic cave;
do you want to help with the work?”

“Yes, Aunt Zoe, if you will show me what to do,” Lulu answered a
little doubtfully, “you know I’m not an expert needle-woman; but I
think I should enjoy working with pretty things; it would be much more
interesting than plain sewing.”

“Yes, indeed, and you will take to it very readily if I am not greatly
mistaken. I’ll join you presently, bringing some of the materials, and
show you what is wanted.”

“Oh, if you please, Aunt Zoe! I’ll be ever so much obliged; you’ll find
me in Gracie’s and my sitting-room,” Lulu answered, hurrying away.

“Yes; that will be a nice one for you to give papa,” Grace said in
reply to Lulu’s communication, “but what shall I give him? I want to
give him something too.”

“Make him a pen-wiper,” suggested Lulu; “that would go nicely with a
pen and pen holder, and you know he said he would rather have something
we made for him ourselves.”

“Oh, I’d like to, if I only knew how! Maybe mamma would give me some
stuff to make it of and show me how to do it.”

“Yes, I’m sure she will,” cried Lulu; “she’s so kind.”

At that moment Violet and Zoe came in together, bringing with them a
quantity of material to be fashioned into dolls, fairies, etc., for
ornamenting the magic cave, or to do duty as gifts to be dispensed by
the Peri.

“If you little girls feel inclined to give us some assistance in this
work, we shall be glad to have it,” said Violet pleasantly.

“I should very much indeed, Mamma Vi, if you or Aunt Zoe will show me
how,” exclaimed Lulu, eagerly.

“I too, mamma,” said Grace. “Please, mayn’t I make papa a present
first! I was thinking of a pen-wiper for him, if you’ll please show me
how to make a pretty one.”

“Gladly, my dear. What would you think of a little book, its inside
leaves of chamois, the cover of soft morocco, all fastened together
with ribbon, and papa’s name printed in gilt letters on the outside?”

“Oh, that would be ever so nice, mamma! But I haven’t any chamois or
morocco; and could any body go and buy them for me in time?”

“I have some of each and will make you a present of as much as you
need,” Violet returned gayly, bending down to press a kiss upon the
little eager upturned face.

“I have some liquid gilding too,” she went on, “so there will be no
trouble about the lettering on the cover. I will do that part and
perhaps papa will not object because so much is my work.”

“Oh, no; I’m sure he won’t!” exclaimed Grace; “and mamma, you’re so
very kind to help me so!”

Lulu was eagerly turning over the piles of pretty things, while Zoe
gave her directions how to fashion them into the desired articles.

Violet went in search of what was needed for the pen-wiper, and
presently they were all four busily engaged, chatting and laughing
right merrily as they worked, Violet and Zoe seeming to feel almost as
young and free from care as the two little girls.

They were dressing paper dolls as fairies in wide-spreading tarleton
skirts highly ornamented with tinsel.

Lulu had dressed two, thought their appearance really beautiful, and
was highly delighted at her success; she was holding the second one up
and calling the attention of her companions to it, when Harold Travilla
looked in to say that a quantity of things to be used in getting up
the tableaux, had come over from Ion, been taken by the captain’s
order, to one of the unoccupied rooms, and mamma thought Vi, Zoe and
perhaps Lulu, might like to look them over and select for the different
characters.

“Of course we will,” said Zoe, jumping up with alacrity, while Lulu
hastily dropped her fairy into her work-basket, asking “O, Mamma Vi,
may I?”

“Certainly, dear; Gracie too, if she wishes,” Violet answered
pleasantly, adding, “you will have plenty of time to finish your gift
for papa afterward, little girlie.”

Zoe had already hurried on ahead, Violet and Lulu followed more slowly,
as Grace was not yet strong enough to move quickly, and they would not
leave her behind.

Reaching the room whither the package had been conveyed, Grace was
comfortably seated in an arm-chair where she could overlook the
proceedings without fatigue, and the others gave themselves up to the
fascinating business of examining the articles and discussing their
merits, and the uses to which they should be put.

There were some very elegant silks, satins, velvets, brocades and laces
among them, and Lulu was quite lost in admiration. She thought it would
be delightful to wear some of them even for the little while a tableau
would last, and hoped it would be decided that she should take part in
several.

At length, having seen every thing, and being seized with a desire to
go on with her work, in which she had become quite interested, she ran
back to her own rooms without waiting for the others.

Reaching the open door of the sitting-room, she paused upon the
threshold, transfixed with astonishment and dismay. The baby, at the
moment sole occupant of the apartment, was seated on the floor tearing
up her fairies, while round her lay scattered in wildest confusion, the
contents of Lulu’s work-basket, skeins of silk, and worsted tangled
together, ribbons and bits of silk, satin and velvet that Lulu had
thought to fashion into various dainty little articles, all crumpled
and wet, showing this Miss Baby had been putting them in her mouth and
trying her pretty new teeth upon them.

Lulu’s first impulse was to spring forward, snatch the fairy out of the
baby’s hands, and give the little mischief-maker an angry shake.

But she controlled herself with a great effort, and recalling the sad
scenes and bitter repentance of a few weeks ago, refrained from rushing
at the child, but moved gently toward her, saying in soft persuasive
tones:

“Oh, baby, dear, don’t do so, let sister have that, there’s a darling!
Oh, you’ve made sad work! But you didn’t know any better, did you,
pretty pet?”

“Oh, Miss Lu! I’se awful sorry! didn’t neber t’ink ob my child doing
sech ting!” exclaimed the baby’s nurse, hurrying in from an adjoining
room. “I was jes’ lookin’ at de Christmas tings scattered roun’ an’
hyar de chile gets hol’ o’ yo’ work-basket fo’ I sees what she ’bout.”

“You ought to have watched her, Aunt Judy: It was your business to see
that she didn’t get into mischief,” returned Lulu in a tone of sorrow
and vexation. “All these pretty things are ruined, just ruined? And I’d
taken so much pains and trouble to make those fairies for the magic
cave,” she went on, taking them up and turning them over in her hands
with a despairing sigh.

“Never mind, daughter, there are plenty more pretty things where those
came from,” said her father’s voice from the open doorway.

Lulu started, and looked up in surprise. “Papa!” she exclaimed, “I did
not know you were there. I did try to be patient with baby.”

“And succeeded,” he said, bending down to smooth her hair caressingly
(for he was now close at her side), and giving her a tenderly
affectionate look and smile.

Then he sat down and drew her into his arms, while Aunt Judy carried
the baby away.

“Dear child,” he said, “you have made me very happy by your patience
and forbearance under this provocation. I begin to have strong hope
that you will learn to rule your own spirit, which the Bible tells us
is better than taking a city.”

Lulu’s face was full of gladness. “Now, I don’t care if the fairies
_are_ spoiled!” she said with a happy sigh, putting her arm round his
neck and laying her cheek to his. “I’m ’most obliged to baby for doing
it.”

Her father continued his caresses for a moment, then he said, “I am
going for a walk; would you like to go with me? I should be glad of
your company, and I think you need the exercise.”

“Oh, ever so much, papa!” she answered joyously. “There’s nothing
hardly that I like better than taking a walk with you!”

“Then you may go and put on your coat and hood, and we will set out at
once.”

It was a bright clear morning, the air just cold enough to be bracing
and exhilarating. Lulu felt it so and went skipping, jumping, dancing
along by her father’s side, her hand in his and her tongue running very
fast on the interesting subjects of children’s parties, tableaux and
magic caves.

He listened with an indulgent smile. “I think my little girl is very
happy this morning?” he said at length.

“Oh yes, yes, indeed I am, papa!” she answered earnestly, “how could I
help it with so much to make me so?”

“You are looking forward to a great deal of pleasure in entertaining
your young friends next week?”

“Yes, papa; and that makes me glad; but that isn’t all, you know.” And
she looked up into his face with an arch, loving smile.

“What else?” he asked, returning the smile with one full of fatherly
affection.

“Oh a great many things, papa; but most of all, that you don’t have to
go away and leave us any more; that makes this the very happiest winter
of our lives so far, Maxie and Gracie and I all think.”

“You may safely put my name into that list also,” he said.

“You’d rather be with us than on your ship?”

“Much rather, daughter. I greatly enjoy these walks with you, as well
as many another pleasure belonging to life at home with wife and
children.”

“Papa, why did you forbid me to take walks by myself?” asked Lulu
presently.

“Wait a moment,” he said, and just then a turn in the road brought them
face to face with a ragged, dirty man of aspect so forbidding that
Lulu, though not usually a timid child, clung to her father’s hand and
shrank half behind him in terror.

The tramp noted it with a scowl, pushed rudely by them and disappeared
round the corner.

“O papa,” panted Lulu, “what a horrible looking man! He looked at me as
if he’d like to kill me.”

“How would you enjoy meeting him alone?” asked her father.

“Oh! not at all, papa! I’d be frightened half to death!”

“I think you would; and what is more, I think he—and many another of
the same class—would be a more dangerous creature for you to meet alone
than any wild beast. Do you need any further reply to your question of
a moment ago?”

“O papa! no indeed! and I shall never disobey you again by roaming
about by myself. I see now that you were kind to punish me for it.”

“I thought it far kinder than to let you run the risk that such
disobedience would bring,” he said. “And,” he went on presently, “there
are others who, though not so forbidding in appearance, are very nearly
if not quite as dangerous: who coax and wheedle children and by that
means get them into their power and carry them away from their parents
and friends, to lead miserable sinful lives. I think it would break my
heart to lose my dear little Lulu in that way; so, my darling, heed
your father’s warning, and never, never listen to them.”

“Indeed I’ll not listen to them!” she exclaimed in her vehement way,
“but I am sure nobody could ever persuade me to go away from you, my
own dear, dear father!”

“Ah,” he said with a sigh, “I think you forget how, a few weeks ago,
you attempted to run away from me without persuasion from any one.”

“But that was because I thought you didn’t love me any more, papa,” she
answered humbly; “but now I know you do,” she added, looking up into
his face with eyes full of ardent affection.

“Never doubt it again my precious child, never for one moment doubt
that you are very, very dear to your father’s heart,” he said with
emotion, bending down to give her a tender kiss.




                              CHAPTER V.


The captain was carrying a basket. Lulu asked if she might know what
was in it.

“Yes,” he said; “it contains a few delicacies for a poor sick woman
whom we are going to see.”

They had been pursuing a path running parallel with the highway, and
which had led them into a wood, but now the captain turned aside into
another, leading to a hut standing some distance back from the road.

“Is it in that little cabin she lives?” asked Lulu.

“Yes; a poor place, isn’t it? hardly occupying so much space as one of
our parlors. And there is quite a large family of children.”

“I’m sorry for them; it must be dreadful to live so,” said Lulu, her
tones full of heartfelt sympathy. “But, papa, what makes them so poor?”

“I suppose they had no early advantages of education—they are very
ignorant at all events—but the principal trouble is idleness and
drunkenness on the part of the husband and father. It makes it very
difficult to help them too, as he takes every thing he can lay his
hands on and spends it for drink.”

“Oh, I can never, never be thankful enough that my father is so
different from that!” cried Lulu, with another glad, loving look up
into his face.

He only smiled in return and pressed the hand he held, for they had now
reached the door of the cabin and it was instantly opened by one of the
children, who had seen their approach from the window.

One room, that to which they were admitted, served for kitchen, living
room and bedroom, and with a loft overhead and a shed behind, comprised
the whole house.

The first object that met their eyes on entering was the sick woman
lying on a bed in one corner; the first sound that saluted their ears
her hollow cough. She was very pale, and so emaciated that she seemed
to be nothing but skin and bone.

“How are you this morning, Mrs. Jones?” the captain asked in kindly
sympathizing tones, as he drew near the bed and took the bony hand she
feebly held out to him.

“P’raps a leetle better, cap’n,” she answered pantingly. “I slep’ so
good and warm under these awful nice blankets you sent fur Chris-mus;
an’ the jelly an’ cream an’ t’other goodies—oh, but they was nice! I
can’t never pay you fur all yer goodness—no, nor the half o’ it; but
the good Lord—he’ll make it up to you somehow or other.

“An’ ye’ve brung yer leetle gal to see me? that’s kind, Mandy, set the
cheer fur the gentleman—we ain’t got but one, cap’n—an’ find somethin’
fur her to set on, Mandy.”

“There, I cayn’t talk no more, me breath’s clean gone.”

“No, you shouldn’t try to talk,” the captain said, taking the chair
that “Mandy” had set for him after wiping the dust from it with a very
greasy, dirty apron. “And don’t trouble yourself, Amanda, to find a
seat for my little girl; she is used to this one and likes it better
than any other, I believe,” he added with a tenderly affectionate smile
into Lulu’s eyes as he drew her to his knee.

“Yes, that I do,” returned Lulu, emphatically, glancing proudly
from her father to Amanda, who stood regarding them in open-mouthed
astonishment.

“Well, I never!” she ejaculated the next moment. “Wouldn’t I be
s’prised out’n a year’s growth ef pap should act that a-way to me? And
I shouldn’t like it nuther; the furder I kin git away from the likes o’
him the better, I think, so I do.”

The mother turned her face away with a groan.

“’Tain’t no fault o’ hern, cap’n,” she said; “ef Bijah wur like ye,
sir, the childer’d be glad enough to git clost to him.”

“Yes; love begets love,” he said. Then taking up his basket, which he
had set on the floor beside his chair; “I have something here for you
and should like to see you eat some of it now.”

“What is it, cap’n?” she asked as he handed her a large china cup
filled with something white, creamy, and very tempting in appearance.

“They call it Spanish Cream,” he answered. “I think you will find it
good; and these lady-fingers, just fresh from the oven when I started
will go nicely with it,” he added, setting a plate of them down on the
bed beside her.

“Lady-fingers?” she repeated; “what’s them? I never hearn on ’em afore.”

“Sponge cakes,” he said; “they are very light and neither rich nor
tough; so I think you may eat freely of them without fear of harm.”

“They’re mighty nice, cap’n,” she said when she had tasted them; “an’
this here creamy stuff—I never tasted nothin’ better. It wuz awful kind
o’ ye to fetch ’em, but I haint got no appetite no more, an’ so ye
mustn’t think hard o’ me that I don’t eat hearty of ’em.”

“Oh, no, certainly not,” he said.

“Shall I empty them things and wash ’em, ma?” asked Amanda, drawing
near the bed and looking with longing eyes at the dainty food.

“Yes; but don’t you uns eat ’em clean up from yer sick mother that
cayn’t eat yer bacon an’ corn bread and taters.”

“No; just a mite to see what ther like,” returned the girl, dipping
up a huge spoonful of the cream and hastily transferring it to her
widely-opened mouth; while a little crowd of younger children, who,
from the farther side of the room, had been staring in silent curiosity
at the captain and Lulu, burst out all together, “Gimme some, gimme
some, Mandy; ye shan’t have it all, so ye shan’t.”

“No; ye cayn’t none on ye have none; it’s all fer yer poor sick ma, and
ye’d orter to be ’shamed to be axin’ fer it,” returned Amanda sharply.

“Let them have a taste all around,” said the captain kindly. “I’ll have
some more made and sent over by the time your mother wants it. But
don’t wash the things; just empty them and put them back in the basket.”

“Yes, Mandy, ye might break ’em; put ’em back jes so,” panted the
invalid from the bed.

When the children had quieted down, Capt. Raymond, taking a Testament
from his pocket, asked if he should read a few verses.

“Yes, sir; oh yes, ef yer ain’t in too big a hurry. Please read about
the blood; the blood that kin wash a sinner bad as me, clean nuff to
git to heaven; them verses runs in my mind all the time. The Lord above
knows I’ve need nuff o’ that washin’.”

“Yes,” he said, “we all need it more than any thing else; for in no
other way can we be saved from the wrath to come! There is none other
name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved!”

Then turning over the leaves of his Testament he read: “But now in
Christ Jesus, ye who sometime were far off are made nigh by the blood
of Christ.”

“If the blood of bulls and of goats, and the ashes of a heifer
sprinkling the unclean, sanctifieth to the purifying of the flesh, How
much more shall the blood of Christ who through the eternal Spirit
offered himself without spot to God, purge your conscience from dead
works to serve the living God?”

“And these things write we unto you that your joy may be full. This
then is the message that we have heard of him, and declare unto you,
that God is light and in him is no darkness at all. If we say that we
have fellowship with him, and walk in darkness, we lie, and do not
the truth; but if we walk in the light as he is in the light, we have
fellowship one with another, and the blood of Jesus Christ his Son
cleanseth us from all sin.”

“Yes, yes; them’s the blessed words!” she cried, clasping her hands and
raising her eyes to heaven. “Oh, if I only knowed ’twas fer me, me that
hasn’t never tried to serve him, and now cayn’t do nothin’ but lie here
and suffer!”

“If you bear your sufferings patiently it will be acceptable service
to Him,” the captain answered. “He pondereth the hearts; he sees all
the motives and springs of action. And he will not let you have one
pain, one moment of distress that is not for your good—making you fit
for a home with him in heaven—if you give yourself to him in love and
submission, and try earnestly to learn the lessons he would teach you.

“But never forget that salvation can not be earned and deserved either
by doing or enduring: it is God’s free, unmerited gift, bought for his
chosen ones by the blood and righteousness of Christ. He offers them
to us, and if we accept the gift, God will treat us as if they were
actually our own: as if we had been sinless like Jesus, and had died
the dreadful death that he died in our stead.”

“I—I don’t seem to see it quite plain yet,” she said; “please, sir, ask
Him to show me jest how to do it.”

The captain willingly granted her request, kneeling by the bed; Lulu by
his side.

His prayer was short, earnest and to the point; his language so simple
that the poor sick woman, ignorant though she was, understood every
word.

She thanked him in tremulous tones and with eyes full of tears.

“I hain’t got long to stay,” she whispered, faintly, “but I hope I’m
’bout ready now, fer I’ve tried to give myself to Him. I wish I’d
know’d you years back, cap’n, and begun to serve Him then.”

Lulu seemed to have lost her gay spirits and walked along quite soberly
by her father’s side as they went on their homeward way.

“Papa,” she asked, with a slight tremble in her voice, “is that woman
going to die?”

“I think she has not many days to live, daughter,” he answered with a
sigh, thinking how doubly forlorn her children would be without her.

“Then I’m very, very sorry for ‘Mandy’ and the others; it’s so hard for
children to have their mother die!”

“And you know all about it by sad experience, my dear little daughter,”
he responded, bending a tenderly compassionate look upon her as she
lifted her eyes to his.

“Yes, papa; and so do Max and Gracie.”

“Do you remember your mother?” he asked.

“Not just exactly how she looked, papa; but oh, I’ve never forgotten
how nice it was to have her to love, and to love us. Papa, I don’t
believe she had a temper like mine, had she?”

“No, daughter; she was very amiable, very sweet and lovely in
disposition. As I have already told you several times, you inherit your
temper from me.”

“Papa, I’d never know you had a bit of a temper. Oh, do you think I can
ever get to be like you in controlling mine?”

“Certainly, dear child. Can you think I would be so cruel as to punish
you for its indulgence if I did not think you could control it?”

“No, papa; I know you’d never be cruel to me or any body.”

Then going back to the former topic of discourse. “It’ll be a great
deal worse for those children to lose their mother than it was for us
to lose ours (though ours was so, so much nicer), for they won’t have a
good father left like we have. But O papa, it did seem so dreadful when
you had to leave us and go off to sea so soon after mamma was buried.”

“Yes,” he replied, in moved tones, “dreadful to me as well as to my
children!”

“But that’s all over now, and we can have you with us all the time; and
in a dear, sweet home of our own,” she cried, joyously.

“And a new mamma who is very sweet and kind to my once motherless
children, I think.”

“Yes, papa, she is; and it’s very nice to have such a pretty, gentle
lady to—to do the honors of the house. That’s what people call it,
isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he returned, laughing in an amused way.

“And I s’pose you’re a good deal happier than you would be without her?”

“Indeed, I am! very much happier.”

Lulu felt a burning desire to ask if he had loved her mother as dearly
as he did this second wife, but did not dare venture quite so far. She
asked another question instead.

“Papa, did you give those children shoes and stockings?”

“What put it into your head that I did?” he queried in turn.

“Oh, I saw they all had good ones on, and I don’t believe their father
ever bought them for them.”

“No; and I fear they’ll soon go for liquor.”

“Papa, I have a woolen dress that’s most out at the elbows; Mamma Vi
said I’d better not wear it any more. May I get Christine or Agnes to
patch it and give it to one of those Jones children? I think it would
be about big enough for one of them.”

“You may get Christine to show you how to mend it and then you may
give it to the little girl.”

“But—I—I don’t like to sew, papa, and I’m sure Christine would be
willing to do it.”

“I presume she would, but, daughter, I want you to learn both how to
do such work neatly, and what pleasure may be found in self-denying
exertion for others. I am not laying a command upon you, however, but
it will gratify me very much if, of your own free will, you will do
what I desire.”

“Papa, I will,” she said, after a moment’s struggle with herself, “for
I love to please you, and I just know you know what is best for me.”

“That’s my own dear little girl,” he said, smiling down at her.




                              CHAPTER VI.


“What a nice home ours is, papa!” exclaimed Lulu, as they turned into
the grounds at Woodburn.

“Yes, I think so, and that we have a very great deal to be thankful
for,” he replied. “If God’s will be so, I hope we may all see many
happy years in it.”

“The grounds are so lovely,” pursued Lulu, “that I most wish we could
have warm weather a part of the time next week.”

“I think we shall find plenty of amusement suitable for the house,” her
father said in a kindly tone; “and next summer we will perhaps have an
out-door party for my children and their young friends.”

“O, papa, may we? how delightful that will be!” cried Lulu, with a
joyous hop, skip and jump. “Oh, it’s just the nicest thing to have such
a father and such a home!”

There seemed a pleasant bustle about the house as they came in; the
conservatory was being prepared for the sport that was to be carried
on in it, and sounds of silvery laughter and sweet-toned voices in
lively, gleeful chat, came floating down from above.

The captain and Lulu following these sounds presently entered Violet’s
boudoir, where they found the ladies busily engaged in making ready for
the tableaux.

Grace was among them, and gave her father a joyous greeting: for the
pen-wiper was quite finished and laid away safely in a place that he
was not all likely to look into.

He stooped to give her a kiss and ask how she felt; then caught up the
baby, who ran to meet him crying in her sweet baby voice, “Papa, papa!”
tossed her up two or three times, she crowing with delight, then seated
himself with her on his knee.

“What is sweeter than a baby, especially when it is one’s own?” he
said, hugging her close with many a fond caress.

“Papa, I do think she’s the dearest, sweetest baby that ever was made,”
Lulu said, standing by his side and softly smoothing the baby’s golden
curls.

“In spite of her mischievous propensities, eh?” he returned laughingly,
while little Elsie held up her face for a kiss, saying “Lu, Lu!”

Lulu gave the kiss very heartily. “Yes, papa,” she answered, “I don’t
believe she’s a bit more mischievous than other babies, and she doesn’t
know any better. I wonder if its just because she’s our own baby that
she seems so beautiful and sweet?”

“Not altogether that, I am sure,” he said, though no doubt it adds a
good deal to the attraction. “What do you think about it, mamma?” he
asked, looking up fondly into Violet’s eyes as she came to his other
side.

“Oh, of course, I know she’s the darlingest baby that ever was born!”
she returned gayly, bending down to kiss the little rosebud mouth,
“Though no doubt you have thought the very same of three others.”

“Ah, how come you to be so good at guessing?” he responded, laughingly.
“Yes, I remember that each one seemed to me a marvel of beauty and
sweetness. I thought no other man had ever been blest with such
darlings; and I’m afraid I must confess that I am of pretty much the
same opinion yet,” he concluded, gathering all three of his little
girls into his arms and looking down lovingly upon them, for Gracie too
had come to him and was standing beside her older sister.

“It can’t be for goodness, as far as I’m concerned,” sighed Lulu half
under her breath; but he heard her.

“No, nor for beauty; but just because you are my very own,” he said,
caressing them in turn, Violet looking on with shining eyes.

“Lulu, dear,” she said, turning to her with a loving look, “I was
sorry that baby did such damage to your pretty things. I thank you for
being so patient and forbearing with her—the little mischief!”—glancing
smilingly into the blue eyes of the babe—“and I shall make good your
loss. I have plenty of bits of silk, satin, ribbon, velvet and lace
among my treasures to more than replace what she spoiled.”

“Oh thank you, Mamma Vi,” exclaimed Lulu delightedly.

“My dear,” said the captain, with a humorous look, “isn’t the little
mischief-doer as much mine as yours? and am I not, therefore, under
quite as great obligation to make good the loss she has occasioned?”

“Perhaps so,” Violet returned, “but as man and wife are one, your
easiest plan will be to let me do it, seeing you have no such supplies
on hand.”

With that she pulled open a deep drawer in a bureau filled with such
things as she had mentioned, and bade Lulu and Gracie help themselves
to all they wanted.

“O Mamma Vi,” they cried, in wide-eyed astonishment and delight, “how
very good in you! but do you really mean it?”

“Yes, every word of it,” laughed Violet. “Take all you want; I shall
not feel impoverished if I find the drawer quite empty when you are
done with it.”

“No, you would still have your husband,” remarked the captain with mock
gravity.

“And baby,” added Violet, taking the child from him.

The little girls were exclaiming over their treasures.

“What have you there?” asked Zoe coming forward and peeping over their
heads. “Oh what quantities of lovely things! some of them just suited
for dressing fairies; and several more are needed.”

“Oh may I dress one?” asked Lulu eagerly.

“Yes, indeed, if you like. Here, I’ll help you select for it.”

“Lulu,” said her father, “you have forgotten to take off your hood and
coat. Do so at once, daughter, you will be apt to catch cold wearing
them in this warm room.”

“I was just on the point of asking her if she wouldn’t take off her
things and stay awhile,” laughed Violet, as Lulu hastened to obey.

Before the dinner bell rang, Lulu had again dressed two fairies, which
she thought quite an improvement upon the first two. She exhibited them
to her father with pride and satisfaction, asking if he did not think
them pretty.

“Yes,” he answered with a smile, “I am hardly a competent judge of such
things, but they are pleasing to my eye; all the more so, I suspect,
because they are the handiwork of my own little girl.”

Immediately after dinner the whole party set out for the Oaks, some
riding, others driving. They arrived just as the exhibition was about
to begin, and of course had no opportunity to speak to any of the young
people—who were all engaged behind the scenes—till it was over.

The spectators declared themselves much pleased with the whole
performance, every tableau a decided success, and some of them really
beautiful.

Lulu and Grace, seated in front of their father and Violet, enjoyed
thoroughly every thing they saw, taking special interest in the
tableaux in which Evelyn and Max took part.

In the last one Eva appeared as a Swiss peasant girl, and a very pretty
one she made.

The instant the curtain dropped she hastened, without waiting to change
her dress, into the parlor where were the spectator guests, and made
her way to Lulu’s side.

“O, Eva!” cried the latter, “how pretty you are in that dress! and how
perfectly lovely you looked in the picture!”

“Oh, hush, you mustn’t flatter,” returned Evelyn, laughing, as she
threw her arms round Lulu and kissed her with warmth of affection. “I’m
so glad you came! you, too, Gracie,” kissing her also; “I was afraid
you might not be well enough.”

“Oh, yes: I’m better,” said Grace; “and, oh, I wouldn’t have missed it
for anything!”

There was a great deal of laughing and talking going on, and Captain
Raymond, exchanging remarks with some of the other grown people, had
not noticed Evelyn till this moment; but now he turned toward her
with a kind fatherly smile, and held out his hand, saying, “Ah, my
dear, how do you do? Allow me to congratulate you on your successful
performances, and to hope you will repeat them at Woodburn next week.”

“Oh, yes, Eva, you will, won’t you?” cried Lulu.

Eva smiled pleasantly, “I shall be glad to do anything I can to help
with the sports, and I expect a very good time,” she said. “It’s ever
so good in you and Aunt Vi to make another party for us young folks,
captain.”

“I shall feel fully repaid if it proves a happy time to you all,” he
replied.

“I must go now and change my dress,” said Evelyn. “Captain, may I carry
Lu off with me to the rooms we girls are occupying?”

“Yes, if you don’t keep her too long; we will be starting for home in
about half an hour.”

“Thank you, papa; I promise to be back by that time,” said Lulu.

“And I’ll see that she is,” said Evelyn; and the two ran off together.

Lora Howard, the Dinsmore girls, and Rosie Travilla had already
repaired to the rooms appropriated to their joint use, and the moment
Lulu appeared, they all crowded round her with warm greetings, queries
as to what she thought of their tableaux, and expressions of delight
at the prospect of spending the greater part of the coming week at
Woodburn.

“I was quite vexed with the captain for not allowing you to accept our
invitation; but I’ll have to forgive him now,” Maud remarked, with a
gay laugh. “I suppose he had some good and sufficient reason, and is
trying to make up the loss to us now. Perhaps the right thing for us
would be to retaliate by declining in our turn, but I must own I can’t
work myself up to such a pitch of self-denial.”

“And I’m very sure I can’t,” said her sister.

“Lu,” said Rosie, a little shame-facedly, “I think it is very nice in
you to invite me after all my teasing.”

“I’m ashamed of having been so easily teased,” responded Lulu, with a
blush, “but don’t mean to be in future, if I can help it; and I hope we
shall be good friends. I am sure papa and Mamma Vi wish that we would.”

“So nearly related—aunt and niece—you certainly ought to be the best
of friends,” laughed Lora Howard.

“We’re going to have tableaux, and act charades, and play various kinds
of games; papa is sure to see that we have a very good time; the best
it is possible for him to contrive for us,” said Lulu, quietly ignoring
Lora’s remark.

“My anticipations are raised to the highest pitch,” said Sydney.

Evelyn had just completed her toilet. “Time’s up, Lu,” she said,
looking at her watch, “we must go back to your father.”

The other girls had finished dressing and the whole six at once
adjourned to the parlor, where their elders were enjoying themselves
together.

The lads were there also, Max standing beside his father, who held
his hand in a warmly affectionate clasp, while he said in a tone that
reached no other ears, “Max, my dear boy, I heard a report of you that
has made me a proud and happy father.”

The captain’s eyes were beaming, and at his words Max’s face flushed so
joyously that Lulu, watching them from the farther side of the room,
wondered what it was all about. She hastened to them.

“Oh, Maxie,” she exclaimed, taking his other hand. “I’m so glad to see
you! it seems as if we’d been a whole month apart.”

Her father smiled at that—a fond, approving smile.

“Are you going home with us now, Maxie?” she went on.

“I don’t know,” Max answered, with an inquiring glance at their father.

“Do just as you please about it, my son,” replied the captain; “your
leave of absence extends to tomorrow afternoon, and if you are enjoying
your visit, perhaps it would be as well to finish it out; your going
might interfere with some amusement that has been planned for the
others as well as yourself.”

Max said he was having a fine time and decided to stay.

“Can’t Lulu stay too, captain?” asked Sydney, who happened to be near
enough to catch the latter part of his sentence, and Max’s reply.

He deliberated a moment. “Do you want to stay, daughter?” he asked in a
kindly tone, and looking searchingly into Lulu’s face. Her reply came
promptly, “I think it would be very pleasant, papa, only I want to be
at home to help get ready for my party—ours, I mean, because, Max, it’s
just as much yours and Gracie’s as mine. Papa said so.”

“And I think it’s splendid that we are going to have it,” said Max.
“How good and kind you are to us, papa!”




                             CHAPTER VII.


Grace was very tired when they reached home, and her father carried her
immediately to her own room, saying she must be undressed and put to
bed at once, and her supper should be brought up to her.

“May Lulu have hers up here with me, papa, if she’s willing?” asked the
little girl.

“I have no objection,” he said; “Lulu may do exactly as she pleases
about it.”

“Then I will, Gracie,” Lulu said, leaning over her sister and patting
her cheek affectionately; “we’ll have a nice time together, just as we
have so often since you’ve been sick. I’m sure papa will send us a good
supper. He never starves us, or wants us to go to bed hungry as Mrs.
Scrimp used to, does he?”

“No,” he said; “I should far rather go hungry myself, and it pains me
to the heart to think that ever my darlings were treated so.”

His tone and the expression of his countenance said even more than his
words.

“Don’t be troubled about it now, dear papa,” said Lulu, putting an arm
around his neck and laying her cheek to his, for he was seated, with
Grace on his knee, while he busied himself in relieving her of her
outdoor wrappings, “it’s all over, you know, and we don t mind it. I do
believe we enjoy this dear, sweet home all the more for having had such
a hard time at first.”

“My dear, loving little daughter,” he responded, gazing tenderly upon
her; then added with a sigh, “I wish I could think that hard experience
had left no ill effects, but it is plain to me that you were injured
morally, and poor Gracie will not soon recover from the damage to her
health.”

Violet came hurrying in just in time to catch his last words.

“What is it, dear?” she asked anxiously, “has Gracie’s little outing
been too much for her?”

“No, I trust not,” he answered cheerfully; “I hope it will prove, in
the end, to have been of benefit; but she is quite weary now and Lulu
and I are going to put her to bed. Bring her night-dress, daughter.”

Lulu hastened to obey, and Violet, drawing near, stooped over Gracie
with a fond caress and a few endearing words.

“I am very sorry you are so tired, darling,” she said, “but I hope you
will have a good night’s sleep and wake in the morning feeling all the
better for your little trip.”

“Yes, mamma, I’m ’most sure I shall,” said Grace, “my bed is so soft
and nice to sleep in.”

“Shall not I take your place in helping to make her ready for it,
Levis?” Violet asked in a sprightly tone.

“No, no,” he said, “I’m much obliged, but consider myself quite
competent to the task; besides, I hear baby calling you.”

So with a kind good-night to Gracie, Violet left them.

Lulu had brought the night-dress, and while helping her father, talked
eagerly about the tableaux.

“I do think they were just lovely!” she said. “And Eva and Rosie looked
so pretty in those costumes. I want to take part in ours. You’ll let
me, papa, won’t you?”

“Yes, daughter; but I hope you will not be selfish toward your guests
in regard to the choice of characters, or in showing a desire to appear
in too many. I want my little girl to be a polite and considerate
hostess, and always modest and retiring; never trying to push herself
into notice, and never seeking her own gratification in preference to
that of others.

“The Bible teaches us to please others in such things as are right,
‘For even Christ pleased not himself.’ And he is to be our pattern.”

“I’ll try,” she said with a thoughtful look. “Papa, I do believe you
care more to have your children good than rich or beautiful or anything
else.”

“I do indeed!” he returned; “it is my heart’s desire to see them all
followers of Christ, heirs of eternal life; for what is the short life
in this world compared to the everlasting ages of the one we are to
live in the next? And godliness hath the promise of the life that now
is as well as of that which is to come; there is no real happiness, my
child, but in being at peace with God.”

Grace was now ready for bed, and her father laid her in it, saying,
“Lie there and rest, papa’s dear pet, till your supper is brought up.
Then Lulu may get your warm dressing-gown for you, and you may sit up
to the table in your own little sitting-room while you eat. Then you
can go to bed again as soon as you are done your meal; and I think Lulu
will be willing to stay with you till you fall asleep.”

“Oh, yes; yes, indeed!” cried Lulu. “I’ll stay as long as she wants me.”

“But, papa, you haven’t kissed me good-night,” Gracie said, as he was
turning away.

“No, darling,” he answered; “but I haven’t forgotten it. I am going
down now to order your supper sent up, and when I think you have had
time to eat it, I shall come back to bid you good-night.”

Grace was too tired to talk, but she made a good listener while Lulu’s
tongue ran fast enough for two all the time they were waiting for their
supper and eating it after it came up—as tempting a meal as anyone
could have reasonably desired.

Lulu’s themes were of course the tableaux they had seen at the Oaks,
those they expected to have the next week here in their own home, and
such other amusements as had been planned for the entertainment of the
invited guests.

“And aren’t you glad, Gracie, that Maxie’s coming home tomorrow
afternoon?” she asked.

“Yes, indeed,” returned Grace; “Maxie’s such a nice brother, and I’m
tired doing without him.”

“So am I; but O, Gracie, how much worse it was to have to do without
papa more than half the time, as we used to!”

“Worse than what?” asked the captain in a playful tone, stepping in at
the open door leading into Grace’s bedroom.

The little girls were still at the table in the sitting-room.

“Worse than having Max away for a little while, papa,” replied Lulu.

“But we think that’s bad too,” said Grace.

“It will soon be over; Maxie will be at home to-morrow,” he said,
sitting down beside her. “Are you enjoying your supper, my darlings?”

“Oh, yes, sir!” they both replied. Grace adding, “I’m done now, papa,
and ready to be put in bed again, when I’ve said my prayers.”

The tea-bell rang as he laid her down, so with a good-night kiss, he
left her to Lulu’s care.

The guests all went away early the next afternoon, most of them
expecting to return on Monday, and a little later Max came home, riding
his pony which his father had sent for him.

Every body gave him a warm welcome, from his father down to the baby,
who the moment she caught sight of him, held up her little arms crying,
“Max, Max, take her.”

“Why, of course I will, you pretty pet,” he said, picking her up and
hugging her in his arms. “How fast you’re learning to talk; and are you
glad to have brother come home?”

The boy was more pleased than he cared to show.

She nodded her curly head in answer to his question, while Violet said,
“We are all very glad, indeed, Max; we have missed you in spite of
having company every day while you were gone.”

“And though I’ve had a fine time at the Oaks I’m ever so glad to get
back, Mamma Vi,” responded Max. “I’ve found out the truth of the saying
that there’s no place like home.”

“And I trust will be always of that opinion,” his father remarked, with
a pleased look.

“It is my ardent desire that to each one of my children their home in
their father’s house may seem the happiest place on earth.”

“If it does not, it will be no fault of their father’s,” remarked
Violet, giving him a look of proud, fond affection, as she took the
babe from Max. “We mustn’t impose upon brother Max’s good nature,
little girlie,” she said.

“Indeed, Mamma Vi, it’s no imposition,” he protested, “I like to hold
her.”

“Oh Max,” cried Lulu, “won’t you tell us about the good times you’ve
been having at the Oaks?”

“After a while,” he said, “but now I want to go round and see how
things look indoors and out.”

“Oh yes; you must see what papa’s been having done in the conservatory,
where the magic cave is to be. I’ll go with you, shan’t I?”

“Of course, if you like.”

“We’ll all go,” said the captain, taking little Elsie from her mother,
“baby and all;” and he led the way, Violet following with Gracie
clinging to her hand, Max and Lulu bringing up the rear, the latter
talking very fast of all that was to be done for the entertainment of
their expected guests.

Max was almost as much pleased and interested as even she could have
wished.

“What lots of fun it will be!” he said, when he had seen the
alterations and heard all that was to be told about the new use to be
made of the conservatory. “Papa, I think it’s just splendid in you to
give us youngsters such a party!”

“Splendid?” echoed his father with a humorous smile. “I presume that
must mean that I am a shining example of paternal goodness?”

“I am sure you are,” laughed Violet. “I never saw a brighter.”

“Thank you, my love,” he returned. “And did you ever see a more
grateful set of children?”

“No, never! I hope you feel that you have an appreciative wife, also?”

“She is far beyond my deserts,” he answered softly, the words reaching
no ear but hers; for the children were again talking among themselves,
and paying no heed to what might be passing between their elders.

“No, sir,” returned Vi, with a saucy smile up into his eyes. “I utterly
deny that that is so, and stoutly maintain the contrary.”

“My dear,” he said laughingly, “have you so little respect for your
husband’s opinions?”

“Yes, sir, just so little,” she answered merrily; “that is in regard to
the matter under discussion.”

“Ah, that last is a saving clause,” he said with a look of amusement.
“Shall we go back to the parlor? I see the children have forsaken us.
Max seems half wild with delight at being at home again—it is so new
and pleasant a thing for him and his sisters to have a home of their
own.”

“With their father in it,” added Violet. “I think they never forget
that that is the best part of it.”

“As he does not that wife and children are the best part of it to him,”
responded the captain, feelingly.

“I think we are a very happy family,” Violet said with joyous look and
tone, “and really it does seem extremely nice to be quite by ourselves
occasionally.”

Lulu made the same remark as they all gathered about the open grate in
Violet’s boudoir that evening after tea.

“Yes,” said her father, dandling the baby on his knee, “I think
it does; though we all enjoy visits from our other dear ones, yet
sometimes we prefer to be alone together.”

“Up, up!” said baby, stretching up her arms and looking coaxingly into
her father’s face.

“She wants you to toss her up, papa,” said Lulu.

“So she does,” said the captain. Then followed a game of romps in which
everybody took part, much to Miss Baby’s delight.

It did not last long, however, for her mammy soon appeared upon the
scene with the announcement that baby’s bedtime had come.

Everybody must have a good-night kiss from the rosebud mouth, and then
she was carried away, Violet following, while Gracie, as the next in
age, claimed the vacated place upon her father’s knee.

“That is right,” he said, “and there is room for Lulu too,” drawing her
to a seat upon the other. “Now, Maxie, what have you to tell us about
the visit to the Oaks?”

Max had a good deal to tell and was flattered that his father should
care to hear it. Drawing his chair up as close to his audience as
consistent with comfort, he began talking with much liveliness and
animation.

He said nothing about the unpleasant experience of the first night of
his stay at the Oaks, or of certain sneering remarks to which he had
afterward been occasionally subjected by Bertram Shaw, but told of the
kindness with which he had been treated by his entertainers, and of the
sports and pleasures in which he had participated.

The captain noted with much inward satisfaction that his boy’s
narrative was free from both censoriousness and egotism, also that he
seemed to have nothing to conceal from his father, but talked on as
unreservedly as if his sisters had been his only auditors.

In fact, Max was becoming very thoroughly convinced that he could
not have a wiser, truer, better friend, or safer confidant, than his
father, and was finding it a dear delight to open his heart to him
without reserve.

Violet rejoined them presently, and Max found in her another attentive
and interested listener.

But Max was not allowed to do all the talking; there were other topics
of discourse beside that of his experience at the Oaks; and in these
every one took part.

They were all in a jovial mood, full of mirth and gladness, and time
flew so fast that all were surprised when the clock, striking nine,
told them the hour for evening worship had arrived.

As soon as the short service was over the children bade good-night and
went to their rooms, the captain, as usual since her sickness, carrying
Grace to hers.

When he rejoined his wife he found her sitting meditatively over the
fire; but as he stepped to her side she looked up with a bright smile
of welcome.

“How nice to have you quite to myself for a little while,” she remarked
in a half jesting tone, as he sat down with his arm round her waist and
her hand in his.

“My dear,” he said, a trifle remorsefully, “I fear I may sometimes seem
rather forgetful and neglectful of you. Do you not occasionally feel
tempted to regret having married a man with children?”

“Regret, indeed! Regret being the wife of one who has never yet given
me an unkind word or look?” she cried, almost indignantly. “No, no,
never for one moment, my dear, dear husband!” she added, laying her
head on his shoulder with a sigh of content.

“My dear, sweet wife,” he responded, in accents of tenderest affection,
pressing his lips again and again to hers and to her cheek and brow,
“words can not tell how I love you, or how precious your love is to me!”

“I know it,” she said joyously. “I know you have given me the first
place in your heart. Ah, I think mine would break if I saw any reason
to doubt it. But please don’t think so ill of me as to suppose for a
moment that I could be jealous of your love for your children, the
poor motherless darlings, who have been half fatherless, too, for the
greater part of their lives!”

“Yes,” he sighed, “when I think of all that I feel I can not be too
tenderly careful of them, or too indulgent in all that I may with
safety to their best interests.”

“I am sure of it,” she said; “and I do enjoy seeing you and them
together; your mutual affection is a continual feast to my eyes. It
often reminds me of the happy days when I had a father,” she added,
with a slight tremble in her sweet voice and tears in her beautiful
eyes. “Oh, how we all loved him! yet not better, I am sure, than your
children love you.”

“Though from all I have heard of him, I can hardly doubt that he was
far more worthy of it,” sighed the captain. “I fear I have sometimes
spoken to my older two with unnecessary sternness. I think life in
either army or navy has a tendency to abnormally develop that side of a
man’s character.”

Violet looked up with a bright, half roguish smile. “What a talent
for concealing your faults you must have! I have known nothing of the
sternness you deplore: but mayhap you have been careful to seize your
opportunity for its exercise when I was not present.”

“Probably I have, though not consciously with the motive your words
would seem to impute,” he replied, returning her smile and caressing
her hair and cheek with his hand as he spoke, “but because reproofs
have a better effect when given in private.”

“Yes; that is very true,” she said, “but I fear there are many parents
who are not, like you, so thoughtful and considerate as always to wait
till they have the child alone to administer a deserved reproof.”

“Ah, how kindly determined is my little wife to see nothing but good
in her husband!” he said, with a pleased laugh.

She ignored that remark.

“Levis,” she said, “I have been thinking, as I sat here alone just
now, about the children’s looks, and wondering at Gracie’s being so
entirely different from those of the other two; Max and Lulu resemble
you so strongly that they would, I think, be recognized anywhere as
your son and daughter: because they have your hair and eyes, indeed all
your features—and of course I think them very handsome, noble-looking
children—” she interpolated with a another bright, winsome smile up
into his face, “but Gracie, though quite as lovely in every respect,
possesses an altogether different type of beauty; of character also.”

“Yes,” he said, in a meditative tone, “Grace is like her mother.”

“Her mother? Your first wife? You never mentioned her to me before.”

Her tone was inquiring, and he answered it.

“Because, my love, I feared—supposed at least—that you would hardly
care to hear of her.”

“But I do. I love the children, and but for her we should not have
had them; and she was so near and dear to them. If I knew about her,
I should try to keep her memory green in their hearts. Oh, if I were
going to die, I could not bear to think that my dear little Elsie would
forget all about me.”




                             CHAPTER VIII.


“I can scarce bear to think of such a possibility,” the captain said a
trifle huskily, and tightening his clasp of Violet’s slender waist, “it
seems that one such loss should be enough in a lifetime. But it is just
like my own sweet Violet to desire to have Grace’s children remember
her with affection.”

“Her name was Grace?”

“Yes; our little Gracie wears her name as well as her looks; also
inherits from her the frail health which causes us so much anxiety, as
well as her timidity and sweet gentleness of manner and disposition.”

“She must have been sweet and beautiful,” Violet said low and softly.
“And you loved her very much?”

“Dearly, dearly; but no more than I love her sweet successor,”
accompanying the last words with a very tender caress. “I have often
asked myself what I ever did to deserve the love of two such women.”

“I should rather ask what they ever did to deserve yours,” said Violet.
“I think the hardest part of dying would be leaving you.”

“Strange! Grace told me it was so to her,” he remarked in surprise.

“Poor thing! I can not help pitying her,” said Violet. “And I quite
fill her place to you, Levis?” she asked with some hesitation, and a
wistful, longing look up into his face.

“Entirely, my dear love,” he said, holding her close to his heart, with
repeated and most loving caresses.

“Ah, then I do not feel jealous of the love you had for her, no matter
how great it was. But please tell me more about her; of the life you
led together, and the time when—she left you.”

“Ah, that was a sad time,” he said with emotion; then for some moments
seemed lost in retrospective thought.

Violet waited in silence, her hand still in his, her eyes gazing
tenderly into his grave, almost sorrowful face.

Presently he heaved a sigh, and in a low, half-absent tone, as if he
were rather thinking aloud than talking to her, began the story she had
asked for.

“It is just about fifteen years,” he said, “since I first met Grace
Denby. She was then hardly more than eighteen, a fair, fragile-looking
girl, with delicate features, large, liquid blue eyes, and a wealth of
golden hair.

“A gentle, timid, clinging creature—almost alone in the world, having
neither parent, brother nor sister—she was just the sort to win the
enthusiastic devotion of a great, strong fellow like myself; I felt a
protecting love for her from the first hour of our acquaintance.”

Violet was listening with deep interest, and as the captain paused in
his narrative, she asked in her low, soft tones, “Where did you meet
her?”

“At the house of my friend, Lieutenant Henry Acton. We were
fellow-officers on the same vessel, intimate friends; and getting a
leave of absence together, when our ship came into port one summer day,
nothing would content Harry but for me to go home with him and see the
pretty young wife he was so proud of.

“She and Grace had been school-girls together and were bosom friends.

“Grace, as I learned at length, was comparatively poor, and not treated
in a way to make her happy in the family of an uncle with whom she made
her home, not of choice, but necessity; so she had gladly accepted the
invitation of Mrs. Acton to spend some weeks with her.

“Well, to make a long story short, Harry and his wife were naturally
very much taken up with each other, and Grace and I were constantly
thrown together, often left without other society; and soon we did not,
I think, care for any other. Before the first week was out I at least
was deeply in love, and the second had not elapsed ere we were engaged.

“It was the evening before my leave expired, and the next day’s parting
was both sweet and sorrowful.”

“You did not marry at once?” Violet said inquiringly, as again the
captain paused with a slight sigh and a half absent air.

“No; I should have been glad to do so; was, indeed, very urgent for the
right at once to claim her as my own and provide for all her wants,
but—” and he turned to Violet with a slight smile—“ladies are, I am
inclined to think, almost always desirous to defer the final plunge,
even when they would be by no means willing to resign all prospect of
matrimony.”

“Yes; the step is so irretrievable and so important—involving so much
of happiness or misery—that it is no wonder we pause and half shrink
back on the brink of the precipice,” she returned with an arch glance
up into his face. “But go on, please; I am deeply interested. How long
were you forced to wait, poor fellow?” stroking his cheek caressingly
with her pretty white hand. “I was only a little girl then, so have no
need to feel as though you should have waited for me.”

“No; you were waiting and growing up, ready for me,” he answered with
tender look and smile.

“Yes, so it seems; and it was just as well that you were enjoying Grace
in the meantime, and that she was happy with you, as I am quite sure
she must have been.”

“I think she was,” he said; “she often told me so, though our many
partings wrung both our hearts.

“I had another leave of absence within the year, and then we were
married. We went to Niagara for a week, then came back and started our
housekeeping.

“It was only in a small way. Harry and I had taken a double house, that
our wives might be close together when their husbands were off at sea,
yet each have her own little domicile—a plan which worked very nicely.

“On my next home-coming I found a new treasure; Grace met me with Max
in her arms, and perhaps you can imagine the joy and pride with which I
took him into mine after the mutual tender embrace between his parents.
I had been gone for over a year, and he was a fine, big fellow, old
enough to be afraid of his father at first, but not many days had
passed before he would come to me even from his mother, and strangely
enough, it seemed to please her mightily.”

“Ah, I can understand that,” remarked Violet.

“I had a long leave that time,” the captain went on, “and a very happy
time it was. Of course it was succeeded by a sorrowful parting, for
I was ordered off to the coast of China, and again more than a year
elapsed before I saw wife and children—a little daughter had been added
to my treasures in the meanwhile, you will understand, and having been
apprized of the fact, I was very eager to see her as well as her mother
and our son.

“That, too, was a joyful time, but my after-visits to my little family
were saddened by my wife’s ill health; she was never well after
Gracie’s birth, but grew more and more feeble year by year till the end
came.”

A heavy sigh followed the concluding words, and for some moments he sat
silent, his eyes fixed thoughtfully upon the floor.

“Were you with her at the last?” asked Violet, in low, feeling tones.

“Yes; I have always been thankful for that. She was a Christian, and
for her death had no terrors; she was glad to go, except when she
thought of the parting from her dear ones.

“‘My little children! my poor soon-to-be-motherless darlings!’ she
moaned one day, as I sat by her side, with her hand in mine; ‘what is
to become of them!’

“I assured her I would do my best for them; earnestly endeavoring to be
father and mother both in one.

“‘But, oh, you can not, because you will be forced to leave them for
months or years together,’ she sobbed: ‘ah, the only bitterness of
death to me is leaving them and you, my dear, dear husband.’

“I could only remind her of God’s gracious promises to the seed of the
righteous, and his tender care for all helpless ones, and entreat her
to trust them implicitly to Him; and at length she seemed able to do so.

“She died in my arms, her dear eyes gazing into mine with a look of
intense affection which I can never forget.”

He was silent for a moment, then resumed his narrative.

“My leave of absence had so nearly expired that I had scarce more than
time to see her dear body laid in the grave, and place my children in
the care of Mrs. Scrimp (a sad mistake, as I have since thought, but
seemingly the best thing that could be done then), when I was forced to
bid my poor motherless darlings good-by, and leave them.

“Ah, how they clung to me, crying as if their hearts would break, and
begging most piteously that I would stay with them or take them away
with me. But, as you know, neither alternative was possible, and though
it broke my heart as well as theirs, I was compelled to tear myself
away, leaving them in their bitter sorrow and loneliness.

“Oh, I can not think of it yet without sore pain!” he added in moved
tones.

Then, after a moment’s pause, “How thankful I am that now I can give
them a good home and have the constant oversight of them! I find it
sweet work to teach and train them, and watch the unfolding of their
minds; and how sweet to be able to fondle and caress them whenever
I will, and to receive such loving caresses from them as I do every
day!—my precious darlings!”

“They are dear, lovable children,” she said, “and what a good father
you are, Levis.”

“I don’t know,” he said, doubtfully; “I certainly have a very strong
desire to be such, but I fear I sometimes make mistakes. I have used
greater severity toward Lulu than I ever did with either of the others,
or ever expect to. It pains me to think of it; and yet I felt it my
duty at the time; it was done from a strong sense of duty, and seems to
have had an excellent effect.”

“It certainly does, and therefore you should not, I think, feel badly
about it.”

“The child is very dear to me,” he said; “I sometimes think all the
dearer because she is a constant care and anxiety. I dare not forget
her for an hour, but must be always on the watch to help her guard
against a sudden outburst of her passionate temper; and I strongly
sympathize with her in the hard struggle necessary to conquer it.

“Her mother’s invalidism was a most unfortunate thing for Lulu. Poor
Grace felt that she had no strength to contend against the child’s
determined will; so humored her and let her have her own way far more
than was at all good for her; while she was seldom or never called to
account and punished for her fits of rage.

“Mrs. Scrimp’s treatment following upon that, was, I think, even more
hurtful to Lulu, subjecting her to constant irritation as well as the
absence of proper control.

“I am more and more convinced as I watch my children and notice the
diversity of character which they show, that it is very necessary to
vary my system of training accordingly. The strictness and occasional
severity absolutely needful in dealing with Lulu, would be quite
crushing to the tender, timid nature of my little Grace; a gentle
reproof is all-sufficient for her in her worst moods, and she is never
willfully disobedient.”

“Nor is Max, so far as I am aware,” remarked Violet with a look and
smile that spoke fond appreciation of the lad.

“No; when Max disobeys or is guilty of any other misdemeanor, it is
pretty certain to be from mere thoughtlessness; which is bad enough
to be sure, but far less reprehensible than Lulu’s willful defiance
of authority. That last is something which, in my opinion, no parent
has a right to let go unpunished; much less overlook or ignore, as of
little or no consequence.”




                              CHAPTER IX.


It was Sunday afternoon, and the house seemed very quiet, Lulu thought
as she laid aside the book she had been reading and glanced at Grace,
who lay on the sofa near by, her eyes closed and her regular breathing
telling that she slept.

Lulu stood for a moment gazing tenderly at her sister, then stole on
tiptoe from the room, down the broad stairway into the hall below, and
to the library door.

“I hope papa is there and alone,” she was saying to herself, “I know
Mamma Vi’s lying down with the baby, and Max is in his own room.”

The door was ajar; she pushed it a little wider open and peeped in.

A hasty glance about the room told her that she had her wish. Her
father sat in an easy chair by the open grate, his face turned toward
her, and did not seem to be doing any thing, for he had neither book
nor paper in his hand, but his eyes were fixed thoughtfully upon the
fire.

“Papa,” she said softly.

He looked up and greeting her with an affectionate smile, held out his
hand.

“Am I disturbing you?” she asked as she accepted the mute invitation,
hastening with quick, eager steps to his side.

“No, not in the least; I was just thinking about you and wanting you
here on my knee,” drawing her to it as he spoke.

“Oh how nice of you, papa,” she exclaimed, putting her arm round his
neck and gazing with shining eyes into his face. “I came because I was
just hungry for loving and petting!”

“Were you?” he asked, hugging her close and kissing her several times.
“Well, you came to the right place for it; I have no greater pleasure
than in loving and petting my children. But how came you to be so
hungry for that kind of fare? you have not been very long without it.”

“No, sir; I was on your knee awhile last night, and had a kiss this
morning; but that kind of hunger comes back very soon, papa; and its
only your love and petting that can satisfy it. I hardly care to have
any body else pet me. Oh I’m so glad you’re not like Anne Ray’s father!”

“Who is Annie Ray, and what is her father like?” he asked with an
amused smile.

“She’s a girl that went to the same school I did when I lived with Aunt
Beulah, and one day when we were taking a walk together I was telling
her about my father being far away on the sea, and how I longed for
you to come home, because it was so nice to have you take me on your
knee and hug me and kiss me.

“Then she sighed and the tears came into her eyes, and she said ‘Oh,
how I’d like it if my father would ever do so to me! I’d give ’most any
thing if he would; but he never does; even when I’ve been away on a
visit for two or three weeks he only shakes hands when we meet again.

“‘He isn’t a cross father; he always gives me plenty to eat and good
clothes to wear, and sometimes a little pocket-money; but I’d rather do
without some of those things if he’d hug and kiss me instead.’

“So I asked her, ‘Why don’t you go and kiss him? that’s the way I do to
my father, and he always looks pleased and kisses me back.’

“‘Oh, I wish I dared!’ she said, ‘but I don’t for I am afraid he
wouldn’t like it.’”

“I should be more grieved than I can tell if I ever had reason to think
one of my children felt so toward me,” the captain said, stroking
Lulu’s hair caressingly, while his eyes looked fondly into hers.

“You need never be at all afraid, daughter, to come to your father to
offer or ask for a caress.”

“Unless I’ve been naughty?” she said, half inquiringly, half in
assertion.

“No, not even then, if you are ready to say you are sorry and do not
intend to offend in the same way again.

“I noticed that you were unusually quiet on the way home from church;
would you like to tell me what you were thinking about?”

“First about what the minister had been saying, papa; you know he
reminded us that this was the last Sunday of the old year, and said we
should think how we had spent it and repent of all the wrong things and
resolve that with God’s help we would live better next year.

“So I tried to do it. I mean to think how I’d been behaving all the
year; and I found it had been a very, very bad year with me,” she went
on, blushing and hanging her head: “all that badness at Viamede was
after New Year’s day was past, and then I did such a terrible thing at
Ion.

“O, papa, I most wonder you can be fond of me though I am your very own
child!” she exclaimed, her head sinking still lower, while her cheeks
were dyed with blushes.

“My darling, I too am a sinner,” he said with emotion, holding her
close to his heart; “I too have been taking a retrospective view of
the past year, and I am not too proud to acknowledge to my own little
daughter that I fear that I have sinned even against her.”

She lifted her head to look into his face in wide-eyed astonishment.

“Yes,” he sighed, “I have been recalling the rebuke I administered to
you the first time we met after the baby’s sad fall, and it seems to me
now that my words were unnecessarily severe, even cruel.

“I had just come from my apparently dying babe and its heart-broken
mother, and dearly as I have always loved my eldest daughter, my anger
was stirred against her at that moment, as the guilty cause of all that
suffering and distress.

“But I ought to have seen that she was already bowed down with grief
and remorse, and have been more merciful. My dear child, will you
forgive your father for his extreme severity?”

“No, papa, I—I can’t,” she murmured, her head drooping so low again
that he could not see the expression of her countenance.

“You can not?” he sighed, in surprise and disappointment; “well, my
dear child, I can hardly blame you, and I certainly would not have
you say what you do not feel; but I had hoped your love for me was
sufficient to prompt a different reply.”

“Papa, you don’t understand,” she cried, suddenly lifting her head,
throwing her arms round his neck and laying her cheek to his. “Its
because I’ve nothing to forgive. I deserved it all; every word of it;
you had a right to say those words too, and they did me good, for it
has helped me many a time to conquer my temper—thinking how dreadful
to be any thing but a blessing to you, my own, dear, dear, _dearest_
father!”

“Thank you, my darling,” he responded, in moved tones; “and now when
death has parted us there will, I trust, be no sting for the survivor
in the memory of those words, as I felt that there surely would be if
they were left unretracted.”

“Papa, don’t talk of death parting us,” she said in tremulous tones, “I
can’t bear to think of it.”

“I hope we may be long spared to each other,” he returned with grave
tenderness.

“Do you mean you’re sorry for having punished me, too, papa?” she asked
presently.

“No,” he said, “because that was in obedience to orders, therefore
undoubtedly my duty and for your good.”

“Yes, sir; I know it was, and I know you didn’t want to do it, but had
to because we must all do what the Bible says.”

“Yes, because it is God’s word, the only infallible rule of faith and
practice.”

“What does that mean, papa?”

“Infallible means not liable to err; faith is what we believe; practice
what we do, and we must study the Bible to know both what to do and
what to believe.”

“It is an inestimable blessing to have such an unerring guide that
following its directions we may at last reach the mansions Jesus has
gone to prepare for his redeemed ones. Oh that I could know that my
Lulu’s feet were treading that path—the straight and narrow way—that
leads to eternal life!”

“Papa, I do mean to be a Christian some day.”

“How long are you going to live?” he asked with grave seriousness.

She looked up in surprise. “Why, papa, I don’t know.”

“No, nor do I; God only knows when he will call for you, or me, or any
other of his creatures, and if we are taken away from earth without
having accepted his offered salvation through the death and merits of
his son Jesus Christ, our opportunity to do so will be gone forever;
the door of heaven will be shut upon us never to open again. Knowing
this, how can I be other than very anxious and troubled about my dear
child, while she continues to neglect this great salvation?”

“I wish I was as good as you are, papa,” she said, nestling closer in
his arms.

“My dear child, ‘There is none that doeth good, no, not one.’ ‘All our
righteousnesses are as filthy rags’ in the sight of God, and it is only
when covered by the spotless robe of Christ’s righteousness that we
can stand in his sight.

“It is offered to all, but only those who accept it can be saved; and
no one can tell when, for him or her, the offer will be withdrawn.”

“By death coming, do you mean, papa?”

“Yes; or by God saying of that one, ‘Ephraim is joined to his idols;
let him alone.’ It is a fearful thing to be let alone of God; for Jesus
said, ‘No man can come to me, except the Father which has sent me draw
him.’”

“Papa, how can we know if He draws us?”

“When we feel any desire to come to Jesus, when something—a still,
small voice within our hearts—urges us to attend at once to our
salvation, we may be sure that God the Father is drawing us, that the
Holy Spirit is calling us to come and be saved.

“And none need fear to be rejected; for Jesus says, ‘Him that cometh to
me I will in no wise cast out.’”

“Papa, do you think I’m old enough?”

“Old enough to begin to love and serve God? Are you old enough to love
and obey me, and to trust me to take care of you?”

“Oh, yes indeed, papa! It seems to me I’ve always been old enough for
that.”

“Then your question needs no further answer; if you can love, trust and
obey your earthly father, so can you your heavenly Father also.”

“But I just can’t help loving you, papa,” she said, giving him another
hug and kiss, which he returned, asking, “Why do you love me, daughter?”

“Oh, because you are my own father, and take good care of me, and give
me every thing I have, and love me too; and because you’re so good and
wise and kind.”

“And have you not all those reasons for loving your heavenly Father? He
created you; therefore you are more his than mine; he has only lent you
to me for a time; his kindness and his love to you far exceed mine, and
my wisdom is not to be compared to his.”

“But, papa—”

“Well, daughter?” he said inquiringly, as she paused, leaving her
sentence unfinished.

“I don’t think I can be a Christian with such a dreadful temper as I
have. I shouldn’t think the Lord Jesus would want me for one of his
children.”

“My dear child, the more sinful we are the more we need him to save us;
don’t you remember that the angel said to Joseph, ‘Thou shalt call his
name Jesus: for he shall save his people from their sins’?

“And he himself said, ‘I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to
repentance.’”

“But, papa, oughtn’t I to conquer my temper first? I—I’d be a
disgraceful kind of a Christian with such a bad, bad temper.”

“No, my daughter; ‘If you tarry till you’re better, you will never come
at all.’ God’s time is always ‘Now.’ Come at once to Jesus and he will
help you in the hard struggle with your temper.”

Violet’s entrance at that moment put an end to the conversation.

“Ah, Lulu,” she said pleasantly, “you have been having a very nice time
with papa all to yourself, I suppose?”

“Yes, indeed, Mamma Vi,” returned the little girl, as the captain
gently put her off his knee, that he might rise and hand his wife a
chair. “Papa, shall I go now and see if Gracie is awake and wanting me?”

“Yes,” he said, glancing at his watch, “it is nearly tea-time.”

“How fond the child is of her father,” remarked Violet, smiling up into
her husband’s face as Lulu left the room.

“And her father of her,” he responded. “I should count myself a rich
man with one such child; but with four, and a peerless wife beside, I
am richer than all the gold of California could make me without them.”

“It is nice to be so highly appreciated,” she said, with a bright,
winsome smile, “and I’m not the only one who is, for I’m perfectly
sure that I drew the very highest prize in the matrimonial lottery.”

“I am to understand from that that I, too, am appreciated? Yes, I have
no doubt that I am, at my full value,” he said.

“Little wife, I hope you find your new home not less enjoyable than the
old, which I know was an exceedingly happy one to you.”

“I have always had a happy home, but never a happier than this that my
husband’s love and care have provided, and which they make so sweet and
restful!” she answered.

“O Levis, what a joy this newly expired year has brought me! I had not
dared to look forward to a home with you for many years to come! I had
thought of it as a great blessing that might come to me in middle life,
but not in my young days.”

“Ah, God has been very good to us,” he exclaimed, feelingly. “I trust
we have many years to live and love together on earth, and after that a
blessed eternity in the better land.”

“Yes,” she responded, “how that blessed hope—making even death only a
temporary separation—adds to the joy of mutual love! It is dear mamma’s
great comfort in her widowhood.”

“Yes,” he said, “what an evident reality it is to her that her husband
is not dead but only gone before, and that they will be re-united one
day, never to part again. Dearly as she no doubt loved him, and sorely
as she must miss him at times, her life seems to me serene and happy.”

“It is,” said Violet; “her strong faith in the wisdom and love of her
heavenly Father makes her days to be full of peace and content.”

Presently the summons to tea brought the family all together; except
the baby, who was still too young to know how to conduct herself at the
table.

But she too was with the others when they gathered in the library, upon
the conclusion of the meal.

She was the center of attraction, amusing parents, brothers and sisters
with her pretty baby ways, till carried away to be put to bed.

Then Grace was drawn lovingly to her father’s knee, while Max drew his
chair up close on one side, Lulu hers on the other.

“Now we will have our texts,” the captain said, touching his lips to
Gracie’s cheek. “What is yours, Max?”

One of the captain’s requirements was that each of these three children
should commit to memory a text of Scripture every day, which texts were
recited to him at morning family worship. On Sunday evening each had a
new one, and all they had learned through the week were recited again,
and then their father talked familiarly with them about the truth
taught in the passages they had recited; for all were upon one and the
same subject, selected by him before hand. But the texts were left to
the choice of the children themselves.

God’s love to his people and to the world, was the subject at this time.

“The new ones first, papa?” asked Max.

“Yes; and we will take the others afterward.”

Then Max repeated, “God so loved the world that he gave his only
begotten son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but
have everlasting life.”

Then Lulu, “Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved
us, and sent his son to be the propitiation for our sins.”

Now it was Gracie’s turn.

“We love him because he first loved us.”

Her face was full of gladness as she repeated the words in clear, sweet
tones. “I do love him, papa,” she added. “Oh, how could I help it when
he loves me so?”

“Yes; strange that such wondrous love does not constrain every one who
has heard of it to love him in return,” responded the captain; and then
he repeated a text. “Yea, I have loved thee with an everlasting love;
therefore with loving kindness have I drawn thee.”

“Papa,” said Lulu, “that verse reminds me of something the minister
said in his sermon this morning about God never leaving or forsaking
any body that trusts in him. But then afterward he told about a poor
dying woman that he went to see once, so very, very poor that she had
hardly any furniture in her room, and nothing to eat, nothing but rags
to wear or to lie on for a bed; and yet she was a Christian woman, and
said it was like heaven there in her poor, wretched room, and she was
just as glad as could be because she was going to die and go to heaven.
Papa, I don’t understand; it does seem as if she was forsaken when she
was so very poor that she hadn’t any thing at all even to eat.”

“Forsaken, daughter, when she was so full of joy in the consciousness
of Christ’s love and presence, and the certainty that she would soon
be with him in the glorious home he has gone to prepare for his own
redeemed ones?”

“Oh, I didn’t think of it in that way!” said Lulu. “Jesus was with her,
and so she was not forsaken.”

“I don’t think it made much difference about her being so poor,”
remarked Max, “when she knew she was just going to heaven. What good
do riches do when people are dying? they know they have to leave them
behind. I’ve read that when Queen Elizabeth was dying she was so
unwilling to go that she cried out, ‘Millions of money for an inch of
time!’ She was dying in a palace with every thing, I suppose, that
riches and power could give her, but who wouldn’t rather have been in
that poor Christian woman’s place than in hers?”

“Who indeed?” echoed the captain; “in the dying hour the one question
of importance will be, ‘Do I belong to Christ?’ for ‘There is none
other name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved.’
Only those who have been washed from their sins in his precious blood,
and covered with the robe of his righteousness—who are loving and
trusting in him, will be saved.”

The children finished the recitation of their texts, said their
catechism also, to their father, then for an hour or more their voices
united in the singing of hymns, Violet accompanying them upon a parlor
organ.

Family worship closed the day for the children; their bedtime had come.

“Papa, it has been a nice, nice Sunday—this last one in the old year!”
Gracie said, as he was carrying her up to her room. “I hope all the
Sundays in the new one will be ’most ’zactly like it.”

“And so do I,” chimed in Lulu, who was close behind them. “It has been
a very nice Sunday. I’m glad its ’most over though, because I’m in
ever such a great hurry for to-morrow to come. Papa, I really can’t
help thinking about the fun we’re going to have.”

“You can help talking about it though, my child,” he said, “and
can try to turn your thoughts upon something more suitable for the
Sabbath-day.”




                              CHAPTER X.


A few moments before the breakfast hour on Monday morning, Captain
Raymond, as usual, went into the apartments of his little girls to see
how they were.

He found them in the sitting-room. Grace with a Bible in her hands,
Lulu—greatly to his surprise, busily plying a needle.

“Good-morning, my darlings,” he said, bending down to bestow a fatherly
caress upon each; then with a smiling glance at Lulu, “I am glad to see
you so industrious, daughter.”

“Yes, papa; see it’s the dress for that little Jones girl. Christine
basted the patches on for me Saturday, and showed me how to sew them;
and I am nearly done now. Please look if I am doing it well.”

“Very nicely, I think,” he replied, examining the work; “your stitches
are small and neat. Would you like to take it to the little girl
yourself, this morning?”

“If there’s time, papa.”

“There will be; your young friends are not expected much before the
dinner hour; so if the weather is pleasant, you and Gracie shall have
a little drive with me shortly after breakfast, and we will call at the
Jones’ house and leave the dress.”

Both little girls exclaimed, “How nice, papa!” and Lulu added, “I shall
enjoy giving it to her myself. And I’ll have time to go; for I got up
quite early and have pretty nearly put my rooms in order already.”

“I like to see you industrious, daughter,” her father said, kindly,
“but I do not want you to overdo the thing by being up too long, and
taking too much exercise before eating; because that might injure your
health.”

“Yes, sir; but I had a glass of milk when Gracie had hers; and now I’m
just nicely hungry for my breakfast.”

“Well, I am glad to hear it,” he said, “for the bell will probably ring
in about five minutes.”

Gracie had laid her book aside and taken possession of his knee.

“I’d like to get up early and work, too, if I could,” she said, laying
her head on his shoulder.

“Yes, I know you would, my pet,” he responded, passing his hand
caressingly over her soft curls, “but you are not strong enough yet.”

“But she’s useful, papa,” remarked Lulu, “she has been helping me to
learn my text while I sewed, by reading it over and over to me, and
we’ve learned hers, too, in the same way.”

“That was a very good plan,” he said.

“They are such nice verses, papa,” said Grace. “This is mine:

“‘He that loveth not, knoweth not God; for God is love.’”

“And this is mine,” said Lulu:

“‘Hereby perceive we the love of God, because he laid down his life for
us; and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren.’ What does
that last clause mean, papa?”

“That the love between the disciples of Christ must be great enough
to make them willing to lay down their lives—die for each other if
necessary.”

“It wouldn’t be many folks I could love so hard as that,” remarked
Lulu, emphatically.

“Doesn’t the Bible say we must love every body, papa?” asked Grace.

“Yes; ‘Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.’ ‘But I say unto you,
love your enemies.’”

“There, I’m done!” exclaimed Lulu, breaking off her thread, throwing
the mended dress over the back of a chair, and putting away her needle.
“Papa,” coming close to his side and leaning up affectionately against
him, “it’s just as easy as any thing to love you and Gracie, and Max,
and Mamma Vi, and Grandma Elsie—and other people that are good and kind
and pleasant, but I just _can’t_ love every body; at least not a bit
as I love you,” giving him a hug and kiss.

“No, dear child, that is not required; it is right that parents and
children, brothers and sisters, husbands and wives, should have a
deeper, stronger love for each other than they can possibly feel for
mere acquaintances or those whom they do not know personally; but we
are to love every body with a love of benevolence, wishing them well
and being willing to help them when in poverty or distress; if in our
power to do so.

“Also we must be patient and forbearing under provocation; the love of
benevolence, if we have it, will help us to be so, and make us willing
to yield honors and pleasures to others, even though it seem to us that
we ourselves have the best right to them.”

“Papa,” said Lulu, “I know you mean that for me; and I do intend to try
hard to be unselfish toward all my little friends while they are here;
I asked God to help me when I said my prayers this morning,” she added,
in a lower key.

“I am glad to hear it,” he said, pressing his lips to her cheek; “it is
only by his help that we can overcome in the fight with the evil of our
natures.

“We will go down to breakfast now; for there’s the bell.”

The weather proved mild, the sun shone brightly in a cloudless sky, and
the little girls greatly enjoyed the short drive with their father.

They called at the house where the Jones family lived, but were in too
great haste to stay many minutes. Grace did not get out of the carriage
at all; the captain and Lulu alighted, and went into the cabin, but
declined to sit down. Lulu handed the dress, done up in a neat bundle,
to the girl for whom she had intended it, and greatly enjoyed her look
of astonishment as she received it, her eagerly impatient tug at the
string that held it together, and her scream of delight when success
crowned her efforts and the dress—a far better and prettier than she
had ever owned before—met her astonished gaze.

“’Tain’t for me?” she cried; “say, miss, you didn’t never intend to
gimme it, did ye?”

“Yes,” said Lulu; “I brought it on purpose for you. Papa told me I
might.”

“Well now! I never was so s’prised in all my born days!” was the
child’s half breathless exclamation. “It’s mighty good o’ ye; and yer
pap too.”

“No, it wasn’t a bit generous in me,” said Lulu; “for I was quite done
wearing it; and besides papa gives me new ones very often.”

The captain had brought a fresh supply of delicacies for the invalid,
and had employed the moments while the children were talking in saying
a few comforting words to her. He now bade her good-by, and taking
Lulu’s hand led her back to the carriage, the young Joneses, grouped
in the door-way, sending after them glances of mingled curiosity,
admiration and envy.

“Papa,” said Grace, who was watching the slatternly, frowzy little
crowd with a curiosity and interest quite equal to theirs, “I think
those children want a ride ever so much.”

“Quite likely,” he returned, “and if they were clean and neat they
should have it; but as they are, their occupation of this carriage even
for a short time, would render it unfit for your mamma, or indeed any
of us, to enter again.” He had lifted Lulu in and taken a seat by her
side while he spoke, and now they were driving on their homeward way.

“I wish they could have a ride,” said Lulu. “Papa, couldn’t some kind
of a vehicle be hired for them?”

“Perhaps so; but who is to pay for it?” he asked.

“I, papa; if the money I have left will be enough,” answered Grace.

“I’ll help,” said Lulu; “we haven’t spent all you gave us for
Christmas, papa, and we have, this week’s allowance besides.”

“Well, I will see what can be done,” he said. “I am glad my little
daughters care for the happiness of others as well as their own.”

“We’d be dreadfully selfish if he weren’t willing to help other folks
to a little bit of good times when we are going to have so much
ourselves,” said Lulu. “Oh, Gracie, aren’t you glad the day for our
party to begin has come at last?”

“Yes,” answered Grace. “I b’lieve I’m beginning to be ’most as glad as
you are, Lu; but I wouldn’t be if papa hadn’t said I may sit on his
knee whenever I want to, and that he’ll take care of me and not let me
get too tired.”

“I think my little feeble girl is feeling rather better and stronger
to-day,” the captain remarked, bending down to caress and fondle her.

“Yes, papa; I do b’lieve I’m ’most well,” was the cheerful reply, “I
feel just as happy!”

“I, too,” chimed in Lulu; “and I’m all ready for the girls; my pretty
rooms are in perfect order. Papa, may I have Evelyn sleep with me?”

“Certainly, daughter, if it pleases her to do so. I think you could not
have a safer friend than Evelyn.

“I am very glad to see my dear little girls so happy,” he went on,
“but, my darlings, you must not expect to be entirely free from
vexation and annoyance while entertaining your young friends; there
will be clashing of interests and differences of opinion; occasions
when some will have to yield their wishes and preferences to those of
others, and I shall be highly gratified if my three children show a
readiness to do that, and do it cheerfully and pleasantly.”

“We’ll try, papa,” they both replied.

And now they seemed to forget every thing, but the pleasure close at
hand, and were nearly wild over the prospect of the new delight of
entertaining; quite new to them; for hitherto that privilege had never
been accorded them.

Their father showed himself to be in full sympathy with them and
allowed them to chatter and laugh to their hearts’ content.

Lulu’s good resolutions were, however, put to the test even before the
coming of her guests.

Almost immediately on their arrival at home Christine, the housekeeper,
sought an interview with the captain, and after a few minutes’ chat
with her, he repaired to the apartments of his daughters.

“Lulu,” he said, “we find that it will be necessary for you to
accommodate more than one of your young friends here at night.”

“O papa, please don’t say that?” she returned, coaxingly. “I thought it
would be so nice to have just Eva, and nobody else, in here with me
nights and mornings; can’t it be managed somehow?”

“I am afraid not,” he said; “there will not be room for all unless we
give you two companions.”

“But I have only one bed, papa, and it will crowd us very much to sleep
three in a bed.”

“Yes; one will have to lie on the couch here, which will make a very
comfortable bed: and that one, I think, should be my own little
daughter, Lulu.”

“Papa, you said I might have Evelyn to sleep with me, and there
wouldn’t be room for more than one on the couch.”

He sat down and drew her to him.

“Yes, I did make that promise—or rather give that permission, and I do
not withdraw it; if you insist upon it, you and Evelyn may occupy the
bed, and some one of your guests will have to content herself with the
couch; but would it not be more polite and kind on your part if you
resign your bed to her and Eva, and take the couch yourself?”

“Yes, sir; and I will if you say I must. I’ll have to, of course.”

“I don’t say you must; I only say I shall be far better pleased with
you if you do: and that it will be the right and kind thing for you to
do. But perhaps you do not care to please me?” he added, noticing the
unwilling expression of her countenance.

“Yes, papa, I do! I’d do any thing to please you,” she cried, smiling
up into his face, then putting her arm round his neck and laying her
cheek lovingly to his.

“Thank you, dear child,” he said, holding her close to his heart. “And
now you may choose which of your little friends you will have to share
these rooms with you and Eva.”

“Lora Howard,” she said. “I’m better acquainted with her than with any
of the others, except Rosie.”

“Rosie will share her mother’s room,” said the captain. “An excellent
plan, I think.”

“And Rosie Lacy is to sleep with me,” remarked Grace; “mamma told me
so; and I’m glad, for I like Rosie ever so much. Lu, may be you’ll find
it’s good fun for so many of us to be so close together.”

“I dare say she will,” said their father; “and she may invite Evelyn
almost any time to come and stay for days or weeks and share her bed.”

“Papa,” cried Lulu, delightedly, “you are just the very kindest of
fathers.”

“I am well pleased that you think so,” he said contentedly, repeating
his caresses; “while for my part, I verily believe no dearer or more
lovable children than mine are anywhere to be found.”

Grace had come to his side, and he passed an arm round her as he spoke,
bestowing upon her caresses as loving and tender as those Lulu had just
received.

“Yes, my dears,” he went on, “I think you will find it quite enjoyable
to have your little friends sharing your rooms for a while; but don’t
allow yourselves to be so taken up with sport as to neglect your
morning and evening devotions; never begin a new day, or lie down to
sleep at night, without thanking your Heavenly Father for his goodness
and mercy to you and yours, and asking to be kept from danger and from
sin. Never be ashamed or afraid though the whole world should know that
you do this. Jesus said, ‘Whosoever therefore shall confess me before
men, him will I also confess before my Father which is in heaven. But
whosoever shall deny me before men, him will I also deny before my
Father which is in Heaven.’”

“Papa,” said Lulu, “I don’t think I’d hesitate to say my prayers before
others, even if I expected they’d laugh at me. I mean if I could not go
by myself to do it; but when we can find a private place where no one
but God can see or hear us, oughtn’t we to choose it for the purpose?”

“Yes; Jesus said, ‘When thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when
thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret; and
thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly.’ You have a
private place in that little tower room opening into Lulu’s bedroom,
and there you and your guests can go by turns to pray in secret.”

Then he told them how Max had shown his moral courage while visiting at
the Oaks.

“I’m proud of my brother!” exclaimed Lulu, when the tale was told, and
her eyes shone as she spoke.

“I too,” said Grace. “I’m afraid I might not have been so brave. But
Eva and Lora say prayers too; so we won’t have such a trial as Maxie
had.”

At that moment there was a sound of wheels on the drive, and Lulu,
running to the window, exclaimed in joyous tones, “It’s the Fairview
carriage with Aunt Elsie Leland, little Ned and Eva in it. Oh I’m so
glad they’ve come the very first!”

“We will go down and welcome them,” the captain said, taking Gracie’s
hand. “Do you feel able to walk, daughter? or shall I carry you?”

“I’m a little tired, papa,” Grace answered, and he picked her up and
carried her.

Meanwhile hasty, impetuous Lulu had flown to meet her friend, and as
the captain appeared on the scene was embracing her with as much ardor
and effusion as if they had been separated for months instead of only
a day or two.

“O Eva,” she cried, “I do think we are going to have the most splendid
time that ever was! You are to share my rooms, and we’ll go right up
there, if you like.”

“I do like; or shall as soon as I have spoken to your father and your
Mamma Vi,” returned Evelyn gayly, putting her small hand into the large
one the captain held out to her.

“I am very glad to see you, my dear,” he said in a fatherly manner that
made the quick tears spring to her eyes.

A sudden sense of her irreparable loss almost overwhelmed her for the
moment, and she could not utter a word of reply.

He saw her emotion, drew her nearer, and bending down, kissed her as
tenderly as if she had been his own.

“Lulu’s father may have the privilege may he not, daughter?” he asked
in affectionate accents.

A grateful look was her only answer.

But now other carriages were driving up, and guests, old and
young, pouring in so fast that there was a delightful confusion of
affectionate embraces and merry greetings.

Lulu was in her element, playing hostess to her young girl-friends,
showing them to their rooms and seeing that every thing necessary for
their comfort was provided; while Max did likewise by the boys, with
perhaps an equal sense of enjoyment, and Grace entertained her little
mates in her own quiet fashion in the lower rooms of the mansion.

Rosie Travilla, coming down a little in advance of the others, met the
captain in the lower hall.

“I’m expecting to have a lovely time, captain,” she remarked. “Zoe has
been telling me about the magic cave.”

“Has she? and would you like to step into the conservatory and see the
alterations we have made there?”

“Yes, indeed!” she answered, and he led the way.

They were quite alone, and after she had seen and made her comments
upon what had been done, he asked:

“Would my little sister like to do her big, biggest brother, a favor?”

“Do you one, do you mean, captain? Certainly; if it’s in my power.”

“Thank you,” he said, then added with gravity, “I regret that you
apparently consider me so fond of my title. Would it be difficult or
disagreeable to you to say Brother Levis instead of captain?”

“Not very,” she returned, laughing; “but the title is more convenient;
and it’s for that reason I use it; not because I ever have imagined
you to be proud or fond of it.”

“Well,” he said, “if I were in your place I think I’d use the other;
especially if ever the tables should be turned so that I wanted to ask
a favor of my biggest and oldest brother.”

“If you really care to have me do so, I might try,” she replied with a
merry look up into his face. “But is that the only favor you have to
ask?”

“No; there is another that I am still more desirous to have you grant.”

He paused for a moment, then went on:

“I have a very fiery-tempered little daughter whom I love so dearly
that it gives me great pain to punish her for her outbursts of passion.”

Rosie’s cheeks grew suddenly very hot and her eyes were downcast.

“I am certain she is fighting hard against her besetting sin,” the
captain continued, “and I am trying by every means in my power to help
her; and the favor I ask is that you will join me in this by kindly
refraining from provoking her even in sport.

“Please understand, my dear little sister, that I am not saying you
ever have intentionally provoked her, and that I know and acknowledge
that it is no difficult matter to rouse her temper.”

It cost Rosie a desperate effort to make the acknowledgment, but she
forced herself to answer, “But if you did say it, ’twould be nothing
but the truth; for I have teased her purposely more than once. But if
you’ll forgive me this time, cap—brother Levis—I’ll try not to do it
again. I never thought of it as an unkindness to you.”

“My children are very near and dear to me, Rosie,” he said; “so near
and so dear that injury to them is much more trying than a personal one.

“But I am fond of my little sister, too; both for my wife’s sake and
her own,” he added, in a kindly tone, and with an affectionate pressure
of her hand which he had taken in his. “Of course I forgive the past,
while thanking you heartily for your promise in regard to the future.”

“Does Lulu hate me?” she asked, half tearfully and blushing vividly.

“I trust not, indeed!” he said. “I have no reason to think so. It would
distress me greatly if I thought she did; and you must not imagine that
she has been telling tales; with all her faults, she is above that, I
think.”

“Yes, I do believe she is,” acknowledged Rosie.

Just then the door opened and Lulu’s voice was heard saying, “Oh, here
she is! Rosie, we were looking for you. We’re going to look at some of
the things for the tableux, and we thought you’d like to see them too.”

“Oh, yes, thank you!” cried Rosie; “those things are always
interesting. You’re coming too, aren’t you, captain?” glancing back
over her shoulder at him as she hurried toward the little group in the
doorway.

He was about to say No, but an entreating look from Lulu caused him to
change his mind and go with them.

And he made his presence welcome to them all by the interest he showed
in what interested them, and the zest with which he entered into all
their pleasures. Not at this time alone, but every day while the guests
were there; always so far as concerned the children God had given him
for his own.




                              CHAPTER XI.


The afternoon was spent in rehearsing tableaux, the evening in playing
games, and acting charades.

For awhile Grace seemed to enjoy the fun, but an hour before the others
were ready to give it up, her father perceived that she was growing
weary and carried her off to bed.

“Shall I go with you, Gracie?” Lulu asked, glancing up from the game
she was playing.

“No, Lu; you’re having such a nice time; and papa and Agnes will ’tend
to me,” Grace answered, giving her sister a sweet, affectionate smile.

So Lulu went on with her game; but it was finished presently, and then
she stole quietly from the room and up-stairs to Grace’s bedroom.

“So you did come!” said Grace, who had just laid her head on her
pillow. “I like to have you, but oughtn’t you to stay with your
company?”

“I just want to speak to papa, and then I’ll go back to them,” answered
Lulu, going to his side.

He had seated himself by the bed, meaning to have a little loving chat
with Grace before leaving her for the night.

“Well, daughter, what is it?” he asked, putting an arm about Lulu and
stroking her hair caressingly with the other hand.

“I was thinking, papa, that I won’t have a chance for the least little
bit of a good-night-talk with you, because there’ll be company down
stairs to see and hear every thing, and you won’t want to come into my
room to say good-night as you most always do when we’re alone, because
of Lena and Eva being with me there.”

“But you are going to occupy the couch in your sitting-room, and when
you hear me coming you can shut the door between that and your bedroom.
So what is to hinder us from having a bit of private chat as usual?”

“Oh, yes; that will do nicely!” she exclaimed, her face lighting up
with pleasure, “but will you come, papa?”

“Yes,” he said, giving her a kiss. “Now run back to your mates and
enjoy yourself as much as you can till your bedtime comes.”

The three little girls came up to their rooms in gayest spirits, saying
to each other that they had been having a lovely time, but were careful
to move and talk quietly for fear of disturbing Grace and Rose Lacy who
was now asleep by her side.

“It’s quite too bad for us to turn you out of your bed, Lu,” said
Evelyn; “let me take the couch.”

“Or me,” said Lora; “you two are such great friends that I know you’d
like to sleep together.”

“Thank you both,” returned Lulu, “but you must have the bed; and you
needn’t pity me for having to sleep on the couch, for it is every
bit as comfortable. Besides papa is coming up presently to bid me
good-night—and you won’t care to see him; so I’ll shut the door between
the rooms and have him all to myself.”

“How nice of him!” exclaimed Lora. “My father never does that; I don’t
believe it ever so much as entered his head that he might; but mother
does.”

“Yes, I know it’s nice,” said Evelyn; “I remember how sweet it was to
have papa come to me in that way. I’m glad for you, Lu, that you have
such a father. I know if he were mine I should love him as dearly as
you do.”

“There, I hear his step!” cried Lulu; “so good-night, girls. Pleasant
dreams,” and she hurried into the next room, closing the door after her.

Her father entered by another at the same moment. “Are you quite ready
for me?” he asked.

“Yes, papa; I’m all ready for bed. I’ve put this warm dressing-gown on
over my nightdress, and the nice warm slippers you bought for me, on
my feet; so I’ll not take cold; and mayn’t I sit on your knee a few
minutes?”

“It is exactly what I want you to do,” he said, taking an easy chair
beside the grate, and drawing her into his arms. He held her close for
a moment, then lifted her to the desired seat, saying: “There, hold out
your feet to the fire and get them well warmed while we talk. Have you
any thing particular to say to me?”

“Yes, papa; I wanted to ask you if I mayn’t be the Peri to-morrow
evening?”

He did not answer immediately, and putting her arm round his neck and
looking coaxingly into his face, she repeated, “mayn’t I?”

He stroked her hair and kissed her before he spoke.

“I think,” he said at last, “that here is an opportunity for my little
girl to put in practice her good resolution to deny herself for the
sake of others.”

“I don’t like to,” she said in a half jesting tone, and with an arch
look and smile, “I wasn’t born good, and I’d rather please myself.”

“Yes, daughter, that is the way with us all; none of us were born good,
and we all love self-indulgence.”

“Papa,” she exclaimed in her vehement way, “I don’t believe you do! not
one bit! you’re always doing kindnesses to others, and I think you’re
just as unselfish as possible!”

He was musing again and seemed scarcely to notice what she said.

“Do you suppose my oldest daughter might be safely trusted to keep a
secret?” he asked presently.

“I hope so, papa; will you try me?”

“Yes; it is merely a suspicion of mine that I don’t want to trust to
any ears but yours. I think—indeed feel certain—that your Aunt Zoe
desires, as strongly as you do to be the Peri.”

“Then of course there isn’t any chance at all for me!” pouted Lulu, an
ugly frown on her downcast face.

“I hoped my little daughter would be generous enough to prefer
another’s pleasure to her own,” the captain remarked with a slight sigh.

“Don’t sigh, papa, don’t feel badly about it,” she entreated, hugging
him tight. “I will try to be good about it; I won’t say a word to
let any body know I’d care to be the Peri; and I’ll do my best to be
cheerful and pleasant, and to make them all enjoy themselves.”

“That is my own dear child,” he said, caressing her; “it is all I could
ask of you.”

“And now that I think about it, I’m sure Aunt Zoe has the best right,
because ’twas she who suggested having a magic cave and a Peri,” Lulu
said in her ordinarily pleasant tone; “beside, she has always been
kind to Max and Gracie, and ’most always to me too.”

“Perhaps always when you were deserving of it.”

“Yes, papa, I suppose so.”

“Well, daughter, it is high time you were in bed, so unless you have
something more to ask or to say, I will kiss you good-night and leave
you to your rest.”

“That’s all now, thank you, papa, only—do you think I’ve been a pretty
good girl to-day?” she asked with a wistful, longing look into his eyes.

“I do,” he said; “you gave up very nicely about the sleeping
arrangements. I have no fault at all to find with your conduct to-day,
and am very glad to be able to say so.”

Her face lighted up with joy. “Papa,” she said, her arm round his neck,
her cheek laid to his, “I’m just the happiest girl in the world when
you’re pleased with me.”

“And it gives me great happiness to be able to commend you,” he
returned. “Now, my darling, good-night. Go to bed and to sleep as soon
as you can.”

The magic cave was to be a surprise to most of the young guests,
and those who were in the secret guarded it carefully. The doors of
the parlor opening into the conservatory were found locked the next
morning, while amusements of various kinds, suited to the differing
ages and tastes, were provided in other parts of the mansion.

Before breakfast the captain called Lulu into his dressing-room and
told her it had been settled the previous evening that Zoe was to be
the Peri, Edward and Lester Leland the Genii, the turbaned figures
at the entrance to the conservatory would be Herbert and Harold, the
unseen musicians Aunt Elsie Leland and Mamma Vi.

“I’m satisfied, papa,” she said, “and I think it’s very good in them
all to be willing to help.”

“Yes,” he returned, “but I think, too, that they will enjoy the sport.
And I hope, daughter, that you also will get a great deal of enjoyment
out of it.”

“Oh, I haven’t a doubt but I shall, papa!” she responded. “I think it
will be splendid fun, and I’ve given up wanting to be the Peri.”

“I am glad to hear it!” he returned, “and I really think you will find
it more amusing to be one of the outside throng; you will see and hear
more of what is done and said than you could from the inside.

“Beside, as hostess you should be where you can give attention to your
guests, seeing that each one has as large a share of the fun as you can
secure for her, and that no one’s comfort is neglected.”

“That’s work I shall like, papa,” Lulu said, her eyes sparkling with
pleasure. “And I suppose it’ll be my business to find amusement for
them all while Mamma Vi and Aunt Zoe and the others are trimming the
conservatory and the magic cave?”

“Yes; and I expect to give you some help in that.”

“Will you, papa? Oh, I’m glad! All the girls say that you helped us to
have a great deal nicer time yesterday than we could have had without
you.”

“Ah! I feel quite complimented,” he said laughingly, stroking her hair
and giving her a hug, for she stood by his side with his arm about her
waist.

There was a light tap on the door, and Max’s voice asked, “May I come
in?”

“Yes,” said his father, and he entered with a cheery “Good morning,
papa. Good morning, Lu. I want to talk a little about the fun for
to-night. I’ve been thinking somebody should resist being blindfolded
and led into the cave, like that Mrs. Cecil did (in the story, you
know; I’ve been reading that chapter). It would make more fun.”

“Oh yes,” said Lulu; “of course it would! But who shall do it?”

“You, perhaps,” returned Max in a sportive tone; “you have about as
much talent in that line as any body of my acquaintance; there aren’t
many folks who’d dare resist papa’s authority for instance, as—”

“Max, Max! don’t tease your sister,” interrupted their father gravely;
for Lulu’s eyes were downcast and her cheeks hot with blushes. “She has
been very good and obedient of late, and I am sure has no intention of
resisting lawful authority in the future.”

“I beg your pardon, Lu,” Max said with hearty good-will. “I really
don’t think you have more or worse faults than I have myself.”

“Yes, I have, Maxie; you’re a thousand times better than I am,” sighed
Lulu, nestling closer in her father’s embrace; “I get dreadfully
discouraged with myself sometimes, and I do believe I’d give up trying
to be good if I didn’t know that papa loves me in spite of my badness.”

“Papa does indeed, dear child!” the captain said in tender tones.
“And he knows by experience how hard a fight it takes to rule a fiery
temper.”

“And perhaps there are other folks beside papa that care a little bit
for you, Lu,” said Max with an arch look and smile. “But say now, shall
you or I play Madam Cecil’s part?”

“You can if you want to,” she said, adding laughingly, quite restored
to good humor and cheerfulness, “I do believe you can be stubborn, too,
if you choose.”

“I hope so,” said their father; “a strong will is a very good thing if
used aright. It would grieve me to think my boy lacked firmness and
decision of character, for they will often be needed to keep him from
yielding to temptation to step aside from the paths of rectitude.”

A great variety of amusements had been provided, and all seemed to find
the day pass quickly and pleasantly.

On leaving the tea-table every one repaired, by invitation, to the
large parlor adjoining the conservatory, and many were the exclamations
of delight as they caught a glimpse of the interior of the latter.

Rare and beautiful plants and shrubs were massed on each side of the
central alley, their branches hung with myriads of tiny colored lamps,
and other glittering objects, including the fairies made by the ladies
and Lulu; and at the farther end could be seen the magic cave, also
hung with fairy lamps and jewels, in the midst the Peri arrayed in a
rich oriental costume, and with her attendant genii, one on each side,
while two turbaned figures stood guard in front of the glass doors
opening from the parlor, and soft strains of sweet music issuing from
some unseen quarter lent an added charm to the witchery of the scene.

“Can we go in? oh can we go in?” asked a chorus of eager young voices.

“Yes; one or two at a time,” answered the captain, opening the door,
and motioning to Maud Dinsmore, who happened to stand nearest, to pass
in.

She did so and was caught by the hand by one of the turbaned figures,
who bowed low and waved her on toward the cave, while a voice sang to
the accompaniment of the unseen musical instrument:

                    “Hush! the Peri’s cave is near.
                     No one enters scathless here;
                     Lightly tread and lowly bend,
                     Win the Peri for your friend.”

At the same time a muslin bandage was thrown over her eyes from behind,
her other hand taken, she felt herself led onward toward the cave, and
as she and her conductors paused at its entrance a whistle sounded long
and loud at her back.

She turned hastily round, but it rang out again behind her, again and
again, always behind her, turn which way she would; while the singer
repeated;

                    “Bend, bend, lowly bend,
                     Win the Peri for your friend.”

She obeyed with ready grace. A voice said:

                    “Homage done, you may be
                     Of this merry company,”

and with another blast of the whistle the bandage was taken from her
eyes, and a string which seemed to have been made fast to her sash put
into her hand, to which she gave a jerk, expecting to find the whistle
attached to it; but instead there was a golden scarf-pin of delicate
workmanship.

“Oh, how pretty!” she exclaimed. “Am I to keep it!”

But only the song answered:

                           “Away, away,
                    In the cave no longer stay,
                    Others come to share our play,”

and one of the attendant genii drew her aside to make room for the next
blindfolded victim, who was already being introduced in like manner as
she had been.

All, old and young alike, took part in the sport, going through the
same ceremonies, and they had a very merry time; indeed, the older
people seemed to feel almost as young as the children for the time
being.

Max carried out his plan of pretended reluctance, and in a way that
added a good deal to the fun; the gifts, too, were a source of much
mirth and jocularity. Most of them were pretty and valuable, but some
of little worth except for the sport occasioned by the incongruity of
their bestowal.

Old Mr. Dinsmore received a baby’s rattle; his son a lady’s head-dress,
while whistles and tops, and other articles equally inappropriate to
the age and sex of the receiver, were given to their wives and the
other ladies.

Zoe received the ring she had admired, and bestowed the uncomplimentary
pen-wiper she had made upon one of her young brothers-in-law.

Beautiful watch charms, from their father, fell to the lot of Lulu and
Grace. They were much pleased, and the captain equally so with their
presents to him.

A few tableaux closed the entertainment for the evening.

The curtain rose first on a wedding scene: Lester Leland and his
Elsie in bridal attire; in the foreground, Calhoun Conly, dressed as
a minister, an attendant group of boys and girls gathered about them,
making altogether a very pretty picture.

In the second tableau there were but two figures: Edward Travilla, with
his Zoe on his arm looking very lovely and bride-like in white satin,
veil and orange blossoms.

She had always regretted that the peculiar circumstances of their
marriage had precluded the possibility of thus arraying herself for her
bridal.

“What a lovely bride she makes!” and other similar remarks, reaching
her ear, sent a rich color into her cheek, and an unusual sparkle into
her always bright eyes; but she did not move a muscle, and the curtain
fell amid loud and prolonged applause.

It rose again in a very few moments on another and even handsomer pair:
Captain Raymond and Violet, also in wedding dress.

It was a surprise to his children, who were all now among the
spectators. They gazed eagerly and with intense interest, Lulu almost
holding her breath in her excitement.

“How sweet mamma looks!” murmured Grace, close at her side.

“And how handsome papa is!” said Max, who stood near enough to hear the
remark.

“He always is the very handsomest man in the world!” said Lulu.

“It’s ’most like being at their wedding,” remarked Grace. “I wonder if
mamma wore that very dress.”

“Yes,” answered Rosie, “that is her wedding dress, not altered at all.
And the one sister Elsie wore was hers.”

“It’s nice that they’ve kept them,” said Sydney Dinsmore. “I may live
and die an old maid, but if ever I do get married, I mean to keep my
wedding dress for my children and grandchildren to see.”

They all had their eyes on the tableau while they talked.

But now the curtain fell, shutting out the sight.

“Oh, why didn’t they let it last a little longer?” murmured several
young voices. “It was such a lovely picture!”

“I’d have liked to look longer,” said Gracie, “but I s’pose mamma would
have been tired standing so still. Besides, I guess it’s bedtime; I
feel as if it must be,” pulling out the dainty little watch which was
papa’s Christmas gift.

“Yes, it is past my bedtime. But I’m not much tired, and I hope papa
will let me stay up a little longer.”

“Oh, see!” cried Lora, as a door opened, “here they all come, the
brides still in their wedding dresses. They’re going to wear them for
the rest of the evening, I suppose. I like that.”

But nobody listened to what she was saying; they had all risen to their
feet and were crowding around the brides and bridegrooms with merry
congratulations and good wishes.

Lulu and Grace presently made their way to their father’s side. He was
laughing and talking with some of the other grown people, but when he
felt the small hands clasping his, he glanced smilingly down at his
darlings, then stooped and kissed them both.

“I fear my feeble little Gracie is very much fatigued by this time,” he
said. “Do you want papa to carry you up to bed now, pet?”

“I’m not so very tired, papa, and if you’re willing, I’d like ever so
much to stay up a wee bit longer,” she returned, coaxingly. “It’s so
nice to be at your wedding, you know; it seems as if it’s your wedding
and mamma’s.”

“Does it?” he laughed. “I wish I could have had my children at the real
one. Yes, you may stay up a little longer and have some ice cream. We
are going out to the dining-room now for refreshments.”




                             CHAPTER XII.


When Edward and Zoe had retired to their own apartment on the breaking
up of the company that evening, he led her up to a pier glass asking,
“What do you think of the picture you see there, my dear?”

She gazed an instant, then, looking up at him with an arch smile and a
charming blush, “I think the gentleman is extremely handsome,” she said.

“I was thinking of the lady,” he laughed, drawing her closer to his
side and bending to kiss the ruby lips. “You make a bonny bride, my
darling; even bonnier than you did when first you gave me the right
to call you mine. Look again, and tell me if you are not entirely
satisfied with your own appearance in bridal array?”

She obeyed, again gazing intently for a moment, smiling and blushing
with gratification, for it was a very lovely face and figure she saw
reflected in the mirror.

“Wouldn’t you have liked to have me dressed just so when we were
married, dear Ned?” she asked, with another glance up into his face.

“Yes, sweet one, if it might have been. And yet it could hardly have
made us happier at the present time than we are now.”

“No; and yet I should have preferred a happier bridal than we had. I
can never think of it without remembering the bitter sorrow that came
to me at the same time. You were my only helper and comforter then,
dear, dear Ned! and oh, how kind you were! But you know you were almost
a stranger, and I couldn’t love and trust you as I have learned to do
in these years that we have lived together. I was grateful to you then
(though not half so grateful as I should have been), but half afraid of
you too. But I don’t fear you now; no, not a bit,” she concluded with a
light and happy laugh.

“I hope not, indeed,” he said, “‘perfect love casteth out fear.’ How
have you enjoyed yourself to-night?”

“Very much indeed. I think we gave mamma a pleasant surprise with our
tableaux. She hasn’t a particle of prying curiosity about her, and we
were quite successful in keeping our intentions in regard to them a
secret from her.”

“Yes, I know; and she told me it was a great treat to her to see her
three daughters in bridal attire; that in her eyes they all looked very
lovely, very bride-like.”

“It’s so nice in her to include me with the others; she is and always
has been a real mother to me ever since the day you brought me to Ion.
Well, I suppose I must doff my finery, for it is growing late.”

“Yes, for to-night; but you must don it again some time for my benefit,
if for no one else’s.”

There were new sports for the next day, and the next, in most of
which Harold and Herbert, the captain and Violet, Edward and Zoe, and
sometimes even Grandma Elsie, took part, and that in a way to make it
extremely satisfactory to the children, entering heartily into the fun
and frolic, enjoying it, apparently, if not really, as much as the
youngest of the company.

Almost entire harmony had prevailed until the last evening but one;
then there was a slight unpleasantness.

Lulu and the five girls who were her especial guests were seated about
a table engaged in playing “Letters.”

I presume the game is familiar to all my young readers. The player
who can make the largest number of words wins the game, and each
draws a letter in turn from a heap in the centre of the table, thrown
promiscuously together, and is bound to select hap-hazard, not seeing
what the letter may be till it is chosen and can not be exchanged for
another more to the player’s liking.

“Dear me!” cried Sydney Dinsmore, when the game had been going on for
some time, “Rosie is going to win for certain. Just see! she has more
words than any body else; but I’d like to know how it is that she
always hits upon a vowel, while I get nothing but consonants and of
course can’t make out my words.”

“That’s a mistake, Syd,” said Rosie, coloring deeply as she spoke. “I
don’t always get a vowel.”

“No, you don’t always want one, but when you do, you get it.”

“So might any body who was mean enough to peep and find out what the
letter is before she takes it,” remarked Lora in a half-jesting tone;
whereat the color on Rosie’s cheek deepened still more; then catching a
scornful glance from Lulu’s dark eyes, she rose hastily, pushing back
her chair.

“If I am suspected of such doings,” she said in tones trembling with
anger and chagrin, “I’ll not play any more.”

“Oh now, Rosie, sit down and finish your game,” said Evelyn
persuasively, “I’m sure no one really suspects you of such dishonesty.”

“Then let them say so,” returned Rosie. But no one spoke, and turning
haughtily away, she left them.

“Oh girls, why didn’t you speak?” exclaimed Evelyn, always inclined to
be a peacemaker. “Let me run after her and tell her that of course you
don’t suspect her of any such thing.”

“I can’t,” said Sydney, “for it wouldn’t be true. I saw her peep.”

“And so did——” began Lulu, but raising her eyes while the words were on
her tongue, and catching a glance of grave displeasure from her father,
who, noticing that something was amiss among the players, had drawn
near and was now standing opposite her on the other side of the table,
she broke off suddenly, leaving her sentence unfinished.

Her eyes fell and her cheeks flushed hotly under his glance, but he
turned and moved away without speaking, and the game went on, but with
less enjoyment than before on the part of the young players.

Lulu particularly, troubled by a consciousness that she was no longer
in full favor with her dearly-loved father, had almost lost her
interest in it.

Rosie was still more uncomfortable, knowing that Sydney’s and Lora’s
accusation was not undeserved, but she was far too proud to own it just.

She sauntered into an adjoining room, where the little ones were
engaged in a game of romps, and was soon in their midst apparently the
merriest of the merry, but in fact only making a determined effort to
drown the reproaches of conscience, for no one so carefully trained in
the knowledge of right and wrong as she had been, could be guilty of
even the smallest act of dishonesty and deception without suffering in
that way.

She, however, gave no sign of it till, on reaching their sleeping
apartment, her mother turned to her with the most sadly reproachful
look she had ever bestowed upon her.

Rosie’s eyes sought the floor, while her cheeks burned with blushes.
She had not thought “mamma” knew any thing about her wrong doing, yet
certainly she must, else why was her look so grieved and reproving.

Neither spoke for a moment, then, sighing deeply, Elsie said, “Can it
be true that my dear, youngest daughter has been guilty of fraud and
deception?”

“Who told—why do you have such an idea, mamma?” stammered Rosie in
confusion. “I—I never thought you’d believe any thing so bad of me!”
and she burst into a perfect passion of tears and sobs; a most unusual
thing for her.

“O Rosie, my dear child,” her mother answered in tones tremulous with
grief and affection, “I do not want to believe it; I can hardly bear to
do so, and yet I must fear it is true till I hear the assurance from
your own lips that it is not.”

“Mamma, who has been carrying tales about me to you?” cried Rosie with
great show of indignation, “I did not think any body would be so mean;
no, not even Lulu!”

“Rosie! Rosie!” exclaimed her mother in a tone that, for her, was very
severe, “How can you so wrong Lulu? She is passionate, but I have never
known her to be guilty of meanness. I have heard nothing from her to
your discredit; but I did overhear a little talk between some of the
others about your having cheated in a game, or perhaps more than one,
and growing angry and forsaking their company, when accused of it.”

“Well, mamma, hadn’t I a right to be indignant at such an accusation!”

“Not if it were just and true, my daughter.” There was no response to
the half questioning rejoinder and after waiting a moment, Elsie asked,
“Was it true, Rosie?”

“Mamma, why do you—how can you ask me such insulting questions?” sobbed
Rosie, hiding her face in her hands while a crimson tide mounted to her
very hair.

“It pains me more than I can express to do so,” sighed her mother; “but
if conscious of innocence, my dear child, say so at once, and your
mother will believe you.” She paused and waited for an answer.

For a few moments Rosie seemed to have a hard struggle with herself,
then she sobbed, “I can’t, mamma, because—because it is true; I did
peep to see what the letters were; and—and before that when we were
playing hide-and-seek, and Lulu was hiding the slipper. But oh mamma,
don’t look so dreadfully grieved! I didn’t really think how very wrong
it was.”

Tears were coursing down Elsie’s cheeks and her bosom heaved with
emotion.

“Oh mamma, dear mamma, don’t! I can’t bear to see you cry because of my
wrong-doing,” sobbed Rosie, dropping on her knees by her mother’s side
and throwing her arms around her.

“It almost breaks my heart, my child, to learn that one of my darlings
has stepped so far aside from the path of rectitude,” returned her
mother in tremulous tones, “for though you have spoken no untruthful
word, you have been both untrue and dishonest in act.”

“Mamma, mamma, how can you be so cruel as to tell me that?” Rosie
exclaimed, hiding her face in her mother’s lap and sobbing convulsively.

“Faithful are the wounds of a friend,” her mother said tenderly, and
softly smoothing the weeper’s hair. “I must show you your sin in all
its heinousness that you may see it to be hateful, repent of and
forsake it, and go to Jesus for pardon and cleansing.”

“I am sorry, mamma, I don’t ever intend to do so again; I’ll confess it
to God, and I have confessed it to you.”

“And do you think that is enough, my daughter?”

“O mamma, don’t say I must own it to the girls!” she entreated, “I
couldn’t bear to!”

“I perceive that your conscience is telling you you ought, and I hope
it will not be necessary for me to add a must,” Elsie said very gently
and kindly.

Rosie was exceedingly reluctant; it seemed the hardest requirement her
mother had ever made, but at length a promise of obedience was won from
her and she went to bed to cry herself to sleep over the humiliation
she must submit to on the morrow.

While she and her mother were talking thus together, Lulu had made
ready for bed and received a visit from her father. She met him with a
wistful pleading look and the query, “Papa, are you displeased with me?”

He did not answer immediately, but sitting down drew her to his knee,
smoothed the hair back from her forehead and kissed her gravely. “Not
very seriously, daughter,” he said at last, “but what was the trouble
between Rosie and the rest of you? Sydney seemed to be accusing her of
some unfair dealing, and you, I thought, were beginning a sentence of
the same import.”

“Yes, papa, I was; and I’m glad you stopped me before I’d said what I
was going to,” Lulu answered, coloring and dropping her eyes.

“And a moment before she left your circle I saw you give her a very
scornful look. Do you think that was right or kind? especially
remembering that she is your guest?”

“No, sir,” acknowledged Lulu. “But, papa, I will try to do better if
you just won’t be vexed with me.”

“I can ask nothing more than that promise, and am not at all vexed with
you now, my darling,” he said, repeating his caress.

“Oh, I’m glad!” she exclaimed, hugging him and returning his kiss.
“Papa, do you think I would ever cheat at play, and so win the game
unfairly? and if I should, wouldn’t you think I was every bit as bad as
if I flew into a passion?”

“Yes, quite as bad, quite as deserving of punishment; but I do not
think you would be guilty of any thing of the kind, and it has always
been a great comfort to me to be able to believe my little daughter
Lulu a perfectly honest and truthful child.”

“Dear papa, thank you!” she said, her face lighting up with joy and
love.

“It is a great pleasure to me to speak words of commendation to you,”
he responded; “as great a pain to have to reprove and punish you. So,
dear child, if you love your father, try to be good.”

“Don’t you know that I love you, papa?” she asked, smiling into his
eyes.

“Yes,” he said, holding her close, “I haven’t the least doubt of it.
Now, good-night. Get to bed and to sleep as soon as you can.”

“There, now; I know papa wouldn’t think Rosie a bit better child than
I am if he knew all I do about her,” Lulu said to herself, with great
satisfaction, as he went from the room and the door closed upon him.

Rosie seemed strangely quiet and depressed the next morning, and to
avoid meeting the glance of her mates.

“I guess she’s ashamed of herself,” remarked Sydney, in an aside to
Lora, “and she ought to be.”

“Of course she ought,” said Lora. “Who would ever have believed that a
child of Cousin Elsie’s would cheat at play? I think Rosie has always
had a very good opinion of herself, and perhaps it will do her good to
find out that she’s no better than other folks, after all. She’s been
hard on Lu Raymond, about her temper, you know; but I must say I like
Lu best, though she is no kin to me.”

She involuntarily glanced toward Rosie, standing by a window on the
farther side of the room, as she spoke, and their eyes met.

Rosie’s instantly sought the floor, while her cheeks flushed crimson.

It was shortly after breakfast and family worship, and they were in
the parlor where the trouble began the night before; just the girls
themselves and no one else; and Rosie perceived that there could be no
better time than the present for her acknowledgment.

But how should she make it? “Oh,” she thought, “it’s the very hardest
thing I ever had to do!”

Then summoning all her courage, she spoke in low, faltering tones, her
head drooping, her whole face and even her neck crimson with blushes.

“Girls, I—I own that Syd was right in what she said last night; Lora
too; and that besides, I did look when I was supposed to be hiding my
eyes in the other games.”

She ended with a burst of tears, half turning her back upon her
companions, as if too much mortified to meet their glances.

There was a moment of surprised silence, in which no one either moved
or spoke; then Eva said, in a kindly, sympathizing tone:

“It is noble in you to own it, Rosie; so I think we should all love you
more than ever.”

“Yes,” said Lulu, hurrying to Rosie’s side, and putting her arms
affectionately about her, “so we will, Rosie, dear; so don’t cry. I’m
sure you don’t intend ever to do any thing of the kind again, and we’ll
all forget about it directly, won’t we, girls?”

“We’ll try,” they answered, Sydney adding, “So dry your eyes, coz, and
don’t let us spoil our good times by fretting over what’s done and
can’t be helped.”

“It will do for you to feel that way,” sobbed Rosie, “all of you that
haven’t been doing wrong; but I ought to be ashamed and sorry whenever
I think about it.”

“Don’t think about it, then,” said Sydney, in a jesting tone, “I
wouldn’t.”

“And we won’t,” added Lulu, squeezing Rosie’s hand affectionately.

“Lu, you’re very good,” murmured Rosie, close to Lulu’s ear, “and I
haven’t been kind and charitable to you when you were in disgrace, even
when it was partly my fault that you had done wrong.”

“Never mind; I hope we are not going to vex each other any more,”
returned Lulu; and just then Zoe came running in to say that some new
tableaux had been thought of, in which they were all to have more or
less part, and they were wanted at once in Violet’s boudoir.




                             CHAPTER XIII.


On Saturday morning the last of the guests departed.

“Well, it’s all over!” exclaimed Lulu with a sigh, as she turned away
from the window whence she had been watching the carriage that bore
them till it disappeared from sight, “and it does seem dreadfully
lonesome!”

“Dreadfully? quite that, daughter?” Capt. Raymond asked, taking her
hand and looking down into her lugubrious countenance with a smile of
mingled amusement and affection.

“No, papa; I believe that’s a little too strong,” she answered, with a
not very successful effort to be bright and cheery; “but it does seem
lonesome. Don’t you feel a little so your own self?”

“Well, no; I can’t say that I do. I have enjoyed entertaining our
relatives and friends, and now I feel that it will be fully as
enjoyable to have my wife and children quite to myself again for a
time.”

“I echo your sentiments, my dear,” Violet said in a lively tone; “I
have enjoyed the mirth and gayety of the past few days, but would not
be by any means willing to live in such a whirl of excitement all the
time; so now am full of content at being left alone with you and the
children again.”

“That’s just the way I feel about it,” Gracie said, nestling up against
her father.

“That’s right,” he said, putting his arm round her; “and if any of us
are lonesome we must draw the closer together, and each one try to be
as kind and entertaining to the others as possible. Suppose I order the
family carriage now and take you all for a drive? What do you say to
that, Mamma Vi?”

“I am pleased with the proposition,” Violet answered, “and shall go at
once and don my wraps. But where is Max? Is he not to go with us?”

“Yes; on his pony; he is off to the stables to take personal oversight
of the saddling and bridling. Now, daughters, do you go and get ready.”

It was dinner time when they returned from their drive, Violet and the
children rosy and happy, saying they had enjoyed it greatly, but were
now hungry enough to be glad to reach home and the dinner-table.

It did not seem a great while after leaving it when the short winter
day closed in, the lamps were lighted and, supper over, they gathered
close together about the glowing grate in Violet’s boudoir.

This was baby’s time for a romp with papa, brother and sisters. She and
they were very merry to-night, enjoying the romp all the more because
it had been omitted while the guests were in the house.

While Violet was away seeing baby put to bed, the three older children
hung about their father chatting freely with him and each other.

When that had been going on for a few moments, the captain asked, “How
about the lonesomeness now, Lulu?”

“Oh, I’m not a bit lonesome now, papa,” she cried, giving him a
vigorous hug and laying her cheek to his; “we didn’t have a nicer time
all the while the girls and boys were here.”

“Ah, I wonder if Max and Gracie are of the same opinion.”

“Yes, indeed, papa!” they both replied.

“Then you didn’t greatly enjoy entertaining your young friends?” he
said inquiringly.

“Oh, yes, sir! indeed, indeed we did!” exclaimed all three.

“How would you prefer to spend the rest of the evening?” he asked, and
again there was a simultaneous answer, “Hearing you read some nice
book, papa.”

“That is my choice also,” said Violet, coming in at that moment.

“A unanimous vote,” commented the captain, with a pleased smile, “that
is far more comfortable than a difference of opinion, or rather, in the
present case, of desire.”

He had always been a lover of choice literature and was anxious to
make his children such, cultivating their minds as well as their
hearts. He had already bought largely of standard works, history,
poetry, biography, travels, etc., and of the best juveniles; such as
can be read with interest by adults as well as the young; and many an
evening had passed delightfully to himself and Violet as well as to the
children in making acquaintance with their contents.

The captain was always the reader at these times, and would
occasionally pause to give opportunity for a request for information or
explanation, which he was fully capable of giving and always did give
in the kindest and most painstaking manner.

“Well, children,” he said, as he laid aside the book, “your holidays
are over, and we must begin lessons again on Monday morning. I shall
expect to find you all in the school-room at precisely nine o’clock.”

“I’m not sorry, sir,” said Max, “though I’ve enjoyed my vacation very
much.”

“I’m not really sorry,” said Lulu, “but I’m afraid I’ll find it hard at
first to sit still and study. Please, papa, won’t you be a little easy
with us for a day or two?”

“I hope you will find me not unreasonably strict or stern,” he replied,
smiling slightly; “but I can’t allow too much self-indulgence, too
ready a yielding to an indolent disinclination for work.”

“But please, papa, make their lessons short and easy for the first day
or two,” said Violet, in a playful tone of entreaty; “that is the way
mamma used to do with us after a holiday: getting us back into the
traces gradually, you know.”

“A very good plan I think,” responded the captain; “and very kind in
Mamma Vi to plead for the children.”

“Yes, so it is; but we don’t need any body to plead for us with our
own dear, kind father,” said Lulu, laying an arm across his shoulders,
as she stood by his side, and gazing into his face with eyes full of
filial love and trust.

“Indeed, no!” exclaimed Violet. “I know he loves his children dearly
and would not be hard with them for the world.”

“I trust not,” he said, smoothing Lulu’s hair caressingly, and
returning her look of love. “I think there is nothing I desire more
strongly than their welfare and happiness here and hereafter.”

“We are all sure of that, papa,” said Max. “Well, to-morrow is Sunday,
when we have only our Bible and catechism lessons, and they are short
and easy.”

“Yes; papa never gives long, hard lessons in those things,” assented
Lulu.

“And you think he does in other things?” the captain said, in a tone of
inquiry.

“It does seem a little so sometimes, papa,” she replied; “but maybe
it’s only because I’m lazy.”

“Laziness is a very bad complaint; not at all to be encouraged,” he
said. “I think you are not indolent as regards physical exertion, but
I fear you are sometimes a little so when mental effort is what is
required of you.”

“Papa,” said Max, “you make Sunday a very pleasant day to us; and
so did Grandma Elsie and Mamma Vi when we were at Ion. But before
that—when I lived with that old—”

“Max, Max,” interrupted his father in a reproving tone.

Max colored and hung his head.

“I want you to refrain from speaking so disrespectfully of even that
man,” his father went on. “I grant that he did not treat you with
kindness or even justice, but, my dear boy, try to forgive and forget
it all. I am very glad you find Sunday pleasant now. I would have you
all esteem it as the pearl of days.”

He spared no effort to make it both a happy and a sacred day to them,
a day when worldly cares, labors and amusements, even such as are
lawful on other days, were to be laid aside, and the whole time spent
in a holy resting, in worshiping and praising God, and studying his
word in order to learn his will that they might conform their faith and
lives to it.

Three brighter faces than those that met his glance on entering the
school room at the appointed hour on Monday morning could hardly have
been found anywhere.

“You do not look as though lessons were a terror to you to-day, my
darlings,” he said, smiling upon them with fatherly affection.

“Because we don’t feel so, papa,” said Max. “We’ve all been here,
studying for the last ten or fifteen minutes. You see we don’t want you
to find it a disagreeable business to teach us.”

“No, indeed, papa,” added Lulu, “we’re just determined to be good and
industrious, and you needn’t make the lessons short and easy unless you
think best.”

“Both they and the time shall be a little shorter than usual, however,”
he said, “but I am glad my patience is not to be tried with a lazy set
of pupils.”

He perceived that, though they were earnestly endeavoring to do their
best, it was difficult for them to sit still and give their minds to
their tasks, and a full hour earlier than usual he said, “Gracie, you
may go now to your play. Max, I want these letters mailed within an
hour. You may ride your pony into the village and post them for me, if
you will go and return promptly.”

“Yes, sir; I will; I’d like nothing better,” answered the lad, hastily
laying his books away in his desk, taking the letters and leaving the
room.

“Papa, mayn’t I stop studying too, and do what I please?” asked Lulu.

“You may put away your books and come here,” he said. “I have something
to say to you.”

“That’s nice!” she exclaimed, obeying with alacrity, for his tone was
so kind that she felt sure he had no fault to find with her.

He drew her to his knee and put his arm about her waist.

“What is it, papa?” she queried, patting his cheek with affectionate
familiarity. “I know you’re not going to scold me, because I haven’t
been doing anything naughty; and besides, you don’t look one bit stern.”

“No,” he said, caressing her hair and cheek with his hand, “I have no
reproof to administer, and yet what I have to say will not be pleasant
to you; but my little daughter must try to believe that her father
knows best and loves her too well to require of her any thing but what
he deems for her best interests.”

“I’ll try, papa,” she responded, but with a troubled, anxious look
stealing over her face. “I can’t think what it can be! Oh it can’t be
that you’re tired teaching me and are going to send me to school?”

“Not quite so bad as that,” he said. “I am not tired of teaching you
or the others; I find it sweet work, because you are all my own dear
children; but I am not qualified to instruct you in the accomplishments
I wish you to have, and therefore must employ some one else to do so.
Your musical education has been neglected of late, but now I have
engaged a teacher for you and you will take your first lesson from him
this afternoon.”

“From him? then it’s a man! Oh papa, I don’t want a man teacher! won’t
you please let me be taught by a lady?”

“My darling, I want you to have the very best instruction, and from all
I can hear, there seems to be no one else anywhere in this neighborhood
so capable of imparting it as this gentleman.”

“But I don’t want to take lessons of him, papa: for he’ll be sure to be
cross and hateful and put me in a passion, and—and then you’ll—you’ll
have to punish me; and you won’t like that any better than I will,” she
added, putting her arm round his neck and gazing beseechingly into his
eyes.

“My darling, I think you may dismiss that fear,” he said, again
stroking her hair caressingly, “for it is my intention always to be
present when you are taking your lesson, and see that you are not
ill-used, as well as that you do not misbehave.”

“Then maybe I can stand it,” she sighed; “for I don’t believe he’ll
dare to strike me or do any thing very bad to me if you are there to
see. You won’t let him, will you, papa?”

“No. I have already told him that if my little girl should be so
naughty as to make it necessary to punish her in any way, I shall be
the one to attend to it. I will not allow any one else to attempt it.”

“And you don’t like to do it either?”

“No, indeed, I do not; yet if it should have to be done, I should be
still more unwilling to trust it to any one else.”

“Is the gentleman an Italian, papa?” she asked.

“No; he is an Englishman.”

“I wonder if that’s any better?” sighed Lulu. “Professor Manton’s an
Englishman and I can’t bear him.”

“Hush, hush. I do not like to hear you talk in that way,” said her
father. “You may go now and amuse yourself as you please till dinner
time.”

“I don’t care to; I’ve lost all my spirits,” she sighed dolefully. “O
papa, do please change your mind.”

“My dear child, it is too late, even if I thought best to do so—which
I do not—for I have made the engagement and can not honorably retreat
from it.”

“Oh dear,” she groaned, “don’t you think it would have been kinder if
you had consulted me first?”

“No; not unless it were kinder to consider your present wishes rather
than your future interests,” he answered gravely, though there was a
slight twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “What is the use of my little
girl having a father if she is so wise that she knows better than he
what is best for her?”

“But I’m not; and oh, I wouldn’t be without a father for all the
world!” she exclaimed, clinging about his neck again, and pressing her
lips to his cheek.

He drew her into his arms and kissed her fondly. “Then you are going to
be good about this and not distress papa by stubbornness, pouting or
fretting?”

“Yes, sir. Why, it would be perfectly shameful for me to be naughty and
rebellious after you have given me a party and every thing! If I am I
hope you’ll punish me ever so hard.”

“I hope I shall not have occasion to punish you; it would distress me
greatly to do so. But what a doleful countenance! Put on your hat and
coat and we will take a little walk together.”

Her face brightened at once and she hastened to obey the order; for
she esteemed a walk with papa, her hand in his, one of her greatest
pleasures.

When they came in again, just in season for dinner, her face wore its
usual bright and happy expression.

They had scarcely left the table when the music teacher was announced.
Mr. Morgan was his name.

Lulu decided upon the first glance that she was not going to like him
at all, yet that he was less forbidding in appearance than Signor
Foresti.

“And I shan’t care so very much whether he’s nice or not, as papa will
always be by to see that he behaves himself,” she remarked to Grace
in talking the matter over with her the first time they were alone
together after the lesson had been given and Mr. Morgan had taken his
departure.

“Was he cross to-day, Lu?” Grace asked.

“No, of course not; do you suppose he’d dare to be, with papa there to
see and hear every thing?”

“No, I shouldn’t think he would. Isn’t it good in papa?”

“Yes, indeed; and I mean to try as hard as ever I can to improve to
please him.”

“And to please our heavenly Father. Oh, Lu, isn’t it good in him to
notice when we try to learn our lessons and be obedient and good
because we want to please him?”

“Yes; but I think a great deal more about pleasing papa,” acknowledged
Lulu frankly.

They were in the library, sitting by the fire in the twilight. Their
father and Violet had gone to pay some calls in the neighborhood,
leaving the little girls at home.

“It’s beginning to get dark,” remarked Grace. “I wish papa and mamma
would come.”

“There!” exclaimed Lulu, “I guess they have, for I hear wheels on the
drive.”

They listened for a little, then Grace cried out joyfully, “Oh, yes,
they have! for I hear their voices,” and the next minute their father
came in alone, Violet going on up to her boudoir.

“Papa! oh, we’re glad you’ve come!” they both exclaimed, jumping up,
running to meet him, and each taking a hand.

“Are you?” he said, seating himself and drawing them into his arms. “It
is very pleasant to receive so warm a welcome. I hope my darlings have
not been very lonely?”

“No, sir,” they answered simultaneously, Lulu adding, “I practiced a
whole hour by the clock, just as you and Mr. Morgan told me to, and
Gracie played with baby while I was doing that; then we both came in
here to sit and talk.”

“That was right. I expect and hope to see you improving very fast under
Mr. Morgan’s instruction; and after all it isn’t so very bad to have to
take lessons of a man, is it?”

“Not with you there, papa; but it would be without you.”

“I have something to tell you,” he said; “the little Joneses had their
drive to-day; in a spring wagon which I hired for the purpose. I sent
one of the servants over to sit with the mother, so that all the
children could go; and I think they enjoyed it greatly and are obliged
to my two little girls for giving them the treat.”

“Oh, I’m glad we did!” exclaimed Grace; “it’s better than getting a
present or buying something for ourselves, to know those poor children
have had a good time.”

“I think so too,” assented Lulu.

“Yes,” said their father, “there is no better plan for making money
contribute to our own happiness than using it for others, especially
the benefit of the poor and needy.”

“’Cept giving it to the heathen, papa?” Grace said, half inquiringly.

“Surely, to be destitute of the knowledge of Jesus and his salvation
is to be very poor and needy, my little daughter,” he replied.

“Yes; so it is,” she said thoughtfully. “Papa, I wish every body in the
whole world knew about him and loved him.”

“So do I, my darlings; and we must not content ourselves with idle
wishing, but earnestly strive to do all we can to spread the glad
tidings and win souls to Christ.”




                             CHAPTER XIV.


The remaining winter months sped swiftly by, nothing occurring to mar
the domestic felicity of our friends at Woodburn; then came gentle
spring with her soft breezes, buds and blossoms, bringing new delights.

The captain planned and carried out various improvements in the
grounds, taking not his wife only, but his children also, into his
counsels, consulting their tastes and wishes in a way that gave them
a very enjoyable sense of joint proprietorship with him. He had a
pleasant fashion of saying “ours” instead of “my” house, grounds,
flower-garden, etc.

But Max was given a garden spot to be all his own; Lulu and Grace each
had hers; and they were encouraged to work in them according to their
strength, the gardener being instructed to do for them whatever they
were not able to do for themselves, and to provide each with whatever
plants and seeds were called for.

It was but little Grace could do with her own small hands, but she
found great pleasure in directing the laying out of her own tiny
domain, selecting the seeds and plants and deciding upon the order of
their arrangement.

The captain was a firm believer in the efficacy of fresh air, and in
suitable weather there were daily drives and walks about the grounds,
through the woods and along the country roads.

It was a dear delight to the children to hunt for wild wood flowers in
their walks, and if they spied any in their drives, papa was always
indulgently ready to stop the carriage and gather the floral treasures
for his darlings, or even to permit them to alight and pluck the
tempting beauties for themselves.

Such a free, glad life was theirs, so filled with pleasant duties and
pastimes, so surrounded with an atmosphere of tender parental care and
love, that their young hearts seemed brimming over with happiness, and
even Gracie’s face grew round and rosy with health.

Violet, too, was very happy, gay and light-hearted as a child: the
captain sometimes said that he felt as if he were renewing his youth;
at which Violet would laugh and say, “That is not so very strange, my
dear; for you are some years younger than mamma—whom we all indignantly
refuse to consider old—and you have neither gray hairs nor wrinkles.”

Max and Lulu had not given up their fret and scroll sawing and carving,
but usually found at least a few minutes to devote to them every day.
They had been for weeks engaged upon some pretty things for Grace, to
be presented upon her birthday, which was now near at hand.

It was a secret between themselves, known to no one else except their
father, from whom they seldom desired to conceal any thing. It was
a dear delight to both that he was always ready to receive their
confidences, listen with interest and give hearty sympathy and help
also, if it were needed.

Going into their workroom one morning, he found them there, both busily
plying their tools.

“You seem to be very industrious,” he remarked with a pleased smile.
“Are you not nearly done?”

“Yes, papa,” they answered, “we have only a little more to do, but we
must make haste with that, for to-morrow is Gracie’s birthday.”

“I have not forgotten that,” he said. “I shall have a gift for her too.”

“What, papa?” cried Lulu eagerly. “May we know?”

“You may know to-morrow,” he answered pleasantly. “This is very pretty,
Lulu,” taking up some of her work and examining it critically.

“Yes, papa; and this is the last piece I’m doing now. Then I’ll fasten
them together and the cradle will be done, all but putting in the pink
satin lining I have ready for it. It will just fit Kitty, Gracie’s
largest doll, and I’ve made such a sweet little pillow and spread for
it; both of pink satin covered with lace. Oh, I’m sure Gracie will be
delighted! particularly because I’ve made every thing myself.”

“I haven’t a doubt that she will,” he said. Then, looking at his watch,
“You have still fifteen minutes before school time.”

“I think I can get done the carving in that time, papa,” she said, “and
this afternoon I can put in the lining. Maxie, you are nearer done than
I, aren’t you?”

“Perhaps just a trifle,” he answered. “Papa, what do you think of this
clock-case now?”

The captain examined and admired, then bidding them be punctual in
coming to their lessons, went out and left them.

They were careful to obey. Lulu entered the schoolroom with flushed
cheeks and shining eyes.

“I’m done, papa,” she said to him in a low aside, “and so is Maxie.”

“I congratulate you both,” he answered, with a look of interest and a
kindly smile.

Lessons over, Lulu hastened back to the work-room to gather up the bits
of carved wood upon which she had expended so much time and labor.

On the threshold she was met by a little negro boy coming out with a
hatchet in his hand.

“Dick! how dare you go in there? What have you been doing with that
hatchet?” she asked in tones of mingled anger and alarm.

“Nuffin, Miss Lu,” he answered, running off at full speed, while she
hurried into the room and to the table where she had left her treasures
laid together in a neat pile.

It had disappeared, but on the floor beneath lay a heap of broken bits
and splinters of wood which one horrified glance showed her were all
that Dick’s hatchet had left of her beautiful work.

With a cry of grief and dismay she dropped into a chair, then laying
her head on the table she began to sob in a heart-broken way.

Presently a hand was laid on her shoulder and her father’s voice asked
in tenderly sympathizing tones, “My darling, what is the matter? What
can have happened to distress you so?”

“Look, papa, look! Dick did it with his hatchet,” she sobbed, pointing
to the tell-tale heaps on the floor.

“Dick?” he exclaimed. “He is not allowed to come in here, and should
never be permitted to have a hatchet. I shall take measures to prevent
a repetition of such mischievous doings.”

“But he’s destroyed them all, papa; every one, and I haven’t time to
make any more for Gracie’s birthday.”

“No, dear child, and I am very sorry for you. What can I do to comfort
you?” he asked, sitting down and taking her in his arms. “Will it
console you a little to know that I am much gratified to find that you
have borne this severe trial of patience without flying into a passion.”

“Yes, papa, it does comfort me some. But I hope Dick will keep out of
my way for a while; because I’m afraid I might fly at him and box his
ears.”

“I shall see that he does not come near you,” the captain said,
gravely. “And I must find some way to help you to get another present
for Gracie. We will try to think of something to buy which she would be
sure to like.”

“But it won’t be my work, papa!”

“No, of course not; but when we can not do what we wish, we must try to
be content with doing the best that we can.”

He petted and caressed her for a few moments, then led her out into
the grounds, and tried to direct her mind from her loss by calling her
attention to the growth and beauty of the plants and flowers.

It was the day for her music lesson; the hour for taking it was shortly
after leaving the dinner table.

She had not learned to like Mr. Morgan, and still esteemed it quite
a trial to have to take lessons from him. His stock of patience and
forbearance was hardly larger than hers, but the captain’s presence had
been a restraint upon them both, and hitherto there had been no decided
outbreak of temper on the part of either.

But to-day Mr. Morgan was testy and unreasonable, from some cause
known only to himself, while Lulu, in consequence of her loss and
disappointment, was not in a frame of mind to endure it even as well as
she might at another time.

He scolded, called her stupid, asked how much time she had devoted to
practicing her lesson, and on being told “an hour every day,” said he
did not believe it.

“I don’t tell lies, Mr. Morgan!” cried Lulu indignantly. “Please ask
papa if my word is not to be trusted.”

“It is, sir; fully,” said the captain, leaving the easy chair he had
been occupying on the opposite side of the room, and taking his stand
near the piano, where he could look directly into the faces of both
teacher and pupil.

“Doubtless you think so, sir; but I fancy you may be deceived, like
many another doating parent,” returned the Englishman, in a sneering
tone.

The captain received the taunt in dignified silence, not even changing
color; but Lulu flushed hotly, flashed an angry glance at the speaker,
then sent an entreating one up into her father’s face.

“Yes, you may go,” he said. “Go to the school-room,” and she made haste
to obey.

“Sir!” exclaimed Morgan, angrily, “I can not have my pupils interfered
with in this manner.”

“The child is mine, sir,” replied the captain, “and I decline to have
her subjected to such a trial of temper as your captious fault-finding
and unjust accusations have forced upon her to-day.”

“I repeat that I shall allow no interference between myself and a
pupil,” returned Morgan, growing pale with rage, “and if this thing
is to go on, sir, you may look out for another instructor for your
daughter after the expiration of the present term.”

“There is no need to wait for that,” said the captain in a calm, quiet
tone. “Walk into the library and I will draw a check for the full
amount of your charge for the term; nor ask you to give another lesson.”

Lulu had gone to the school-room quivering with excitement and
indignation, feeling as if the very thought of taking another lesson
from Mr. Morgan was quite unendurable: hoping that her father was
not disposed to blame her for her angry rejoinder to the man’s rudely
expressed doubt of her truthfulness, yet fearing that he might; so
that when he presently came in, it was with some apprehension that she
glanced up into his face, asking tremulously, “Are you displeased with
me, papa?”

“Come here,” he said, seating himself.

She obeyed instantly, though still in doubt of what was awaiting her.

He drew her to his knee, put his arm round her, and pressing his lips
to her cheek, said, “No, daughter, I am not displeased with you; I
think you have had sore trials of patience to-day, and have borne them
well.”

“O papa, do you? oh thank you for saying it! it makes me so glad, so
happy!” she said with a half sob, her arm round his neck, her cheek
laid lovingly to his. “But oh I—I wish I never had to see that man any
more.”

“You need not. I have dismissed him and shall not again engage a male
music teacher for you: without consulting you,” he added in a playful
tone, and smiling affectionately into her eyes.

“O papa, how good in you!” she cried, hugging him close.

“Now,” he said, “the next thing in order is to think what you can buy
as your present to Gracie. How would you like to drive into the city
with me this afternoon and select a gift for her?”

“Oh, very much indeed, papa!”

“Then go and get ready as quickly as you can, for we must start
directly, in order to return by tea time. Your mamma will go with us,
and if Gracie chooses, we will take her as far as Ion and leave her
there until we return.”

“O papa, how nice!” she cried: then hurried away to do his bidding.

Grace was well pleased with her share of the drive, nor thought of any
special reason for dropping her at Ion, further than that her father
deemed it best.

Lulu came back in gayest spirits, accounting for them by saying that
papa had been so very, very kind and had promised never to bid her take
another lesson from Mr. Morgan.

It was Grace’s turn the next morning, when on awaking, she found a
small table by her bedside, quite loaded with pretty gifts from near
and dear ones.

Lulu’s was a lovely Paris doll, with a trunk full of ready-made
clothes. Max’s a clock in a beautifully carved case. Papa, mamma,
Grandma Elsie and other friends had given her books and toys.

She was greatly pleased, and very happy in her quiet way, especially
when her father came in, kissed her fondly, and wished her many happy
returns of the day.

But the most joyful surprise was when after breakfast and family
worship, he led her and Lulu out to the verandah and showed them two
pretty Shetland ponies, asking, “What do you think of those little
fellows, children?”

“Oh! oh! what darlings!” cried Lulu. Then half breathlessly, “Papa, are
they for—? Whose are they?”

He smiled at her wistful, eager, half-hopeful, half-doubtful look.

“The larger one, called Fairy, is for a little girl who seems to have
gained pretty good control over a fiery temper,” he made answer; “the
other, Elf, is for a birthday gift to Gracie; both from papa, who hopes
his darlings will find much enjoyment in riding their small steeds.”

Before he had nearly finished the long sentence they were in his arms,
hugging, kissing, and thanking him in a rapture of delight.

He returned their caresses as warmly as they were given, then helped
them to mount their ponies, and gave Grace a lesson in managing hers.

Lulu seemed quite at home in the saddle, and it pleased him to perceive
it.

They went round the grounds several times; then he had them dismount
and go into the house.

“Your mamma has something to show you,” he said, and led them to their
sitting room, where they found Violet and Alma waiting to fit each
little girl with a handsome riding habit.

Alma had been making them, measuring by some of their dresses, and they
were so nearly done that she said she could have them both finished by
dinner time. There was a dainty hat to match each habit, and when tied
on they were pronounced very becoming.

“This is to be a holiday in Gracie’s honor,” their father said, “and
this afternoon several of her little friends of her own age, are coming
to help her to celebrate her birthday.”

Gracie’s eyes sparkled with pleasure. “I’m glad, and very much obliged
to you, papa,” she said. “Can Elf come to the party too?” she asked
with a gleeful laugh.

“Yes; he may attend and have a share in entertaining the company by
letting them take turns in riding him about the grounds,” replied her
father, looking fondly down into the sweet, fair young face upturned to
his.

“I’m ever so glad for you, Gracie,” remarked Lulu heartily. “Will you
invite Fairy and me to your party?”

“Why yes, of course,” said Gracie. “I couldn’t enjoy it without my big
sister that’s always so kind to me, and if Fairy comes the girls can
ride two at a time. Can’t they, papa?”

“Yes; and when Lulu has her birthday party she can make a return by
inviting you and Elf.”

“Oh, papa, am I to have one too?” exclaimed Lulu, jumping for joy.

“Yes; if nothing happens to prevent. And Max shall have one on his
birthday, if he wishes.”

“If nothing happens to prevent?” repeated Lulu, sobering down. “I
suppose that means if I’m good and obedient and don’t get into a
passion?”

“A failure in that line would certainly be something to prevent,”
answered her father, “but there might be something else, sickness for
instance.”

Going close to his side, “Papa, if I should get into a passion would I
have to lose my pony?” she asked in an under tone.

“Yes; for a time; ought you not to, since he is given you as a reward
for controlling your temper?”

“Yes, sir; that’s just and right; but oh, I hope I shan’t have to!”

“So do I. I should be very sorry to deprive you of her even for a day.”

Grace’s guests arrived in due time. It was a lawn and garden party, and
a complete success, the ponies contributing largely to the enjoyment.

The captain stayed with the children constantly to assist in supplying
amusement for them, and to guard them against possible accident in
mounting and riding the ponies, though the little fellows were almost
as gentle and quiet as lambs.




                              CHAPTER XV.


The ponies at once became the greatest pets with their young
mistresses, and soon would come at their call, eat from their hands and
submit to stroking and fondling with as much docility as that of a dog
or cat. It was a great pleasure to the captain to see the delight the
children took in them.

It was some weeks before timid little Gracie would venture to mount
hers, or ride it without “papa” to hold the bridle and walk by her side
to care for her safety; but after awhile she was content to sometimes
let Max take his place, and at length grew bold enough to ride about
the grounds at a moderate pace, guiding her small steed herself with
only Lulu, mounted on Fairy, by her side.

Lulu was allowed to ride her pony within the grounds whenever she
pleased, but strictly forbidden to go outside alone; yet as she could
almost always have the company of her father, Violet or Max, and not
seldom of all three, there was little or no excuse for a desire to
disobey.

But though Lulu had certainly greatly improved, there were still times
when she was seized with the old willfulness and disinclination to
submit to lawful authority; when to have her own way, and be altogether
a law unto herself, seemed a delightful thing, and for a time overcame
the wish to please the father whom she did really love very dearly.

This happened one day a month or more after the gift of the ponies.
Morning lessons were over; Max went to the workroom, having a piece of
carving he wished to finish, and Gracie, for once, preferred playing
with her dolls to riding her pony, so Lulu set out alone with hers, not
with any intention of going beyond the boundaries of the estate.

She rode round the drive, up and down the garden paths, and through
the bit of woods several times, then turned longing eyes upon the road
beyond, which, for some distance, was shaded by overhanging trees, and
did indeed look most inviting.

A side gate stood open, a wagon, carrying some supplies from the house,
having just passed through, and she had reined in her pony close beside
it.

“Why in the world shouldn’t I go out there?” she said, half aloud; “it
couldn’t hurt anybody or any thing for me to ride just a little way
down that shady road. Papa’s reason for forbidding me to walk alone in
such places, was that I might be in danger from tramps; but I’m sure
Fairy could outrun any of them; and so I shouldn’t be in any danger on
her back.”

Conscience whispered that whether she would be in danger or not, the
act would be one of disobedience; but she refused to listen.

The reins were lying loosely on Fairy’s neck, and just at that instant
she started toward the gate of her own accord.

Lulu could have easily restrained her and turned her head another way,
but did not choose to make the effort.

“It’s Fairy’s doing, and I’m not to blame,” she said to herself; “and
I’ll only let her go a little way, I’ll make her turn round in a
minute.”

She did not go very far, but the minute grew into five before Fairy’s
head was turned toward the gate again, ten ere it was re-entered, and
the two pursued their way back to the house.

Lulu found that somehow her ride had ceased to be enjoyable, so
dismounted, turned Fairy into the pasture where she and Elf were
allowed to disport themselves when their services were not required,
sauntered about the garden for a little, then on into the house, vainly
trying all the time to stifle the reproaches of conscience for the act
of disobedience of which she had been guilty.

Presently she went into the library. Violet was there writing letters.
Lulu took possession of the easy-chair usually occupied by her father,
took up a book that lay open on the table beside it, and began to read.

A few moments passed in silence; then Violet, glancing up from her
writing, said gently: “Lulu, dear, that is a book which your father
would not approve of your reading; I am quite sure of it.”

Lulu read on, paying no attention to the remark.

Violet waited a moment, then asked—still speaking in a gentle, kindly
tone—“Did you hear me, Lulu?”

“Of course I did; I’m not deaf,” was the ungracious, not to say rude
rejoinder.

“But you do not close the book.”

“No; if papa doesn’t want me to read books, he shouldn’t leave them
lying around.”

“That is, you would have him treat you as one whom he can not trust?
Whom he considers destitute of a sense of honor? since he has
repeatedly told you, you must not read any book without first making
sure of its being such as he would approve.”

An uneasy conscience made Lulu unusually irritable. “I do wish, Mamma
Vi,” she said pettishly, “you’d let me alone. I—”

“Lulu,” interrupted a voice, speaking from the adjoining room, in
grave, slightly stern accents, “bring that book to me.”

Both Violet and the little girl started at the sound, neither having
had any suspicion of the captain’s near vicinity. He had come in
quietly just in time to overhear the short colloquy, while the
_portiere_ separating the two rooms concealed him from their view. It
was quite accidental; he having no intention or thought of listening to
any thing not meant for his ear.

Violet, not wishing to be witness of a scene between her husband and
his child, quickly and quietly withdrew by way of the hall, while
Lulu rose and obeyed the order, appearing before her father with
flushed face and downcast eyes, and silently placing the book in his
outstretched hand.

He had come in somewhat weary, more in mind than body, and thrown
himself into an easy-chair.

He did not speak for a moment, and she stood, flushed and trembling
before him, her eyes on the carpet.

At length he said, with a heavy sigh and in tones more grave and sad
than stern, “I thought I had, in my Lulu, a daughter whom I could
implicitly trust to be obedient and respectful to me and her mamma,
whether in my presence or absence; I thought she cherished a sincere
affection for her kind young mother, and was quite sure that she
loved, honored and reverenced her father. But what I have accidentally
overheard in the last few minutes has, I am deeply grieved to say,
robbed me of that cheering belief.”

Lulu hastily brushed away a tear. “Papa,” she began in a trembling
voice.

“No,” he said, “I will hear nothing from you now. Go to your room and
stay there till I come to you. I want you to think over your conduct
since leaving the school-room this morning, and after due reflection
upon it, in solitude, give me your honest opinion of it.”

A wave of his hand dismissed her, and she went silently from the room,
up to her own, and sat down by a window overlooking the meadow where
the ponies were browsing.

“I wonder,” she thought, with an added sense of shame and affright, as
her eye fell upon them, “if papa knows where Fairy and I went? he said
my conduct since I left the school-room, and that sounds as if he did.
But I didn’t think any body saw us or would tell on me if he did. Oh, I
wish I hadn’t done so! I wish I hadn’t spoken in that disrespectful way
to Mamma Vi, and about papa! How could I do it and hurt his feelings
so, when I do really love him dearly, dearly, and he’s such a good,
kind father? Oh, I hate you for it, Lulu Raymond, and should like to
give you a good beating! I shan’t make a word of objection if your
father does, and in fact I believe I just hope he will. It’s just what
you deserve and you know it is.”

She was deeply ashamed and the more she dwelt upon her conduct the
more ashamed and penitent she grew. She rose from her chair and walked
restlessly about the room.

“I wonder when papa will come, and what he will say and do to me,” she
sighed to herself. “I’ve been pretty good for quite a while till to-day
and why couldn’t I keep on? why should I turn round all at once and be
so dreadfully bad again? I haven’t been in a passion to be sure, but I
have disobeyed papa in two things, beside speaking disrespectfully to
Mamma Vi and about him. He certainly will have to punish me somehow,
for I know he considers disobedience very, very bad indeed. I think
half the punishment he gave me last time was for disobeying him. And it
was kinder than to let me go on doing that dangerous thing.”

At that moment, glancing from the window, she saw one of the servants
leading Fairy across the yard.

“Ajax,” she called, “what are you doing with my pony?”

The man looked up and answered, “De cap’n tole me for to tote she ’way
off to Roselands. ’Spect Doctah Arthur gwine ride ’im when his hosses
done wored out wid kyarin’ ‘de doctah’ ’bout de roads f’om mornin’ to
night.”

“Dr. Arthur ride that little pony indeed!” exclaimed Lulu. “Why his
legs would drag on the ground!”

She laughed over the ridiculous picture conjured up by the words of
the negro and her own imagination, then began to cry, as she said to
herself, “Papa is sending my pony away to punish me, and maybe he’ll
never let me have her again. I’d ten times rather he’d whip me.”

The door opened and the captain came in.

Lulu started up, hastily brushing away her tears, and stood before him
with drooping head, hotly flushing cheek and fast beating heart.

He took her hand, led her to a chair, sat down and drew her to his side.

“I have come to hear what you have to say as to your opinion of your
own conduct to-day, and any confession your conscience may impel you to
make to your father.”

“Papa,” she burst out, hiding her face in her hands while the hot blood
surged over it and her neck, “I’m ever and ever so sorry and ashamed
of—of the—of what I said to Mamma Vi, and about you! O papa, please,
please forgive me! please believe that I do really love and honor and
reverence you!”

He waited a moment to see if she had finished, then asked gravely, and
with some severity of tone, “Is that _all_ you have to say to me? Have
you no confession of _other_ wrong-doing to make?”

“Yes, sir,” she faltered, her head drooping still lower, “I—I disobeyed
you before that by going outside the grounds.”

“Yes,” he said, “and it so happened that I saw you, having had occasion
just at that time to pay a visit to the observatory at the top of the
house.”

She looked up in surprise, but seeing the expression of grief and
pain in his eyes, dropped her head again, and hiding her face on his
shoulder, sobbed out, “O papa, don’t look so hurt and sorry! I will try
to be a better girl! indeed I will!”

“You have wounded your father’s heart very sorely, little daughter,” he
said with emotion. “How can I be other than hurt and sorry on learning
that my dear child loves me so little that she is ready to speak
disrespectfully of me and to disobey me repeatedly when she thinks I
shall not know it?”

Her tears fell faster and faster at his words, and her sobs grew more
violent.

“O papa, I _do_ love you!” she cried, twining her arms round his neck.
“Oh, please believe me! I’d rather be killed than not to have you
believe that I do!”

“I have no doubt that you have some affection for me,” he said, “but—”

“O papa, a great, _great deal_!” she interrupted, “I’m so angry with
myself for being so disobedient and disrespectful to you, that I want
you to punish me just as hard as you can. Won’t you? and then forgive
me, and love me again?”

“My dear child,” he said, “I have not ceased to love you, very far from
it; you are dearer to me than words can tell. But I can not of course
pass over lightly so flagrant an act of disobedience as you were guilty
of to-day. I must punish you, and I have decided that your punishment
shall be that Fairy shall be taken from you for a week.”

“A week, papa? I was afraid you would never give her back to me; and I
don’t deserve that you should.”

“It grieves me to deprive you of her for even that length of time,” he
said, “and if you are really as penitent as you seem, to lose her for a
week will, I think, be sufficient punishment.”

“Papa, I’m really discouraged with myself,” she sighed. “I thought I’d
learned to be pretty good, so that I would never be disobedient again,
but now I have been.”

“Do not allow yourself to be discouraged in a way that will lead you to
give up trying to improve,” he said, “but let your failures lead you to
try all the harder, and to pray more earnestly and constantly to God
for help. Probably your failure was caused by your having grown too
confident that you were really reformed and so relaxing your efforts
and your watchfulness.”

“Aren’t you quite discouraged about trying to make me a good girl,
papa?” she asked.

“No; I know too well that the battle with our fallen nature is a long
and hard one, and have had too many slips and falls myself to expect
you to gain the victory at once. Also, I believe the promise, ‘Train up
a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart
from it.’ I must go on teaching and training you, praying to God for
wisdom, and for a blessing upon my efforts, trying also to set you a
good example, and God will surely at length fulfill his promise to me.”

“Papa, is making me do without Fairy for a while the only punishment
you are going to give me?”

“I hope that will prove sufficient,” he said; “it pains me to have to
inflict even that, for it has been a delight to me to see the pleasure
you have taken in your pony. But I must train you to obedience, for
that is according to God’s command to me as a parent. You have told me
that you are sorry for your bad behavior to your mamma as well as to
me. I want you to make the same acknowledgment to her.”

“Papa, I do hate to do that. Can’t you tell her so for me?”

“I wish her to hear it from your own lips; and if you are really as
sorry for your misconduct as you profess to be, you will do as I bid
you without my having to resort to compulsion.”

He rose as he spoke, then taking her hand, led her to Violet, who was
sitting in her boudoir.

On seeing them enter she instantly conjectured what was coming, and
sent an entreating glance, on Lulu’s behalf, up into her husband’s
face. But he ignored it.

“Lulu has something to say to you, my dear,” he said, and the little
girl, coloring deeply and keeping her eyes upon the carpet, faltered
out her apology.

“Mamma Vi, I’m sorry I spoke so disrespectfully to you. Please forgive
me and I’ll try not to do so any more.”

“Dear child,” Violet responded, taking Lulu’s free hand and kissing her
affectionately, “I should by no means have required an apology from
you. The offense was but a slight one, is entirely forgiven, and shall
be forgotten as soon as possible.”

“My love, you are very kind to make so light of the offense,” remarked
the captain, “but I consider it a serious one, and shall be very
greatly displeased if there is ever a repetition of it. Both your own
lovely character and the position I have given you in relation to my
children, entitle you to respectful treatment from them, and they must
yield it.”

“I have seldom had any reason to complain of their behavior to me,”
replied Violet; “they are dear children and I can truly say that I love
them every one.”

“Thank you, my dear,” he said, his eyes shining with pleasure.

Then catching a beseeching look from Lulu, he bent down and kissed her,
saying, “All is right between us now, daughter.”

But Lulu’s conscience was not quite at ease; Violet’s words had
called up some memories that troubled it, and her innate honesty and
truthfulness prompted another confession.

“Papa,” she said, bursting into tears, “Mamma Vi is kinder than I
deserve. I have been very naughty to her a number of times, when you
were away and didn’t know any thing about it; so ill-tempered and
disrespectful that you would have punished me severely if you had been
at home to see and hear it all.”

“But that is all past and there is no occasion to bring it up again,”
Violet hastened to say.

“Yet I am glad she has made the confession,” the captain said gravely,
and with a slight sigh, sitting down as he spoke, and drawing Lulu into
his arms, “for it is a proof of honesty and truthfulness that gives me
great hope that my dear, eldest daughter will yet make a noble woman,
the pride and joy of her father’s heart.”

“Dear papa, how kind in you to say that,” sobbed Lulu, hiding her face
on his breast. “Oh, I will try to be every thing you wish.”




                             CHAPTER XVI.


It wanted barely two weeks of Lulu’s birthday when by her misconduct
she lost sight of her pony for a time.

Of course Max and Grace inquired for what reason she had been sent
away, and it was a mortification to Lulu to have to own that papa had
ordered it as a punishment to her for disobedience.

“Well, Lu,” said Max, “it does seem odd to me that you will disobey
papa, every once in a while, though he never gives an unreasonable
order and is always so kind and affectionate to us, yet sure to punish
disobedience.”

“Have you never disobeyed him, Max?” she asked a little angrily.

“Yes, several times in the course of my life; but not of late.”

“I don’t believe Lu will any more,” said Grace.

“I hope not; I don’t mean to; it ’most broke my heart to see how hurt
and sorry papa looked about it,” Lulu said, with a slight tremble in
her voice. “It was worse than having Fairy sent away.”

Max and Grace offered the use of their ponies.

“Thank you,” said Lulu; “it’s ever so kind in you both; but I don’t
know whether papa would let me ride either of them now while I can’t
have my own.”

They had left the dinner-table shortly before, were now on the veranda,
and Ajax was leading up Elf and Max’s pony, Rex.

The captain stepped out from the open hall door and Max asked, “Papa,
may I lend Rex to Lu?”

“If you choose; but she is not to ride alone even about the grounds; or
to go out of sight from the house by herself.”

“S’pose you ride on Elf, Lu, and have Maxie go along on Rex,” suggested
Grace.

“And let you stay behind? No, indeed! You and Max go, and I’ll amuse
myself at home. I had a ride this morning, and don’t need to go again,”
Lulu answered.

“I propose that instead, you two little girls shall take a drive in
the family carriage with your mamma and me, Max riding alongside on
Rex,” their father said, and they accepted his invitation with joyful
alacrity, running up at once to their rooms to get ready; for he told
them he had already ordered the carriage and it would be at the door in
a few minutes.

Lulu came down again a little ahead of Violet and Grace, and found her
father waiting on the veranda alone.

Drawing near his side, and speaking in a low tone, “Papa,” she said, “I
don’t deserve to go along, and you are very kind to let me.”

“I love to have you with me, dear child,” he answered, “and though I
have sent Fairy away for a time, it is not my desire to make the week
an unhappy one to you.”

Max’s birthday would occur a few days earlier than Lulu’s, and that
evening, when they were all together, his father told him he might
celebrate it by having a party, inviting as many of his boy friends as
he chose to spend the day, or part of it, at Woodburn.

Max was greatly pleased and began at once to plan amusements for his
expected guests, asking advice and assistance from both his father and
Violet.

Lulu listened with interest to the talk, glad for Max, and hoping, too,
that something would be said about the conditionally promised party for
her birthday.

But it was not mentioned, and she concluded that probably papa did not
intend to let her have one since she had behaved so ill. She was too
sincerely penitent to feel at all rebellious or ill-used, though sadly
disappointed; still, as it yet lacked nearly two weeks of the time, she
did not entirely give up hope.

When she had gone up to her own room for the night, and was getting
ready for bed, her thoughts went back to the interview held there
that morning with her father, and she seemed to see again the pained
expression in his eyes that had so distressed her then.

“Oh, how could I be so naughty and disobedient to him! Such a dear,
good father!” she again sighed to herself, tears springing to her eyes.
“I just hate you for it, Lulu Raymond, and I’d like to pound you well.
I ’most wish your father would do it! I’ve a great mind to ask him to.
And here he comes,” as she heard his step nearing the door.

As he came in she looked up at him with tearful, wistful eyes. He
opened his arms and she ran into them, put hers about his neck and hid
her face on his breast.

“What is it?” he asked, softly smoothing her hair; “why are there tears
in my dear little daughter’s eyes; is it because of Fairy’s absence?”

“No, papa; but because I’m so sorry to have hurt you so to-day. Oh,
have you got over it now?”

“Pretty nearly; the momentary doubt that my dear Lulu loved me more
than just a little, has vanished. I am quite sure she does love
me—better, perhaps, than any thing but her own self-will. But I shall
never be quite satisfied till I can believe that she loves me even
better than that.”

“Papa,” she pleaded, “please believe that I do _’most_ all the time.”

“Yes, I do believe it; and that you are really trying to overcome your
faults. I want to talk a little with you about these besetting sins of
yours, and how to battle with them. Then we will ask God together to
help you in the struggle, for Jesus says:

“‘If two of you shall agree on earth as touching any thing that they
shall ask, it shall be done for them of my Father which is in heaven!’”

“Papa,” she said, clinging lovingly to him as, a little later, he bade
her good-night, “if your children don’t grow up good, Christian people,
I’m sure it won’t be your fault.”

“It is what I desire for them more than wealth, or fame, or any thing
this world can give,” he answered, holding her close in a tender
embrace.

She had grown very fond of Fairy and missed the pretty creature
woefully, but said never a word of complaint or entreaty for her
restoration, but strove earnestly to be faithful in the performance of
every duty that so she might please her dear father, and fully convince
him of her devoted affection.

He noticed her efforts, gave frequent, loving commendation, and was
kind as kind could be.

Yet the week seemed a long one; but at last it did come to an end, and
on being dismissed from morning lessons Lulu found her pony quietly
feeding with Elf in the grassy plat in front of the school-room door.

She gave a joyous cry, but turned and ran back to hug, kiss and thank
her father before bidding Fairy welcome.

“It pained me to take her from you, and now it gives me great pleasure
to return her, my darling,” he said. “Go and enjoy yourself with her,
Gracie and Elf, as much as you can, till dinner time. I am sure I need
not remind you that you must keep within the grounds, unless Max or I
should join you.”

“I hope not, papa, and I do thank you ever so much for trusting me
again,” she answered, as she hurried away.

The absorbing topic of conversation now was Max’s approaching birthday
and the party which was to celebrate it.

The little girls held many pleasant consultations with each other, and
sometimes with papa and mamma too, about presents for him, desiring to
give something that should prove both useful and acceptable.

Max’s satisfaction with what he received, when the day came, seemed to
leave no room for doubt that they had succeeded. He was full of boyish
delight and more than once expressed the belief that he was the most
fortunate fellow in the world; for nobody could have a better father or
kinder mother and sisters.

“And such a feast as papa has provided for us!” he went on. “How the
fellows will enjoy it!”

“I think you must have been interviewing Christine and the cook, Max,”
laughed his father.

“Yes, sir, so I have; you see I feel free to do pretty much as I please
in my own father’s house; at least as regards going up and down, and
in and out, from garret to cellar, looking at whatever’s going on and
asking questions.”

“That’s right,” returned the captain heartily. “Where should a boy feel
at home if not in his father’s house?”

“Nowhere, I should say,” answered Max. “And you’ve provided so many
amusements for us that I don’t see how it’ll be possible for any one of
us to have a dull moment.”

“And am I not to have an invitation to share them with you, Max?” asked
the captain.

“Oh, will you, papa? will you really join in our games?” cried the boy,
his eyes sparkling with pleasure. “Why, that’ll be perfectly splendid!”

“Possibly the ‘other fellows’ may be of a different opinion,” laughed
his father.

“If they are at first, I’m sure they’ll change their minds when they
find out what good company you are, sir,” returned Max. “And O, papa,
won’t you tell us some of your sailor’s yarns, as you call them?”

“Perhaps, if other amusements fail.”

“Oh, thank you, sir! Mamma Vi, we’ll take our noisy games far enough
away from the house not to disturb you.”

“I shall not mind the noise,” said Violet. “I have always been used to
boys, and take great pleasure in seeing them enjoy themselves.”

This talk was at the breakfast table, and an hour or two later the
guests began to arrive.

The sports were such as the little girls did not care to take part in,
but they found much entertainment in looking on, and felt a sisterly
delight in seeing how intensely Max enjoyed it all.

The visitors were a polite, good-humored set, the captain’s presence
among them was a restraint as well as a pleasure, and nothing occurred
to mar the harmony of their intercourse.

When the time came for the good-byes, there were warm hand-shakings and
earnest asseverations that never in their lives had they had a better
time.

Max’s party was now successfully over. Lulu’s birthday was near at
hand, yet nothing was said about its celebration. She waited from
day to day, hoping that her father would mention the subject and say
that she, too, should have a party; but kind as he was and thoughtful
for her comfort and enjoyment in every other respect, he seemed to
have forgotten that he had ever spoken of such an intention, and never
to reflect that she might reasonably expect the same indulgence that
had been shown her brother and sister; so at length she sorrowfully
concluded that he thought her late misconduct had rendered her unworthy
of such a treat.

She was quite sure of it when the very last evening before her birthday
had come and still she had received no intimation that any notice
whatever was to be taken of it.

She was unusually silent all the evening, seemed to keep a little apart
from the others, and now and then sighed softly to herself.

Several times her father’s ears caught the sound, but he merely gave
her a kindly inquiring glance and went on with his talk.

When he came to her room for a few goodnight words, as he almost always
did, and found her shedding tears, he took her in his arms, asking
tenderly:

“What is the matter, daughter? are you not feeling quite well?”

“I’m not sick, papa,” she answered in tremulous tones, and half
averting her face.

“What then? tell your father what troubles you; he will help and
comfort you if he can.”

“I’m ashamed to tell you, papa,” she faltered, hiding her face on his
breast.

“Is it that you fear papa has forgotten what an important day to-morrow
will be to his little Lulu? If so, you may dry your tears. I have
thought of it a great deal and prepared a pleasure for you. Eva is to
come directly after breakfast and stay a whole week with you, and it
shall be a week of holidays.”

She lifted her head and looked up into his face, smiling through her
tears.

“Oh, that is nice!” she cried joyfully, “thank you, my dear papa.”

“As nice as a party?” he asked, with a smile.

“Almost,” she said, hesitatingly. “It’s better than I deserve, because
I was so _so_ very _very_ naughty only a little while ago.”

“Dear child, do you think your father could have the heart to keep on
punishing you for wrong-doing so sincerely repented of?” he asked, in
half reproachful tones and caressing her with great tenderness.

“I—I thought I—I deserved it, papa.”

“_I_ do not think so,” he said. “But did you want a party?”

“Yes, papa, and I thought you meant to give me one if I’d been good.”

“You shall have one some time before the summer is over,” he promised,
“and I hope tomorrow will be a very happy day to you in spite of your
disappointment.”

Then he kissed her good night and left her.

She was much comforted and her troubles were soon forgotten in sleep.

When she woke the sun was shining, and she started up with an
exclamation of surprise.

Beside her bed stood a small table, and on it were a number of things
she had never seen before:

A pretty work-basket, a beautiful little clock, a lovely pair of vases,
several handsomely bound books, and a box of kid gloves.

“Oh, how nice!” she cried. “They didn’t forget me; no, not one of them!
I’m so glad! it’s so pleasant to be remembered!”

She examined each gift, noting its beauties, and from whom it came—for
they were all labelled—then sprang out of bed and began dressing in
haste.

She had scarcely finished when her father entered noiselessly, stepped
softly up behind her and caught her in his arms before she was aware of
his presence.

“Good morning, my darling, and many happy returns of the day,” he said,
kissing her fondly.

“Good morning, my dearest papa,” she returned, twining her arms about
his neck, “and thank you for that lovely little clock, it is just what
I wanted for my mantel.”

“I am glad it pleases you,” he said.

Grace had followed him in.

“Oh, Lu, I’m glad you’ve got a birthday!” she exclaimed. “But weren’t
you surprised?”

“At having a birthday, Gracie?” asked their father, laughing a little,
and hugging them both at once.

“No, papa; at the things on the table.”

“Yes,” said Lulu; “I didn’t expect any presents at all.”

“Here is another surprise for you,” said the captain; and something
glittering went over her head, and a small round object was laid in her
hand.

She looked down at it and gave a cry of delight. It was a beautiful
gold locket set with brilliants and attached to a gold chain, which her
father had put round her neck.

She turned it over and found her initials on the other side.

“How very pretty, papa!” she cried.

He touched a spring and the locket flew open, disclosing a pictured
face.

Lulu gazed on it in silence for a moment, then lifting her eyes
inquiringly to her father’s face.

“Mamma, our own mamma; isn’t it?” she asked, in tones half tremulous
with emotion.

“Yes,” he said, “an excellent likeness, I think. She was very sweet and
lovely in both looks and character. I hope her children will resemble
her in that last, as Gracie does in looks.”

“Yes, papa; I do believe Gracie will look just like this when she’s
grown up,” Lulu said, glancing from the miniature to her sister, then
handing it to her. “And oh, but I am glad, _glad_ to have it. You
couldn’t have given me anything else that would have pleased me so
much, dear papa!” hugging him again as she spoke.

Grace gazed fixedly at the picture for several minutes, then lifting
tear-dimmed eyes to her father’s face, “How dear and sweet she does
look, papa!” she said. “I can remember her only just a little, and this
helps me to do it more. I’ll always know now how sweet and pretty my
first mamma was.”

“Our very _own_ mamma,” corrected Lulu emphatically.

“Yes, she was that,” the captain said; “and I would not have her
children forget her. Neither would your Mamma Vi; she so wishes you to
remember this dear mother of yours, that she has spent many hours in
painting from a photograph, this likeness for you, Lulu, and another
like it for Gracie; also she intends to paint one for Max.”

“Where is mine, papa?” queried Gracie eagerly.

“Here,” he said, taking from his pocket another locket, the
_fac-simile_ of Lulu’s except that the initials upon it were Grace’s
own.

She received it with a transport of delight unusual with her; for hers
was a much quieter temperament than that of her older sister.

“How good in Mamma Vi!” exclaimed Lulu; “especially,” she added, her
cheeks growing hot with blushes, “considering the many times I’ve
behaved badly to her.”

“So I think; and I trust, my dear child, that you will never again
treat her with unkindness or disrespect,” said the captain gravely.

“Oh, I hope not! I’m sure I don’t intend to!” cried Lulu.

“Let’s go and thank her,” proposed Grace. “Mine’s every bit as sweet
and lovely as yours, Lu.”

“Will you take us to her, papa?” asked Lulu.

“Willingly,” he said, rising and taking a hand of each.

The breakfast bell rang just at that moment, and as they stepped into
the hall they met Violet coming from her room in answer to it.

Very sweetly she received the thanks of the little girls, and
congratulated Lulu, saying, truly, that it had been a great pleasure to
her to paint for them the lovely face of their mother.




                             CHAPTER XVII.


After breakfast came family worship; it was the regular order of things
at Woodburn. Then the captain smilingly bade his little girls go to
their rooms and dress for company.

“Oh yes!” cried Lulu, dancing away to do his bidding. “Eva is coming,
Gracie. Papa told me so.”

At that Gracie laughed, and exchanged a knowing glance with her father
and Violet.

But Lulu, hurrying on ahead, did not see it. She turned round at the
door, saying, “O papa, I forgot to ask what you want me to wear?”

“Ah! Suppose we go with them, Mamma Vi, and help them in the selection
of dresses and ornaments,” he said.

“Agreed!” said Violet, and they all went gaily up stairs together.

“Some one seems to have already made a selection for you, Lulu,”
remarked the captain as they entered her room, passing into it before
going into Gracie’s.

“Why, so they have!” she exclaimed, running up to the bed. “Oh, what a
lovely new white dress! an elegant sash too! Papa, are they presents
from you?”

He nodded assent as she ran into his arms to hug and kiss him by way of
thanks.

“Papa’s gift and papa’s taste,” said Violet. “He made the purchase
entirely alone, and I must acknowledge that I could not have done
better myself,” she added laughingly.

“They’re just as beautiful as they can be!” said Lulu, examining them
again; “such lovely embroidery! and the very handsomest sash I ever
saw.”

“Really, I feel encouraged to try again one of these days,” laughed her
father.

“I hope Gracie has the same,” said Lulu, looking up inquiringly into
his face.

“Just the same, except the color of the sash,” he replied. “I think
she will find them on the bed in her room. Now I will leave you to put
on your new finery, and when you are both dressed, come to me in the
library and let me see how you look.”

“Oh, just wait a minute and let me hug you once more, you dearest,
kindest papa!” cried Lulu, running to him again.

“Twice, if you wish, daughter,” he returned, laughingly submitting to
her renewed embraces then hugging her so tight that she cried out, “Oh,
not quite so hard, papa, you’ll squeeze the breath out of me!”

“I should be sorry to do that,” he said, kissing and releasing her.

“Oh, Gracie, what a dear, good father we have! what nice, _nice_
surprises he’s given me for my birthday!” exclaimed Lulu, as the door
closed on him and Violet. “Did you know about them beforehand?”

“Yes, all but the lockets. Papa, mamma, and Maxie and I talked it all
over together; when you weren’t by, you know; and it was such fun to
think how surprised and glad you’d be. Now we’d better hurry and get
dressed before Eva comes.”

A little later, hand in hand and arrayed in the new finery, they
presented themselves before their father and Violet in the library,
asking, “Will we do, papa?”

“I think so,” he said, regarding them with eyes full of fatherly pride
and affection. “I certainly should not be ashamed to claim you anywhere
as my own little daughters.”

“You would not be that, my dear, if you saw them in rags,” said Violet;
“your fatherly heart would only go out to them in stronger affection
because of their unhappy condition.”

“Yes, indeed, Mamma Vi,” said Max, who had just come in from the
grounds; “but papa would go without a coat for himself before he would
let his children be in rags.”

“Oh hark! I hear wheels! Eva has come!” cried Lulu, hurrying out
through the hall to the front door, the others following.

To her surprise not only the Fairview carriage, but those of Ion and
the Oaks were there on the drive, and her young friends Eva, Rosie,
Lora, Sydney and Maud, and several others, all in holiday attire, came
tripping in with merry greetings and good wishes.

And each one had a little birthday gift for her—flowers, fruit,
confectionery or some trifle, the work of her own hands.

“Oh, girls,” cried Lulu, “I’m delighted to see you! It’s a surprise
party to me. I wanted a party ever so much, but I didn’t know I was
going to have it.”

“But Eva and I knew,” said Rosie, “it was told us as a great secret,
and we’ve been in ever such a hurry to see how surprised and glad you’d
be.”

The weather was delightful, the grounds were looking very lovely and
inviting, every one preferred them to the house, and the day was spent
in out of door sports, in some of which the captain joined, Max taking
part also.

At dinner-time a table was set in a beautiful grove not far from the
dwelling and spread with abundance of dainty and delicious viands,
the children being unanimously of the opinion that it would be far
pleasanter to eat there than within doors.

When their appetites had been fully satisfied, the captain gathered
them about him in the shade of a beautiful magnolia, and entertained
them with stories of seafaring life and foreign lands.

Then their sports were renewed.

They went into the bit of woods belonging to the estate and played hide
and seek, and Poor Puss Wants a Corner among the trees.

The captain and Violet had left them for a time, having been summoned
to the house to receive some callers, when a serious accident happened.

Rosie gave a sudden, piercing shriek, and cried out that a rattlesnake
had bitten her. At the same instant several of the girls and Max also
saw it gliding away through the grass. He seized a large stone, ran
after and attacked it, while the frightened girls gathered round Rosie
asking, “Where, where are you bitten?”

“On my ankle!” she cried. “Oh! oh! what shall I do? Oh, somebody run to
the house and ask them to send for Cousin Arthur as quick as they can.
But I’ll die before they can get him here! So it’s no use.”

But before her sentence was half finished several of them were flying
toward the mansion.

Lulu was not one of them. She had dropped down on her knees beside
Rosie, who was now seated on the grass, crying and wringing her hands.
Without a word she rapidly tore off Rosie’s slipper and stocking, tied
a handkerchief tightly round her leg, just above the wound, then put
her lips to it and sucked away the poison.

“Oh, Lu, Lu, don’t! It’ll kill you!” cried Grace, in horror.

“Oh, Lu, how good in you! But how can you bear to do it?” sobbed Rosie.

But Lulu did not stop to answer either of them.

Meantime the cries and screams of the frightened girls had brought
everybody running to see what was amiss. Among them was Dr. Arthur
Conly himself.

He was a frequent visitor to Woodburn, being strongly attached to his
Cousin Violet, a great admirer of the captain, and quite fond of the
children, and had stopped in passing but a moment before the alarm.

“A rattlesnake! a rattlesnake! it has bitten Rosie!” was the terrible
announcement of the girls whom he and the captain met on the threshold,
and both gentlemen hastened at the top of their speed in the direction
of the woods, guided to the spot by the continued cries of the children
there, and knowing that the least delay might prove fatal.

They found Lulu still sucking the wound.

“Brave girl! It is the best thing that could possibly have been done!”
exclaimed the doctor. “I trust and believe that you have saved her
life.”

Max came panting up. “We’ve killed it!” he said. “Ajax came to my
assistance with a pitchfork! Oh, Rosie, are you badly hurt?”

Rosie only sobbed in reply. She was thoroughly frightened. She didn’t
want to die, and was very much afraid the bite might prove fatal.

“I think you may stop now, Lulu,” the doctor said, and the little girl
rose from her knees looking very white and faint.

Her father caught her in his arms and carried her away to a rustic seat
a few yards distant, while the doctor took charge of Rosie.

“Papa, I feel very—very—sick,” faltered Lulu, laying her head on his
shoulder. “Do you think—it’ll kill me?”

“No, my dear, brave darling,” he answered, in moved tones; “the poison
does no harm taken into the stomach, although it is deadly when it gets
into the blood. I think you are sick from the mere thought of having
swallowed it. But how did you come to know so well just what to do?”

“I read it once, papa, and I thought, now I’ll remember that, because
Gracie or Max might get bitten, and though I’d hate dreadfully,
_dreadfully_ to do it, I’d be glad to save their lives.”

“My own darling! my dear, brave, self-forgetful little daughter!” he
said, holding her close to his heart, “you have made your father a
proud and happy man to-day! proud and glad that his dear little girl
has shown such presence of mind and willingness to sacrifice herself
for another!”

She looked up with a flash of exceeding joy in her eyes, then dropping
her head on his shoulder again, burst into a perfect storm of tears and
sobs.

He knew it was simply the reaction from the excitement of what she had
just gone through, and merely continued to hold her in a close embrace,
soothing her with words of love and tenderest caresses.

Then when she had grown comparatively calm, he half led, half carried
her back to the house and made her lie down on a sofa.

Rosie had been carried to an upper room, put to bed, and was being
cared for by the doctor, Violet and her mother, who had just come to
Woodburn, intending to spend the evening and take Rosie home, and had
been met at the entrance with the news of the little girl’s injury.

Grace had followed her father and was close beside him when he laid
Lulu down.

“Papa,” she sobbed, “is—is Lu hurt too? Oh, I was afraid she’d be
killed doing that for Rosie!”

“No, pet; she is not hurt,” he answered, drawing the little weeper into
his arms.

“Then what makes her look so white?”

“She feels a little sick; but will get over it very soon, I hope. Come
in, my dears,” seeing the other young guests gathered about the door.
“This seems an unfortunate ending to your day’s pleasure.”

They came in very quietly, looking sober and subdued, asking how Lulu
was, and receiving the same reply he had given to Gracie.

“Where is Max?” asked the captain, but nobody knew.

“I think it was very brave in him to run after that snake and kill it,”
remarked Maud Dinsmore.

Just then the boy appeared at the door. He was half breathless with
excitement.

“The men have found another, and killed it, too,” he announced.

“Ah, I am glad to hear it!” said his father; “it was doubtless the mate
of the first one, and now we may hope we will be troubled with no more
of them.”

“What’s the matter with you, Lulu? you weren’t bitten too, were you?”
asked Max in sudden alarm, as he caught sight of the pale face on the
sofa pillow.

“No,” said his father; and several young voices began an eager recital
of what she had done for Rosie.

Max’s eyes sparkled. “I’m proud of you, Lu,” he said, going to the side
of her couch.

“’Twasn’t much; anybody could have done it,” she returned, coloring and
looking embarrassed.

“But ’tisn’t everybody that would,” Max said. “So dreadfully
disagreeable; not to say dangerous. Wasn’t it dangerous, papa?”

“No; unless she had a scratch or sore about her mouth; which I think
she has not,” with a somewhat startled, anxious look at Lulu.

“No, papa; not a bit,” she said, and his countenance expressed relief.

“I must go and inquire about Rosie,” he said, rising and turning to
leave the room. “But I shall be back again in a few minutes,” he added,
catching an entreating look from Lulu.

When he returned Violet was with him. She went quickly to Lulu’s couch,
and bending down over her kissed her several times, saying in tremulous
tones, “You dear, dear child; how brave and self forgetful you were! We
all think you have saved Rosie’s life; the doctor has strong hopes that
she will get over it.”

“I am so glad to have been able to do it, Mamma Vi,” returned Lulu,
putting her arms affectionately round Violet’s neck.

There was no more merry-making for that day. Tea was ready presently,
and shortly after leaving the table all the young guests, except Rosie
and Eva, took their departure. Max, Eva, Lulu and Grace spent a quiet
evening together, and rather wearied with the excitement of the day,
were ready to go early to bed.

Grace being the feeblest, was the most weary of all. Her father carried
her up the stairs and into her room; nor did he leave her till her head
rested on her pillow, and the sweet blue eyes had closed in sleep.

He was just turning to go, when the door leading into the children’s
sitting-room softly opened, and Lulu looked up at him with entreating
eyes.

He answered the look with a smile and nod of acquiescence, as he moved
noiselessly across the floor, in her direction.

“You know I could never do without my good-night-talk on my birthday,
dear papa,” she said, as he joined her, and, taking possession of an
easy chair, drew her to his knee.

“No, certainly not,” he answered, caressing her. “I planned to make it
a happy day to you, my darling, but could not foresee the danger that
met you and your mates in the wood.”

“No, papa, and it was a very happy day till then. Oh, I am sorry for
poor Rosie!”

“So am I; yet feel most thankful that the bitten one was not either of
my beloved children. I think, too, that Rosie will recover, and at some
not very distant day be none the worse for what has occurred.

“And the presence of mind, the promptness to act in an emergency, and
the unselfish kindness shown by my dear eldest daughter, are a very
great gratification to me.”

“Papa,” she said, her eyes shining with joy, “it is sweeter than the
sweetest music to hear such words from you.”

He caressed her silently for a moment. Then he said, “You have made a
good beginning of this new year of yours. I hope, my darling, you will
go on being cheerful, pleasant-tempered and obedient, and doing any and
every noble, unselfish deed for which you may have opportunity. These
anniversaries are milestones on the road we are traveling, and at each
one we should make a determined effort to press forward with redoubled
energy towards the goal the Bible sets before us; to forsake evil ways,
and to seek to be the children of God, honoring and serving him more
and more faithfully as we draw nearer and nearer our journey’s end.
‘The path of the just is as the shining light that shineth more and
more unto the perfect day!’ Ah, my dear child, the longing desire of my
heart is to see you treading that path.”




                            CHAPTER XVIII.


“Grandma Elsie” sat by the bedside gazing with much motherly solicitude
upon the sleeping face of her youngest daughter. She had sat thus for
hours, sending up silent petitions on the child’s behalf, till now
night’s shadows had fled away, the sun had risen above the tree tops,
and a gentle breeze was stirring the lace curtains at the windows and
wafting through the room delicious scents from the garden below.

Presently Rosie moved slightly, then opened her eyes and looked up into
the sweet face bending over her.

“Mamma, I—I’m not going to die?” she queried in low, tremulous tones.

“I trust not; Cousin Arthur thinks the danger is past. My darling,
thank God, as your mother does, for your spared life, and oh, devote it
to his service.”

“I—I mean to, mamma. It was Lulu—Lulu whom I have sometimes treated so
unkindly—who saved my life.” With the words tears rolled down Rosie’s
cheeks. “Mamma, I want to see and thank her.”

“I will ask her to come to you after awhile,” Elsie said. “I think she
has not eaten her breakfast yet. It is early, and I have not heard the
bell.”

There was a gentle tap at the door. Violet had come to ask how her
young sister was. Lulu was with her on the same errand.

“Better; I trust the danger is past,” Grandma Elsie said. “Come in and
speak to her. Lulu, dear child, how shall I ever thank you? Cousin
Arthur says we owe Rosie’s life to you.”

“I owe you a great deal more, dear Grandma Elsie,” responded the little
girl, returning with ardent affection the warm embrace Mrs. Travilla
had given her along with her grateful words.

“Lu,” called Rosie feebly from the bed, “O Lu, come here, won’t you?”

Lulu complied at once, saying, “I’m ever so glad you are better, Rosie.”

“If it hadn’t been for you I’d have been dead before this,” returned
Rosie with a burst of tears. “And O, Lu, I didn’t deserve it of you. I
want to kiss you, if you’ll let me.”

“Of course I will,” Lulu answered, bending down to give and receive a
caress.

Rosie put her arms round Lulu’s neck, sobbing, “I haven’t always been
kind to you, Lu, Please say that you forgive me.”

“Indeed I do; but don’t let us talk any more about it. I’m ever so glad
to have had a chance to do you a kindness, though it wasn’t so very
much after all.”

“Yes, yes, it was! I don’t believe I could have done it for anybody;
and it saved my life. I love you dearly now, Lu, and I always shall.
I’ve been a real Pharisee in my feelings toward you, but now I know and
acknowledge that you are far better and nobler than I.”

“No, no,” said Lulu, “you are not passionate or wilful as I am. I wish
I had as good a temper as yours.”

“You are both dear and lovable children,” interposed Grandma Elsie;
“both have faults, and both virtues. We all love you both, and hope
that hereafter there will be no lack of affection between you. But
Rosie must not talk any more now.”

“Then I’ll run away, Grandma Elsie, till I’m told Rosie is able to see
me again,” said Lulu, and hastened from the room.

In the hall she met Evelyn in a state of unwonted excitement.

“Oh, Lu!” she exclaimed, “what do you suppose happened at Fairview,
last night? I have just had a note from Uncle Lester. He says a second
little boy has come to them and they call him Eric, for my dear father.
Isn’t it nice in them?”

“Oh, another baby?” cried Lulu. “That’s nice! Eric’s a pretty name too;
and your father was Uncle Lester’s brother. I should think they would
call the baby for him.”

“I wonder,” pursued Evelyn, “if Grandma Elsie and Aunt Vi have heard
the news?”

“I don’t believe they have,” said Lulu, “but the breakfast bell rang a
minute ago and here they come. So you can tell them.”

“No,” said Evelyn, “Grandpa Dinsmore and the doctor are coming up the
stairs and they will tell them. Let’s wait a minute, and see how they
look when they hear it.”

They stood aside as the gentlemen passed with a pleasant “Good morning,
little girls,” then lingered to witness the interview between them and
the ladies.

Mr. Dinsmore kissed his daughter and granddaughter, inquiring how Rosie
was.

The doctor shook hands with both, saying, “We bring you pleasant
tidings,” and signed to his uncle to give them.

“Elsie, my dear daughter,” the old gentleman said with a smile, “you
have a second grandson, I a second great-grandson.”

“Ah, another treasure! another cause for gratitude to the Giver of all
good!” she exclaimed. “And Elsie? is she doing well?”

“As well as possible,” answered the doctor, “and the child is as fine
a little fellow as ever you saw.”

Both Eva and Rosie stayed the week out at Woodburn, the captain made
it a holiday time to all his children, and all enjoyed themselves very
much in a quiet way.

Lulu and Grace were urgently invited to make a return visit to both Ion
and Fairview, and their father gave permission for the next week to
be spent by them at the former place, partly promising too, that some
weeks later they should be allowed to pay a visit of equal length to
the other, if they wished.

Grace was doubtful about wanting to go, but Lulu seemed delighted with
the prospect. But something happened to prevent her from going to Ion
at the appointed time.

On the morning of that day the captain came to the children’s
sitting-room with a face even brighter and happier than its wont.

“Lulu,” he said, when he had kissed his little girls good-morning, “go
up to Max’s door and tell him I want him. He will find me here; but if
he is not quite ready for breakfast, I will wait a little for him.”

Lulu obeyed, wonderingly, but asking no questions, and returned almost
immediately, bringing Max with her.

The captain held out his hand to his son with a pleasant “Good-morning,
my boy.”

“Good-morning, papa,” returned Max, putting his hand into that of his
father, and looking up into his face inquiringly and with some little
surprise.

“Lu said you wanted me.”

“Yes,” the captain said. “I want you all to come with me to the
nursery,” and taking a hand of each of the little girls he led the way,
Max following, and all three wondering what it meant.

Little Elsie lay sleeping in her crib, but another crib was there, and
to that the captain went, and, turning down the cover with gentle hand,
brought to view a tiny pink head and face, and doubled up fist.

“Here, Max,” he said with a joyous smile, “is a brother for you, for
Lulu and Gracie, too,” he added, glancing from one to the other.

“I’ve a warm welcome for him,” laughed Max, bending down to look more
closely at the tiny face; “you couldn’t have given me a present I’d
like better, papa. But dare a fellow touch the little chap?”

“Better not, just yet,” said his father. “But what have his sisters to
say about him?” turning to them.

“I’m ever so glad to see him,” said Grace.

“He’s a darling, and I mean to love him dearly,” said Lulu.

There was no cloud on her brow as at the news of Elsie’s birth; no fear
in her heart that her father would love her less for the advent of this
new treasure.

“Papa,” asked Grace, “are you just as much his father as ours?”

“Just as much, daughter, no more no less,” answered the captain, laying
his hand tenderly on her head, and smiling down into her eyes.

“So now we have two brothers; that’s nice!” she remarked with
satisfaction.

“I have but one,” said Max.

“We will go down to breakfast now,” said the captain, carefully
covering up the babe again; “I directed that the bell should not be
rung for fear of disturbing your mamma, who is asleep,” and he led the
way from the room, moving with care to make no noise.

“How strange it seems without mamma,” remarked Grace as they took their
places at the table.

“O papa,” cried Lulu, “mayn’t I sit in Mamma Vi’s place and pour the
coffee?”

“You may try,” he said, smiling kindly upon her; “that post of honor
should be yours, as my eldest daughter, when there is no lady relative
present. Grandma Elsie is in the house, but lying down just now, for a
little rest and sleep.”

Lulu felt very proud of the permission and acquitted herself of
the duties of her new position quite to her own and her father’s
satisfaction. He praised her warmly.

She colored with pleasure, then with a wistful look into his eyes,
asked:

“Are we to go to Ion to-day, papa, just the same as if Mamma Vi hadn’t
been taken sick?”

“Yes, if you want to,” he said; “her illness need make no difference.”

“But won’t you be lonely without us, papa?”

“No doubt I shall miss my dear little daughters,” he replied, with an
affectionate look first at her, then at Gracie, “but it will give me
much pleasure to think that you are enjoying yourselves.”

“I’d rather stay at home if you need me, papa.”

“I quite appreciate the offer, dear child,” he said, “but I shall do
very well, and perhaps enjoy you all the more when you get back; so go
and enjoy yourself.”

“I don’t believe you need worry about papa being lonely without you and
Gracie, Lu,” remarked Max, a little teasingly. “You forget that he will
still have more than half his children at home, at least, when I am
here.”

“Why, so he will!” she exclaimed, as if struck by a new and not
altogether pleasant thought. “But the others are only babies!”

“The little fellow won’t amount to much for company, I suppose,”
laughed Max, “but Elsie can afford one a great deal of sport
sometimes, can’t she, papa?”

“Yes,” answered the captain. Then to Lulu, “A week will soon pass to an
old man like your father, my child.”

“Papa, you’re not old at all! I won’t have you called old?” she cried
indignantly.

He laughed at that. “All the same, a week will be but a short time to
me,” he said.

“Papa, what is our new brother’s name?” asked Grace.

“Edward, for his mother’s father.”

“Another little Ned,” remarked Max.

“You are not an only son any longer, Maxie,” said Lulu.

“Well, what need I care for that?” returned the lad. “Papa won’t prize
me any the less; and I’ve always coveted a brother.”

“But you’re so much older that he won’t be any company for you,”
pursued Lulu, as if bent on making Max discontented and jealous.

“No,” sighed Max, putting on a long face, “I presume he’ll regard me
as quite an old man when he’s old enough to think any thing about such
matters. But I mean to be very good to the little chap, any way, and
see that no big fellow imposes on him,” he added brightening.

“I trust you will be a father to him, Max, in case any thing happens to
me,” said the captain with grave earnestness.

“Yes, sir; I’ll do the very best I can,” returned Max, catching his
father’s tone.

How those two sentences came back to the boy an hour later, as if they
had been prophetic.

The little girls, especially Lulu, had built great expectations upon
this proposed visit to Ion: it was their old home, and a beautiful
place.

Rosie was now disposed to be very kind; Evelyn was to be her guest also
for the week. She had lately received a pony from her uncle and aunt,
and would have it with her, riding it from Fairview. Lulu and Gracie
were to have theirs with them, also; so that each of the four little
girls would be provided with a steed of her own, and they had planned
to take a number of pleasant rides with Max as their escort.

He would not be at Ion all the time, but proposed to have his pony
carry him over every day that he might give the girls the benefit
of his protecting care when needed. He felt himself almost a man in
looking forward to taking so great a responsibility.

Immediately after family worship the captain said cheerily to the
children:

“You may get yourselves ready now, my dears. I am going to ride over to
Union, but will be back within an hour if nothing happens to prevent,
and will then take you to Ion myself.”

“I have no preparations to make for Ion, papa,” said Max; “mayn’t I
ride Rex into the village along with you?”

“I shall be glad of your company, my boy,” was the kindly reply, and
they went out to the veranda together.

Ajax was just leading up Rex and a larger horse, both ready saddled and
bridled. The latter was a fiery steed, not yet well-broken, a recent
purchase.

“You seem to have misunderstood your orders to-day, Ajax,” remarked his
master with some sternness. “I did not intend to ride this horse this
morning, but bade you saddle Lightfoot. However, as I am in some haste,
I will ride Thunderer into the village; but see that you have Lightfoot
ready for me on my return, for this fellow would not be safe to go with
the young ladies on their ponies.”

With the last word he sprang into the saddle, but the horse instantly
began to rear and plunge in a frightful manner, and in another moment
the captain was lying motionless on the ground, while Thunderer dashed
with lightning speed across the lawn, cleared the hedge at a bound, and
disappeared from sight.

Max, who had not yet mounted his pony, ran to his father, and throwing
himself on the grass beside him, lifted his head, rested it on his
knee, and began trying to loosen his necktie.

“The doctor!” he gasped, addressing the group of frightened servants
gathered around, “he’s up-stairs. Call him; but don’t let Mamma Vi
know. It would kill her.”

But he had hardly spoken before the doctor was at his side; Lulu too,
both having seen the accident from the upper windows.

The captain’s eyes were closed; he neither moved nor spoke, and
scarcely seemed to breathe. Both Max and Lulu thought him dead, and
though they spoke not a word, nor made any outcry, their faces were
full of agony.

“He lives,” Arthur hastened to say; “but the fall has stunned him.”

Under his direction the captain was gently lifted from the ground,
carried into one of the lower rooms of the mansion, and laid upon a
couch, while Christine came hurrying in, bringing restoratives and
whatever else seemed likely to be needed.

Arthur ordered every one else out of the room; but Max and Lulu, who
had stationed themselves at the foot of the couch, where they could
watch their father’s face, stood still with such entreating looks,
that he had not the heart to enforce his order so far as they were
concerned.

“You two may stay if you will be perfectly quiet and still,” he said.

Max had his arms about his sister, and she was clinging to him,
trembling with grief and affright, but uttering no sound.

“We will, doctor,” the boy promised in a hoarse whisper. “Only let us
stay where we can see him.”

The next minute the captain sighed deeply, opened his eyes, and asked
quite in his natural voice, “What has happened?”

“You were thrown,” replied Arthur, “stunned to insensibility. I hope
that may be all. How do you feel? Any pain anywhere?”

“Yes; a good deal in my ankle; that old hurt, you know.”

The doctor examined it. “It seems to have had a terrible wrench,” he
said. “You are in for fully six weeks of quietude. I don’t think I’ll
allow you to so much as move about with a crutch before the end of that
time.”

“A pretty hard sentence that, doctor,” replied the patient between a
smile and a sigh.

“We may be thankful if that is all,” Arthur said, adding something in a
lower tone about the possibility of internal injury.

“You can not tell yet?” was the response in an enquiring tone.

“Not certainly; yet I am strongly in hopes time will prove that there
has been nothing more serious than the wrench of the ankle and the jar
to the whole system—quite enough, to be sure.”

“Quite! Ah, Max and Lulu,” as his eye fell upon them. “What, crying, my
dear children? You should rather rejoice that your father is alive and
able to speak to you.”

“But you are in pain, papa,” sobbed Lulu. “Oh, I wish I could help you
to bear it!”

“Ah, my darling, I shall expect a good deal of help from you and the
rest while serving out the doctor’s hard sentence,” he said, with
an attempt at pleasantry that was almost a failure, his features
contracting with pain as he spoke.

“No more talking for the present,” said Arthur.

“My wife—does she know? Keep this from her as long as you can,” said
the captain.

“Of course,” returned the doctor; “but it will not be possible to
conceal from her that something has happened to you. I hope to be able
to tell her shortly that it is nothing more serious than a sprained
ankle.”

“Max, you may take your sisters to Ion, if—” began the captain, turning
his eyes on his son.

But Lulu interrupted with an earnest protest, “O papa, please don’t say
we must go! I can’t bear to! I want to stay at home and nurse you!”

“So you shall, dear child; but go now and take the air for awhile.”

“Yes,” said the doctor, who was busily engaged in dressing the wounded
limb; “you three may as well ride over to Ion with the news.”

“And come back as soon as you please,” added their father. “Tell Gracie
not to be distressed; papa is not nearly so badly hurt as he might have
been.”

“Oh, please let me stay right here beside you, papa,” pleaded Lulu.

“No, Lu,” said Dr. Conly, with mingled authority and playfulness. “I
shall not allow you to be installed as nurse here, unless you hold
yourself in readiness to obey orders; and I know the captain will agree
with me that you must take exercise in the open air every day.”

“Certainly she must,” her father assented.

Then turning to Max, “My son, I shall have to entrust my errand to the
village to you; you know what it was. Take your sisters to Ion first,
then do your errand, and call for them as you come back.”

“Yes, sir; I will,” answered the lad promptly, moving toward the door
as he spoke.

Lulu was about to accompany him, but turned suddenly, sprang past the
doctor, and dropping on her knees by the side of the couch, seized her
father’s hand, and lifting it to her lips, kissed it with passionate
fervor.

“My little girl’s love is a great comfort to me,” he said in a low
tone; “but go now, darling. You may come to me again when you return
from Ion; unless the doctor forbids.”

“Which I think the doctor will not,” said Arthur. “Now run away like a
good child.”

Max found Grace in the hall crying as if her heart would break.

“Oh, Maxie, tell me ’bout papa!” she sobbed; “is he—is he ’most—’most
killed?”

“No, Gracie; he knows every thing, and is able to talk; but his ankle
is badly hurt and pains him a good deal,” answered Max, speaking as
cheerfully as he could, to relieve the fears of his little sister.

“Oh, can I go and see him?” she asked.

“No, not just now; the doctor is dressing his ankle, and papa says we
must ride out for air and exercise, go over to Ion for just a little
while, and when we come back, I think they’ll let you see him.”

At this moment Lulu joined them. “Don’t cry, Gracie, dear,” she
entreated, taking her in her arms. “You and I are going to nurse papa
and make him well again.”

“You may as well include me in that; I’m the eldest,” said Max. “We
will all three do every thing we can for him. Now go and get your
things on—the ponies are at the door waiting—and we’ll ride over to Ion
at once. That’s papa’s orders, and I know he would say the first and
best thing is to be obedient, if we want to make him happy and help him
to get well.”

“Yes, we will,” said Grace. “But oh,” she sobbed, “it’s so very
dreadful that papa is hurt so!”

“But it might have been a great deal worse, Gracie,” said her brother,
with a tremble in his voice. “I thought at first that papa was dead; he
was so still and white, and didn’t know any thing at all.”

“Max,” exclaimed Lulu, sobbing bitterly as she spoke, “I wish you’d
take your gun along, and if we meet Thunderer shoot him right down
dead.”

“Why no, Lu! I wouldn’t dare do such a thing without papa’s leave; the
horse belongs to him and is worth a great deal of money; so I wouldn’t
have any right to kill him. Beside, papa has forbidden me ever to
handle my gun when you girls are by: because accidents with firearms
happen so often, even when they’re in the hands of men.”

“Well, I just hope he’s broken his neck before this, jumping a hedge or
something,” cried Lulu fiercely. “Come, Gracie, we’ll go up-stairs now
and put on our hats and habits.”




                             CHAPTER XIX.


A messenger had been dispatched early that morning from Woodburn to Ion
with the news of the arrival of Violet’s son; then Zoe and Rosie had
ridden over to Fairview with the tidings, and brought Evelyn back with
them.

They were all three on the veranda now, waiting and watching for the
coming of Captain Raymond, or Max with Lulu and Grace.

“What on earth can be keeping them?” exclaimed Rosie at length. “They
must be greatly taken up with that new-comer—my second nephew. How nice
and funny it seemed at first to be an aunt! but it’s quite an old story
now.”

“And I can never be one,” remarked Eva, between a sigh and a smile;
“though I confess the thought never struck me before.”

“Yes, you can; the same way that I am,” said Zoe. “Marry a man with
plenty of brothers and sisters, and you’ll likely find it easy enough.”

“Oh, here they come at last!” cried Rosie, “they’re just turning in at
the gates. It’s Max that’s with them, not the captain. I never can
remember to call him brother, as he wants me to.”

“Somehow they don’t seem a very gay party,” remarked Evelyn as the trio
drew near, “they don’t call to us, or wave their hands or any thing.”

“No,” said Zoe, examining them critically through an opera glass,
“there is something dejected in the droop of their figures, and the
girls have certainly been crying. Can it be that they are so distressed
over the new arrival?”

“No, I am sure not,” exclaimed Eva. “How could they? a baby is the
sweetest thing in the world, I think!”

“So do I,” said Zoe. “And Max and Grace were delighted when little
Elsie was born.”

“And Lu, I am sure, loves her dearly now,” said Rosie. “No, it can’t be
that. Oh,” with sudden affright, “what if Vi is very ill!” and she ran
hastily down the steps just as the ponies were reined in beside them.

“What’s the matter?” she asked breathlessly, “why are you so late? and
what have you been crying about? Oh, don’t tell me that—that any thing
is very wrong with Vi!”

“No; the doctor says she’s doing well,” replied Max, alighting and
beginning to assist the now bitterly sobbing Grace from the saddle.

Lulu slipped easily from hers to the ground. “It’s papa,” she said
tremulously, and with streaming eyes, “Thunderer threw him, and he’s
badly hurt. We’re not going to stay; we want to nurse him ourselves;
but he said we must come and tell you all about it, and then we could
come back.”

They had all three come up into the veranda by this time; Mr. and Mrs.
Dinsmore had joined the little group, and questions and condolences and
exclamations of sorrow and dismay were poured out in rapid succession.

“How did it happen? Where is he injured? What does the doctor say?”

“Oh, the dear, good captain!” cried Zoe, “it does seem too bad it
should have happened to him!”

“I’m very fond of him, and as sorry as I can be for him and Vi too;
it’ll most kill her not to be able to go to him and nurse him,” said
Rosie.

But Evelyn only clasped Lulu in her arms and wept with her.

“I really do hope—I think the doctor does too”—said Max, when the
excitement had calmed down a little, “that papa has received no
permanent injury, though he’ll have to suffer a good deal for weeks
with that wrenched ankle. I must go on to the village now,” he added,
“and I am to call for my sisters as I come back.”

With that he bowed a polite adieu, ran down the steps, mounted his pony
and rode away.

“Max is growing very manly,” remarked Zoe, gazing admiringly after him;
“quite the gentleman; but he always was that ever since I have known
him.”

Grandma Rose took the weeping Grace into her kind arms. “You are quite
worn out with your grief, dearie,” she said, “you must lie down and
rest till Max comes for you again,” and she led her into the house.

Evelyn had drawn Lulu to a seat, and with her arm round her waist, her
hand clasping hers, was trying to comfort her.

“Don’t cry, dear Lu,” she said, “your father is left to you, and he is
brave and patient, and will bear his pain well, while it will be such
sweet work to wait on him and nurse him.”

“Yes, indeed it will,” said Lulu, wiping her eyes. “Oh, if I could only
bear the pain for him!”

“He wouldn’t let you if you could,” said Eva.

“No, not he,” said Zoe; “he’s quite too fond of his children not to
prefer suffering himself, rather than to let them suffer.”

“That is quite true, I know,” assented Lulu. Then with a sigh, “We were
all so happy this morning, before—before papa’s accident; so glad over
the new baby; I hardly wanted to come away—though I had looked forward
so to this visit and expected such a pleasant time and so much fun—and
I tried to get papa to say he needed me at home to keep him from being
lonely, with Mamma Vi sick, but he wouldn’t; he didn’t want either
Gracie or me to be disappointed.”

“But can’t you come anyhow?” asked Rosie, hospitably; “there are plenty
of people there to nurse and wait on your papa.”

“O Rosie, I couldn’t bear to be away from him when he is suffering! And
I’m ’most sure he’d rather have me to wait on him than any body else (I
don’t mean Mamma Vi, of course); but than Christine, or Alma, or any of
the servants. I thank you, all the same, though, for your kindness in
asking me.”

“You needn’t,” Rosie returned; “it’s almost pure selfishness; for I
expected to enjoy your company very much.”

At that Lulu’s face lighted up with pleasure for the moment; it was so
nice, she thought, that at last Rosie had become really fond of her.

Max wasted no time in doing his errand, and was back again at Ion
sooner than any one expected to see him; but Lulu and Grace were ready
and eager to go home.

On their arrival at Woodburn, the doctor came out to help them
dismount, and with so cheerful a face that their hopes rose.

“How is papa? May we go to him?” they asked, eagerly.

“Doing very well; there’s not much amiss with him, I think, except the
sprained ankle, and a brave, patient man, such as he, will not make
much of that. Yes, you may go to him. If you behave well, as I have no
doubt you will, your presence will be a comfort rather than an injury,”
replied the doctor; then added, laughingly, “Odd as it may seem, he is
certainly very fond of you all.”

Hardly waiting to hear the end of the sentence, they hastened to avail
themselves of the permission.

The captain was in great pain, but lay with his eyes on the door,
his ears attentive for the sound of childish footsteps; and as his
three children appeared at the threshold, his face lighted up with a
welcoming smile.

“Ah, my darlings, I am glad to see you,” he said; “come to me, all of
you,” extending his hand, “I want a kiss and a loving word from each.”

They waited for no second invitation, but ran to him, put their arms
about him, half-smothered him with caresses, and with mingled smiles
and tears, poured out assurances of their ardent love and sympathy in
his sufferings.

“Ah!” he said, noting the traces of tears on their cheeks and about
their eyes, “it grieves me to see how your young hearts have been
wrung on my account! Gracie, pet, you look worn out. Max, my son, help
her up-stairs to her room, and she must lie down and rest till dinner
time.

“Lulu, daughter, you may go along, change your riding-habit for a
house-dress, and when you have seen Gracie comfortably established in
her bed, come back and be papa’s little nurse.

“Max, when Gracie needs you no longer, come and report to me about the
errand I trusted to you.”

“Yes, sir, I will,” returned Max, taking Grace’s hand and leading her
away, while Lulu lingered a moment to give their father another hug and
kiss, saying joyfully, “Thank you ever so much, dear papa! I’m so glad
I may be your little nurse! I shall just love to wait on you and do
every thing I can to help you to forget your pain. O papa, if I could
only bear it for you!”

“My dear, loving little daughter,” he said, with emotion, and holding
her in a close embrace, “it would be far worse to me to see you suffer
than to bear the pain myself. Don’t be so distressed for me, my child,
it is no more than I can very well bear; especially remembering those
sweet Bible words: ‘We know that all things work together for good to
them that love God,’ and that my kind heavenly Father will not suffer
me to have one pang that is not needed to make me fit to dwell with him
at last.”

“Papa,” she said, gazing wonderingly into his eyes, “it does seem to me
that you are as good as you can be now, so I don’t see why you should
ever have any pain or trouble at all.”

“‘The Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward
appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart,’” he quoted.

“My little daughter can’t see her father’s heart, but God does, and
though he sees there love to him and an earnest desire to live to his
honor and glory, he sees also remains of the old evil nature born in us
all, and that has to be taken entirely away before we can be fit for
heaven; so in his great love and kindness he sends trouble and trial to
root it out.

“‘Whom the Lord loveth he correcteth; even as father the son in whom he
delighteth.’”

“Or the daughter,” murmured Lulu thoughtfully; “yes, I see how it is
that you punish me to cure me of my faults, even though you love me
very much.”

“_Because_ I love you very much,” he corrected. “It would often be much
easier, and more agreeable to me to let them pass unnoticed. But go
now, my child; Gracie will be wanting you.”

She had scarcely gone when Max returned, and sitting down by his
father’s side, proceeded to give a satisfactory report of what he had
been doing in the village.

There were some improvements in progress on the estate to which the
captain strongly desired to give personal oversight; but his injuries
now made this impossible, unless by bringing them to a halt till he
should be able to get about again.

Fortunately, however, he had all along talked freely with Max, of his
plans and purposes, giving the lad a thorough understanding of them;
for Max was a bright boy quite capable of comprehending his father’s
explanations; also it was very delightful to him to be taken into that
father’s confidence, and treated by him as one whose opinion was worth
having, and who was to some extent a joint proprietor with himself.

“Max,” said the captain, with a look of fatherly pride and confidence
that made the boy’s heart throb with pleasure, “you will have to be
my man of business now, reporting the progress of the workmen to me,
taking my orders and seeing that they are obeyed.”

“Will you trust me, papa?” cried the boy delightedly. “I’m sure it’s
very good in you!”

“I am very glad to have a son whom I can trust,” was the smiling,
kindly rejoinder. “I have entire confidence in you, and as you are
more fully acquainted with my plans and wishes than any one else, you
are the very one I prefer before all others, to see them carried out.”

He then went on to give some directions in regard to the work for that
day.

Before he had finished, both the doctor and Lulu had returned to the
room.

“Attending to affairs in spite of every thing, captain?” said the
doctor. “I should have supposed you were suffering enough with that
injured ankle to forget all about the improvements you are making on
the place.”

“I prefer to try to forget pain in interesting myself about something
else,” returned the captain, suppressing a groan and forcing himself to
speak lightly.

Arthur was changing the dressing on the wounded limb, Lulu standing
beside her father, with her hand in his, her eyes, full of love and
sympathy, fixed upon his face.

“Dear papa, are you in very much pain?” she asked. “Oh, I am so sorry
for you! I wanted Max to take his gun and shoot Thunderer, but he
wouldn’t without your leave.”

“Quite right,” was the quick rejoinder. “By the way, I had utterly
forgotten the horse. Do you know what has become of him?”

“He jumped over the hedge and ran away,” said Lulu.

“But was pursued and brought back,” added Arthur; “is in his stall in
the stable now, somewhat quieted down by his race of several miles, and
the journey back again.”

“Papa,” cried Lulu vehemently, “I wish you would have him killed;
because he deserves it, and I’m afraid he’ll kill you some day, if you
don’t. Doctor, don’t you think it would be best?”

“Possibly your father may be a better judge of that than either you
or I, my little girl,” was the reply. “I am inclined to suspect the
groom of being a worse culprit than the horse; that perhaps before
being brought from the stable Thunderer had been subjected to cruel and
irritating treatment which put him in a passion, and led him to throw
his rider without waiting to make sure that it was he who was to blame.”

Lulu’s heightened color and downcast eyes seemed to indicate that
she suspected the doctor of intending his remarks to have a personal
application.

“Do horses get into passions?” she asked.

“They have feelings and tempers pretty much like human creatures,”
returned the doctor, “and are certainly more excusable than they when
indulging a fit of rage.”

“Then I ought to have a good deal of charity for Thunderer,” remarked
Lulu, with a sigh. “But, papa, I do hope you’ll never mount him again.
Won’t you promise not to?”

“I promise not to for six weeks to come,” answered the captain,
laughingly, squeezing her hand and looking fondly into her eyes. “Don’t
you think she’ll make a careful nurse, doctor?”

“A capital one when she has gained experience.”

Lulu’s eyes sparkled.

“I mean to get that as fast as I can,” she said.

Both gentlemen laughingly asked, “How?”

“By nursing you, papa,” she answered. “I shall watch every thing the
doctor and Christine do for you, so that very soon I’ll be able to do
it for you myself.”

“Is she not a dear child?” her father said, passing his arm around her
as she stood by his couch, and gazing in her face with eyes shining
with love. “She gave up the week of holiday at Ion that she had been
looking forward to for so long, in order that she might wait upon and
comfort her father in his pain.”

“Ah, it is an old saying that love begets love,” the doctor remarked,
smiling on her also, “and I think an affectionate parent is apt to have
affectionate children.”

“I don’t deserve any praise for it,” Lulu said, though blushing with
pleasure even as she spoke, “because I prefer to be here with papa.”

“But a selfish child, who thought only of pleasing herself, would not
prefer it,” the doctor said, regarding her approvingly.

“I want to begin my work at once,” said Lulu. “What can I do for you
now, papa?”

“You may bring me a glass of ice-water and a fan,” he answered, and
she obeyed with a cheerful alacrity that proved the sincerity of her
professed desire to do something for him.




                              CHAPTER XX.


“You came from Violet’s room just now?” the captain said enquiringly to
the doctor.

“Yes. She was sleeping and had been for some hours; knew nothing yet of
your accident.”

“That is well; don’t let her be uneasy about me.”

“Not if I can help it,” returned Arthur with a slight smile; “but she
will of course miss you soon, and demand a reason for your desertion of
her; then what can be done better than to own the truth?”

“Nothing, certainly; but make your report of my condition as favorable
as you can.”

“I will do that, and I can say truly that there is no reason to
apprehend any thing worse for either of you than an enforced separation
for a few weeks; and that while in the same house and almost near
enough to carry on a conversation; you can exchange messages every hour
in the day if you deem it desirable.”

“And I can carry them for you, papa,” said Lulu, returning with the
ice-water and fan.

“So you shall, daughter,” he said, taking the glass from her hand; and
then as he returned it, “bring me a writing desk, paper and pencil, and
I’ll prepare one for you to take.”

“And I may sit and fan you while you write it, mayn’t I?”

“Yes; I shall be glad to have you do so.”

Grandma Elsie was watching over her daughter’s slumbers, carefully
guarding her from disturbance, and especially from any intruder who
would bring the evil tidings of her husband’s injury.

At length Violet woke and looked up into her mother’s face with a
bright, sweet smile. “I feel very comfortable,” she said. “I must have
slept a good while, have I not? and how kind in you, dearest mamma, to
watch over me so tenderly. I fear you must be fatigued; and it strikes
me you look a trifle weary and troubled. Is any thing wrong?” Then with
a quick glance round the room, “Where is my husband?”

“Down stairs.”

“I wish he would come up; please send him word that I am awake and want
to see him. He will come up at once, I know.”

Elsie bent down and kissed the pale cheek before she answered.

“If you can spare me for a few minutes, I’ll go and tell him myself,”
she said, with playful look and smile.

“But why not send a servant, mamma dear? I don’t want you tiring
yourself going up and down on my errands.”

“But I have a fancy for doing it this once; I’ve been sitting still a
long while, and a little exercise will be good for me.”

With that she left the room.

She found the captain writing his note, the doctor still with him.

“Vi is awake and asking for her husband,” she said. “Arthur, will you
come up and give her as good a report as you can with truth?”

“Certainly, my dear cousin; and it need not be so bad a one as to cause
her any special uneasiness.”

“And here is a report from the patient himself,” remarked the captain,
smilingly handing a slip of paper to his mother-in-law. “Don’t let her
be despondent over the enforced separation, mother, remind her that it
is at least a little better than if I were on a voyage that would keep
us apart for six months or a year.”

“That should be a comforting reflection,” Elsie said. “But you are
suffering, captain!” as a sudden spasm of pain caused an involuntary
contraction of his brow.

“Well, yes,” he replied, “but not more than can be easily endured. Make
as light of it as you can to my dear wife.”

They broke the news to Violet as gently as possible, treating the
matter as of as little consequence as they conscientiously could, then
gave her the captain’s note.

It was written in a cheerful, even gay strain, that did much to remove
her apprehensions. He spoke of the morning’s accident as something
in the nature of a repetition of the mishap that had been the means
of bringing them into intimate association for weeks, till they had
learned to know and love each other; a consummation for which he at
least, would have cause to be grateful all his days.

“So there was a blessing in that love,” he concluded, “and let us hope
there will be in this also.”

Violet could not of course fail to be distressed on her husband’s
account because of the pain and weariness he must inevitably suffer,
and for herself that she must be so long deprived of his dear
companionship, but she would not allow herself to fret; no murmur or
complaint escaped her lips, and she vied with him in the cheerfulness
and gayety of her messages and notes, when she was well enough to
obtain permission to write them.

As to the captain, while thus deprived of the society of his wife and
tied down to a couch of pain, he found the greatest solace in the
companionship, devoted affection and endearments of his children.

Max came and went, doing his errands, conveying his orders to workmen
and servants, and writing letters at his dictation. Grace hung about
him with her pretty, loving embraces, and was always glad to do any
little service in her power; little Elsie was brought to him for a
short daily visit; but Lulu was his devoted nurse, seldom absent
from his side during the day, except to take her meals and the daily
exercise in the open air that he would not allow her to omit.

It was a dear delight to her to wait upon him, and to feel that she was
necessary to his comfort.

When the worst was over and he was comparatively free from pain, he had
the children resume their studies, and heard their recitations as he
lay on his couch. Useful occupation seemed to him the best panacea for
pain and the tedium of long confinement to the house; having his couch
wheeled out to the shady veranda being for weeks the only practicable
change.

His wife’s relatives were kind and attentive to both her and him,
making frequent friendly calls and offers of service, but his chief
dependence for entertainment and constant, loving attention, was upon
his children.

He loved to have them gather about him at all times, but especially in
the evenings when the day’s duties and pleasures were over, and tell
him what they had seen in their walks and drives; thus teaching them to
observe and describe; also he encouraged them to talk freely of their
thoughts and feelings; so winning their confidence, correcting their
mistakes, and giving instruction in a way that was pleasant to both
teacher and taught.

He thought much of their future in both this world and the next, and
how best he could prepare them to meet successfully life’s trials,
toils and struggles, how to find and to do the work intended for them,
and often and often his heart went up in prayer to God for grace and
wisdom to guide them aright.

Remembering the inspired declaration that “we must through much
tribulation enter into the kingdom of God,” he did not ask for them
exemption from trials and troubles, though his heart yearned over
them at the thought of what they might be called to endure; but his
request for them was that when called to pass through deep waters or
fiery trials, they might ever find the eternal God their refuge and
underneath the Everlasting Arms; that through all their lives they
might prove good soldiers of Jesus Christ, able and ready to endure
hardness for him; and that they might be kept by the power of God
through faith unto salvation.

“My darlings,” he would sometimes say, “I would not have you of the
number of those who seek first their own ease and gratification;
‘man’s chief end is to glorify God and enjoy him forever’; make it the
aim of your lives to know, love and serve him; to do his work and his
will; to do all in your power to bring others to him; and he will take
care of the rest.”

“Papa, you love us very much; don’t you want us to have easy, pleasant
times?” Grace asked on one of these occasions.

“I do love you all very dearly, and I am afraid that would be what I
should choose for you if the choice were left to me,” he answered; “but
it is not mine, and I rejoice that it is not; for God, our Heavenly
Father, in whose hand are all these things, loves you far better than I
do, and is infinite in wisdom; he will choose for you and never make a
mistake.”

“It makes me glad to think of that, papa,” she sighed, creeping closer
into his embrace, for she was leaning against his couch, with his arm
round her; “for I am not very strong, you know, and when I hear about
having to run a race and fight a battle, it seems as if I could never
do it; but Jesus will help me to do both, won’t he, papa?”

“He will, dear child. He says: ‘In me is thine help.’ ‘Happy art thou,
oh, Israel: who is like unto thee, oh, people saved by the Lord, the
shield of thy help, and who is the sword of thy excellency?’

“‘Our soul waiteth for the Lord: he is our help and our shield.’”

“Does every body have to run a race and fight a battle to get to
heaven, papa?” queried Lulu.

“Yes, my child; there is no escaping it: we belong to a fallen race,
and are all born into the world with a sinful nature that must be
got rid of before we can enter heaven. We would not be happy in that
holy place with that evil nature, even could we gain admittance there
uncleansed from it. We have that to struggle against, and put away,
with the help of God, and by the application of the blood of Christ,
which cleanseth from all sin. And we have the snares of the world to
avoid, and a warfare to wage with many spiritual foes, malignantly
intent upon our ruin.”

“It’s just dreadful, papa!” said Lulu. “I don’t see how any body ever
gets saved.”

“By trusting in the Lord Jesus Christ, who is mightier than all our
foes, able to save to the uttermost, and who died to redeem us.”

“What does that word redeem mean, papa?”

“To buy back; to deliver from bondage, or out of the hands of justice.
In our case it is bondage to sin and Satan, it is God’s justice, which
demands the death eternal of every sinner who is not ransomed by the
blood of Christ.”

“Are all the people who don’t love and serve God, servants to sin and
Satan, papa?”

“Yes: ‘Know ye not, that to whom ye yield yourselves servants to obey,
his servants ye are to whom ye obey: whether of sin unto death, or of
obedience unto righteousness?’

“Oh, my dear children, I can not bear to think of any one of you being
a servant of sin and Satan, instead of a servant of God and Christ!”

A few moments of solemn stillness succeeded the last words; then the
captain said:

“It is time for evening worship; call in the servants, Max.”

He had not once omitted the morning or evening sacrifice of prayer and
praise, for though unable to kneel, he could read the Word and pray
from his couch.

Firmly he had resolved, “As for me and my house, we will serve the
Lord.”

He had for some time seen reason to hope that Max and Grace, young
though they were, had entered that service, but not so with Lulu:
though truthful, conscientious, affectionate, and usually obedient to
him, and really striving to overcome her easily-besetting sin, and rule
her own spirit, she showed no love to Christ and professed none.

He was anxious about her, and often lifted up his heart on her behalf,
for he knew that, being old enough to fully comprehend the plan of
salvation, she was not safe while neglecting or refusing to come to
Christ.

He noticed that she was unusually thoughtful and attentive during the
short service this evening, and as she lingered a little behind the
others, as was her wont, he drew her to him and holding her in a close,
loving embrace, asked tenderly:

“My darling, when are you going to leave the service of sin and Satan
for that of the dear Saviour?”

“Papa,” she said, hiding her face on his shoulder, “I—I can’t bear to
think of being Satan’s servant, and—and I do mean to be a Christian
some time. I—I’m not good enough yet; I’ve got such a bad temper, you
know; and I like my own way so well that—that it does seem as if I
can’t keep from disobeying you once in a while.

“So I couldn’t be a good kind of a Christian, and—and that’s the only
kind I’d want to be.”

He sighed deeply. “My child,” he said, “what is all that you have
been saying, but an acknowledgment that you still love and choose the
service of sin?”

“I was just telling you the truth about how I feel, papa, and how can I
help it, if I’m made so?”

“By coming to Jesus, who saves his people from their sins. He is able
to save to the uttermost; to save all from sin who will come to him; he
never saves any _in_ their sins; and he is the only Saviour; the only
one who can deliver you from bondage to sin and Satan; can take away
the evil of your nature and implant the love of holiness.

“You can never conquer your love of sin without his help; you will
never grow really better while you stay away from him.”

“But I’m only a little girl, papa; I think I could do it better when
I’m older.”

“No, it is Satan tells you that; he knows that the longer you delay,
the harder your heart will grow, and the more difficult it will be to
bring it to Jesus.

“Many and many a soul has been lost by listening to Satan telling it to
wait for a more convenient season, and so putting off repentance till
it was forever too late.

“But God’s time is always now; ‘Behold now is the accepted time; behold
now is the day of salvation!’ Come now—this hour, this moment—my dear
child, and he will fulfill to you his gracious promise, ‘Him that
cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out.’”

“Papa, are you ordering me?”

“No, my child, I am entreating you. Jesus entreats you; ‘Son, daughter,
give me thine heart.’ He says, ‘Behold I stand at the door and knock;
if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and
will sup with him and he with me.’

“Open the door of your heart to him now, my child, lest he should turn
away and never knock there again.”

“Does he ever do that, papa, before people die?” she asked in an awed
tone.

“Yes, he says, ‘My Spirit shall not always strive.’ Of some he says,
‘Ephraim is joined to his idols; let him alone,’ and that sentence may
go forth years before death comes. Of Esau it is said, ‘He found no
place of repentance, though he sought it with tears.’

                 “‘There is a time, we know not when,
                      A point we know not where,
                   That marks the destiny of men,
                      To glory or despair.

                   There is a line, by us unseen,
                      That crosses every path,
                   The hidden boundary between
                      God’s mercy and his wrath.’”

He paused, and shuddering and hiding her face, “Papa,” she murmured, “I
do intend to try before very long, when I’m just a little older.”

“But you may not live to be any older; who can say that you will live
to see the light of another morning? Or that the invitation may not be
withdrawn? My child, the only time you are sure of is now; just now;
come _now_, at once.”

“But how, papa?” she asked, as again he paused.

“Just as you would if you could see the Lord Jesus here in this room.
It would not be difficult for you to go and kneel at his feet and ask
him to take you for his own, to wash away all your sins, and teach you
to love and serve him.”

“No, papa, but—I’m afraid I—I don’t want to.”

“Oh,” he exclaimed, “how can you help loving One who is so lovely in
character? So kind, so good, so loving, so unselfish that he died the
cruel death of the cross that we might be saved?

“One who has been so patient and forbearing with you all these years
that you have lived in rebellion against him, and is still entreating
you to come to him and be saved!”

He paused for a reply, but none came.

“You like to think that you belong to me? Are my very own?” he said,
enquiringly.

“Oh, yes, papa! indeed I do!”

“You love me very much?”

“Indeed, _indeed_ I do!”

“And you value my love?”

“O papa, I don’t know how I could live without it,” she cried, nestling
closer to him, and kissing him with ardent affection.

“You look to me for protecting care? You feel safe in my arms?”

“Oh, yes, papa! You would never let me be harmed.”

“Not if I could help it, dear child, I would protect you with my life.
But I can not always do so; some day, daughter, your father will have
to die and leave you.”

“Oh, don’t, papa, don’t talk of that!” she exclaimed, catching her
breath with a half sob.

“I don’t speak of it to distress you, my darling,” he said, softly
smoothing her hair, “but I want you to reflect how desirable, how
necessary it is for you to secure a nearer, dearer, more powerful
Friend. One who sticketh closer than a brother, whose love is deeper
and stronger than a mother’s, and who will never leave nor forsake you,
never die. The Lord Jesus, who is all these and more, now offers you
his friendship and his love; but how long he will continue the offer,
none can tell. Will you not come to him now, this moment?”

“Papa, I can’t. I can’t make my heart want to do it,” she said
despairingly.

“Make the effort and he will help you, as he did the man with the
withered hand. He might have said: ‘I can not stretch it forth, I have
not been able to move it for years;’ but instead, he tried to obey, and
Jesus gave him strength, and so will he help you to obey his call.
‘Come unto me,’ if you will but try to do so.”

“But perhaps he doesn’t mean for me to try just now, papa,” she said
struggling with herself.

“No; that can not be so. His time is always now, to-day; never
to-morrow, or next week or next year.

“‘To-day, if ye will hear his voice, harden not your heart as in the
day of provocation.

“‘Behold, now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of
salvation.’

“And you will be but giving him of his own; you are his because he made
you, his, because He has kept you alive all these years, His, because
he has bought you with his own precious blood. He has lent you to me
for a time, but you belong to him. Do not refuse him his own, my child.

“I hope and believe that all the rest of us are walking in the straight
and narrow way, will you not come with us? Oh, how can I bear to see my
dear daughter travelling the broad road that leads to eternal death!”

“Papa, pray for me, ask Jesus to help me to do it just now,” she
sobbed, sinking to her knees beside his couch.

He laid his hand tenderly on her bowed head, and in low, earnest tones
confessed for her that she was a sinner, lost and undone without the
atoning blood of Christ; that she had in herself, no power and no
desire to turn from sin unto holiness, that she had often rejected
God’s offered mercy and forgiveness, and refused to accept the
Saviour’s gracious invitation, ‘Come unto me;’ then he pleaded for her
that her sins might be forgiven and blotted out, for Jesus’ sake; that
he would take away all the evil of her nature, wash her thoroughly
from her iniquity and cleanse her from her sin, and enable her to give
herself wholly and unreservedly to his service.

As his voice ceased she followed him in a few broken sentences:

“Dear Lord Jesus, I am a great sinner, just as papa has said, and oh,
I am afraid I don’t want to be any better, but please make me want to,
and to love to belong to thee even more than I do to be papa’s very
own. I will, I do give myself to thee. Oh, take me and make me all
good, no bad at all left in me. For thine own name’s sake. Amen.”

For some moments there seemed a solemn stillness in the room, she still
kneeling there, with her father’s hand resting tenderly on her head,
then in low tremulous tones:

“Papa,” she asked, “do you think he heard me, and will take me for his?”

“I know it, my child, if you asked with your heart, as I believe you
did, for he is the hearer and answerer of prayer!”

Then again he poured out an earnest supplication on her behalf, asking
that she might be kept ever near the Saviour’s side, growing in grace
and conformity to his will all the days of her life on earth, and at
last be taken to dwell forever with him in heaven.

Again a solemn hush, broken at length by Lulu’s voice in low, sweet
tones, “Papa, I think he has heard our prayers. I do begin to love him
in my heart and to want to be his.”

“‘Bless the Lord, oh, my soul; and all that is within me, bless his
holy name!’” ejaculated her father, his tones tremulous with emotion.
Then, as she rose from her kneeling posture, he drew her to his
breast and held her there in a long, tender embrace ere he bade her
good-night, and sent her away to her rest.




                             CHAPTER XXI.


Quite early the next morning, fully half an hour before breakfast time,
Lulu and Grace came hand in hand, and with loving greetings, to the
side of their father’s couch.

The young faces were very bright, and looking searchingly into Lulu’s,
he thought it wore a sweeter expression than he had ever seen on it
before.

“Papa, I am very happy this morning,” she said softly, putting her arm
round his neck and laying her cheek to his.

“I am very glad, my darling,” he responded, “your happiness lies very
near your father’s heart.”

“It’s because Jesus loves me, papa,” she went on, in low, earnest
tones. “Oh, I find his love is even sweeter than yours! though that has
always been so sweet to me. Oh, now I’m glad to belong to him, and I
want to serve him all my days! it seems strange that I haven’t always
wanted to.”

“It is passing strange,” he sighed, “that it is not the joy of every
human heart to belong to him and do him service.”

“Papa, I want to be good and do every thing he tells me. Do you think I
shall ever be naughty again? disobedient to you? willful? passionate?”

“My dear child, to think you would not, would be like expecting you to
win the prize as soon as you have started to run the race; to gain the
victory as soon as the battle is begun. Not so easily can our spiritual
foes, or the evil of our natures, be overcome; the fight will go on
till we reach the verge of Jordan.”

“Death, papa?”

“Yes; ’tis only then we can sing the victor’s song. And yet, trusting
in the Lord Jesus, who is called ‘the captain of our salvation,’ we
may be sure of final victory: certain that we shall be ‘more than
conquerors through him that loved us.’”

Max joined them presently, and asked his father what orders he was to
carry to the workmen and men-servants.

When that matter had been attended to, the captain, giving the lad a
look of proud fatherly affection, said: “Max, my boy, you are growing
fast; you will be a man one of these days, should it please God to
spare your life; what do you think of making of yourself? I mean,”
seeing a slightly puzzled look on the lad’s face, “what would you
choose as your principal employment for life?”

“I don’t know, papa,” Max answered, with some hesitation. “What would
you like best to have me do?”

“Whatever you have most talent and inclination for, if we can find out
what that is,” returned his father; “for that will be the thing you can
do with the greatest enjoyment and most successfully.”

“That is very kind in you, papa,” said Max; “but I would rather have
you decide for me, you are so much wiser than I; and I don’t think I
have any particular fancy for any one thing yet.”

“Well, my son, there is no need to decide in haste,” his father said;
“it will be better to take plenty of time to consider the question, as
so we will be more likely to come to a wise decision.

“But, my boy, whatever your choice may be, I want you to seek to
glorify God in doing your work; to be the servant of God and not the
servant of men.

“‘Ye are bought with a price, be not ye the servants of men!’

“Let not the question with you be ‘How shall I obtain wealth and fame?
How gain the approbation of my fellow men?’ but ‘What shall I do that I
may please God? how shall I best honor and glorify him? how do the most
for the upbuilding of his cause and kingdom?’

“‘For ye are bought with a price; therefore glorify God in your body
and in your spirit which are God’s.’

“Gracie, can you tell me what that price was?”

“Yes, papa, one of my Bible verses says, ‘Ye know that ye were not
redeemed with corruptible things, as silver and gold, from your vain
conversation received by tradition from your fathers, but with the
precious blood of Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and without
spot.’”

Here the conversation was interrupted by the bringing in of the
captain’s breakfast.

Max sprang up and rolled a small table to the side of the couch, while
Lulu quickly brought and spread upon it a snow-white damask cloth which
she took from a closet. Upon that the servant set the silver waiter she
had brought in. Then Lulu poured out a cup of coffee for her father,
while Max broke and seasoned his egg, and Grace handed him a plate and
the buttered toast.

It was evidently a delight to each one of them to wait upon him, and to
him to receive their loving service.

They hovered lovingly about him till his meal was finished, then went
to the dining-room for their own.

While they were thus engaged the captain had a delightful surprise.

As he lay there quietly musing, thinking, in fact, of the wife and
babies up-stairs, and longing to go to them, particularly for a sight
of her sweet face, a slender, girlish, white-robed figure glided in
at the open door and to the side of his couch, and, almost ere he was
aware of its vicinity, two arms were about his neck, two lips were
pressed to his in a long kiss of ardent affection.

“Vi, my precious little wife! my darling!” he cried, clasping her close
in an ecstasy of delight. “Can it be you, love? I did not know they
would let you come to me yet. Ah, I hope you are not exerting yourself
too much, glad as I am to see your dear face and have you in my arms
again.”

“I couldn’t stay away another minute,” she said, repeating her
caresses; “but Arthur gave his consent, and now they shan’t keep us
apart any more.

“Oh, my darling, tell me, are you suffering? Ah, it was so hard to know
you were in pain and not be able to come to you and at least try to
give you some relief.”

“I think it has been pretty hard on us both,” he said, stroking her
hair and gazing fondly into her eyes. “No, love, I don’t suffer now
when I’m careful to obey orders, and not move the injured limb,” he
added gayly, “here take this easy chair close by my side. Ah, I begin
to think Max knew what he was about when he wheeled it up! I rather
wondered at the time, but asked no questions.”

“Yes,” she said, leaning back in the chair and gazing on him with
devouring eyes. “I let our Maxie into the secret—dear boy that he
is—but charged him not to tell his father. I wanted to give you a
surprise.”

“You succeeded. Ah, dearest, what a feast it is just to lie and look at
you.”

“I echo your sentiments,” she returned, gayly, then sobering down, “My
dear husband, I want you to promise me that you will never mount that
horse again.”

“You are making common cause with Lulu against the poor fellow, I
perceive,” he said, with a humorous smile.

“Poor fellow, indeed! he must be very vicious to throw so good a
master, and that without the slightest provocation.”

“Ah, my love, there you are mistaken, for I have learned that the poor
animal had been subjected to very bad treatment just before being
brought from the stable. I have therefore dismissed Ajax and engaged
another man in his place. But set your heart at rest, for your dear
sake and my children’s I have consented to sell the horse. Negotiations
are being carried on now with a gentleman who desires to own him, and
will probably be completed to-day.”

“Oh, I am glad to hear it,” she cried. “Not for twice his money’s worth
would I have him given another opportunity to do you an injury.”

“I’m afraid I must acknowledge,” laughed the captain, “that I feel a
strong desire to teach him that I am his master; but for your sake, my
love, I consent to forego that pleasure.”

“Ah, who should ensure your success in that effort?” she asked with a
mischievous look. “You are, I know, a man accustomed to obedience from
those under your authority, but possibly you might fail in exacting it
from Thunderer.”

“Very true,” he returned, good-humoredly, “but perhaps the doubt makes
me all the more eager to prove my ability. Ah, here come the children!”
as childish footsteps came pattering down the hall.

“Mamma! Mamma Vi!” exclaimed the little girls, catching sight of her
as they crossed the threshold, “how nice to see you down again!” and
they ran to her to give and receive loving caresses, for even Lulu had
grown fond of their beautiful and lovable young mother. Persevering,
unvarying kindness had done its legitimate work.

“Thank you, dears,” Violet said, “you can’t be more pleased to see me
here than I am to be here; it has been very hard for me to stay away
from your papa while knowing that he was suffering; but a very great
comfort to feel so sure that he had loving attention from his children.”

“They have been the best and dearest of nurses,” he said, smiling
tenderly upon them.

“Here’s the mail, papa,” cried Max, coming in with the bag, and handing
it to his father.

The captain opened it with a key which he took from his pocket, handed
Violet her letters and began opening his own.

“Ah!” he exclaimed presently, “Mr. Mason accepts my terms, and
Thunderer is sold.”

“Oh, good! good!” cried Lulu, dancing up and down in delight. “Now,
papa, I think he’ll never have a chance to throw you again.”

“No, I presume not,” said the captain. “And I suppose you are all well
pleased that he is disposed of.”

“I certainly am,” said Violet.

“I too,” said Grace; “for O, papa, I should have been afraid for you
every time you got on his back.”

Max had not spoken, and his father, looking at him with a humorous
smile, asked, “And you, my boy? what have you to say about it?”

“I suppose I ought to be satisfied, papa,” returned the lad with some
little hesitation, “but—”

“Well, out with it, my son,” laughed the captain; “you did not exactly
want him sold, eh?”

“I—I believe I rather liked the idea of seeing you conquer him, papa,”
answered Max, a trifle shamefacedly. “I wouldn’t have you hurt again
for any thing, I’m sure,” he went on earnestly, “but I don’t believe
he could throw you again; for you would be on your guard another time
as you were not before, and you are a fine horseman, and I’m certain,
almost, could conquer any horse that ever was made.”

At that his father laughed outright, but there was certainly no
displeasure in his mirth.

“Perhaps it is just as well for my reputation for skill and prowess
that they should not be tested too far,” he said.

“Max,” said Violet, “I like that speech of yours; and I believe if I
were a boy with such a father as yours, I should feel just as you do
about it.”

“What do you say to a holiday, children, in honor of your mamma’s
coming down stairs?” asked the captain.

There was a unanimous vote in favor of the motion.

“Then so it shall be,” he said. “Ring for the servants, Max; it is time
for family worship. After that we will send for the two babies to join
us and see what a merry time we can have.”

Little Elsie had been an almost daily visitor to her father, but the
new-comer only an occasional one. It was now some days since his last
visit.

“Does he grow, Vi?” asked the captain while they were waiting for the
coming of the nurses.

“Yes, indeed; and develops new beauties every day,” she answered gayly.
“At least so his mother thinks. Ah, here they come, the darlings!”

“Papa, papa!” shouted little Elsie, eagerly reaching out her arms to
her father. “Take her, papa.”

“Yes, bring her here,” he said.

He was still unable to stand or walk, as the injured limb had not yet
gained strength to bear his weight, but could now assume a sitting
posture; so for the first time in several weeks, the baby girl was
treated to a seat upon his knee.

She seemed to appreciate the privilege. “Elsie sit on papa’s lap,” she
cooed triumphantly; then putting one arm round his neck, she patted his
cheek with the other hand, and showered kisses upon him while he petted
and fondled her.

But she was soon ready to get down and go to her play.

Lulu had got possession of the tiny baby, was holding it very carefully
and gazing affectionately into the wee face, Max and Gracie standing
beside her, doing likewise.

“The little chap has grown sure enough,” remarked Max.

“Whom does he resemble, Max?” asked Violet.

“Nobody but himself, I think, Mamma Vi.”

“O Max, how disappointing!” she laughed. “Now, I have been thinking I
could see quite a striking likeness to both your papa and yourself.”

“Very complimentary to us both, Max,” laughed the captain in his turn.
“Bring him here, Lulu, and let me see if I can find that resemblance.”

“Well?” Violet said enquiringly, as he took the babe in his arms and
regarded it with earnest scrutiny.

“I must say I think it is largely in your imagination, my dear,”
replied her husband, “though I can’t say that he looks more like any
one else than like Max or his father.”

“Well, time will show,” she said, laughingly, and gazing at the babe
with all a mother’s admiring love, “we’ll see what you and Max have to
say in another month.”

After that no day passed without an interview between the captain and
his wife, and as soon as both were able for the short journey, they
went to Ion for a week, taking all the children with them. The Lelands
were there at the same time, and a very delightful holiday it proved to
all, old and young, guests and entertainers.

Then for another week the same company gathered at Fairview.

It was now late in the summer, and it seemed that every body was
longing for sea-breezes. Some one, one evening as they sat in the
veranda, expressed the desire and started the queries whether it would
not be advisable to go to some sea-side resort, and which was most to
be preferred.

The first question was soon decided in the affirmative.

Then Zoe exclaimed, “Let us go to Nantucket! We had such a delightful
time there; and we can travel nearly all the way by sea, so that the
journey will not be hard for our recovering invalids.”

The motion was carried by acclamation.

“Oh, I’m so glad!” cried Lulu, clapping her hands. “I’d rather go there
than to any other place I can think of. I liked it so much before, and
it’ll be twice as nice for me with you along, Eva; ’twill be such fun
to show you all the interesting places. And O, papa, may we take the
ponies with us?”

“Yes,” he said, “I shall arrange for that; quite for their sakes,
of course,” he added, jestingly, “for no doubt they will enjoy the
sea-breezes as much as the rest of us.”

“Oh, you are such a dear, good, kind papa,” laughed Lulu, giving him a
vigorous hug. “You’d never allow ponies or horses to be abused, but I
guess I know which you care most for—the ponies or your children.”

“Yes, indeed, we do,” Grace said, seizing his hand and lifting it to
her lips; “you love us ever so much more than you do the ponies; but
oh, I am so glad we are going, and that we may take them along; it’ll
be so nice to ride them there.”

But little preparation was needed, and in a few days the voyage was
begun. That and the sojourn upon the island which followed, were almost
one long delight to the children, and enjoyed but little less by the
older members of the party.

They went again to every place of interest they had visited before, and
with quite as much pleasure; they sailed again about the harbor by both
moonlight and daylight, went on fishing excursions and “squantums,” and
had many a delicious gallop over the breezy hills and downs.




                             CHAPTER XXII.


Every hour of the sojourn at Nantucket had been enjoyed by the
Raymonds, yet when they came in sight of Woodburn, with its lawn trees,
shrubbery and woods glorious in their autumn robes of crimson, scarlet,
russet and gold, every face was wreathed in smiles.

“Fleeting glories, but very beautiful while they last,” remarked the
captain.

“Yes, indeed,” said Violet; “I know no more charming place than home
after all!”

“Such a home as ours, Mamma Vi,” supplemented Max.

“Yes; it is just the very sweetest of homes,” cried Lulu, with
enthusiasm. “And yet it is nice to go away to the sea sometimes.”

“Yes,” replied her father, “change is pleasant and beneficial to almost
every one; and no doubt we shall enjoy our own home all the more for
having been absent from it for a time.”

The carriage drew up at the door, and they all alighted, to receive a
joyous welcome from Christine and the servants gathered about it.

A delicious supper was waiting, and was presently served up. Ample
justice was done it by the hungry travellers, especially the children.
Then, as there was still a good half-hour of daylight, they roamed over
house and grounds, delighted to renew their acquaintance with all their
old familiar haunts, and greatly pleased to find every thing in perfect
order.

The weather was charming, both on that day and for several subsequent
days, and the captain and Violet thought it well to take advantage of
it for paying and receiving visits among the family connection, before
settling down to the regular routine of home duties and occupations.
The days were pretty well-filled up with walks, rides, drives, and
social gatherings.

After that, while Violet busied herself with the oversight of
dressmakers and seamstresses, the captain resumed his duties as owner
of the estate, employer of household servants and out-of-door workmen,
and tutor to his children; the latter being required to at once begin
again their long-neglected studies.

Confinement to the house for several hours on the stretch, and
steady application to their books, were at first irksome; but papa
was lenient, and his pupils were sincerely desirous to merit his
approbation. There were no reprimands or complaints; study hours were
made short, and the afternoon walks and rides on the ponies found all
the more enjoyable for the industry that had preceded them.

But the second week of November brought with it a long, cold rain-storm
that put an end, for the time, to all out-door diversions.

Both Max and Lulu had always been very fond of exercise in the open
air, and now found it extremely wearisome to be shut up in the house
day after day. Lulu’s trial of the confinement and sameness was rather
more continuous than her brother’s, as he could occasionally venture
out in weather which their father considered quite too inclement to be
braved by a little girl.

She had been remarkably good, docile and obedient for months; ever
since that time when she had had to do without Fairy for a week. She
began to look upon herself as quite a reformed character; but her
father, though greatly pleased and encouraged by the improvement in her
behavior, felt quite certain that there would be times when the old
tempers and habits would resume their sway for a season.

One morning when the sun had scarcely shown his face for a week,
Lulu woke feeling dull and irritable; all the more out of humor on
discovering that she had overslept herself, and would have scarcely
time to attend properly to the duties of the toilet before the
breakfast-bell would ring.

She sprang up and began dressing in feverish haste.

Punctuality was one of the minor virtues which the captain was
particular in enforcing; but to appear at the table looking otherwise
than neat, would be a still more serious breach of discipline than to
be a trifle behind time.

“Oh, dear, why did I sleep so late?” she said, giving herself an
impatient shake. “I sha’n’t have time to do every thing I ought to and
get to the dining-room to sit down with the rest, and papa will be
displeased; and I do so hate to have him displeased with me. There, I
hear his voice in the next room! Gracie will have him all to herself,
and I shall miss every bit of the nice talk before breakfast.”

The old adage, “The more haste, the less speed,” found exemplification
in her experience on this occasion. In vain she tried to dress with
dispatch; the comb tangled in her hair, a button came off her boot, she
couldn’t pin her collar straight, and in the midst of her efforts to do
so, the bell rang.

“There it goes! and I haven’t said my prayers yet; I’ll have to omit
them this time. But perhaps papa will ask me about it; he sometimes
does.”

She knelt for a hurried sentence or two, putting no heart into them,
rose up hastily and ran down to the dining-room.

The blessing had been asked and her father was helping the plates. He
gave her a grave look as she took her place at the table.

“Good-morning, daughter,” he said; “you are quite behind time; what is
your excuse?”

“I overslept myself, papa; and then everything seemed to go wrong with
my dressing.”

“You must try to be more punctual,” he said. “I was sorry to miss my
morning kiss from my eldest daughter, and the little chat we usually
have before breakfast,” he added in a kindly tone.

“Oh, mayn’t I give you the kiss after breakfast?”

“No; I will take it now, and another after breakfast,” he answered with
a smile, and she sprang to his side, eager to give and receive the
accustomed caress.

“Is that the punishment for being unpunctual, papa?” asked Max,
facetiously.

“For the first offence,” replied his father; “and I don’t expect a
repetition of it from my usually prompt eldest daughter.”

“She is that,” acknowledged Max; “I’ll be more likely to be unpunctual
another time than she; and then, papa, I’ll expect the very same
punishment you have given her.”

“Ah, don’t make too sure of it; circumstances alter cases, and much
will depend upon the excuse you bring.”

Lulu felt grateful at the time for her father’s leniency, but her
fretfulness and irritability soon returned, and all went wrong with
her; her recitations were poor, and when told her lessons must be
learned over, she sulked and pouted.

Her father thought it best not to seem to notice her ill-humor, but did
not relax in his requirements. She must give her mind to her tasks and
recite them creditably, he said, before she could be dismissed to her
play. She had scarcely succeeded in that when the dinner-bell rang.

Her face did not wear its usual pleasant expression during the meal,
and she had nothing to say, though all around her were chatting in
their accustomed cheery fashion. Once or twice her father gave her a
troubled look, but he administered no reproof.

On leaving the table he repaired to the library to attend to some
correspondence. He was giving all his thoughts to that when a jesting
remark in Max’s voice, speaking from the adjoining room, caught his ear.

“What a very amiable countenance, Miss Raymond! and how very agreeable
you have made yourself all day!”

“Max,” returned Lulu’s voice, in angry tones, “if you don’t quit
teasing me, I’ll—”

“Max! Lulu!” interrupted the captain, sternly, “come here to me; both
of you.”

Max obeyed instantly, appearing before his father looking very red and
ashamed; but Lulu did not move.

“Lulu, did you hear me bid you come to me?” asked her father, with
added sternness in his tones.

“Yes, sir,” she answered; then immediately added, in an under-tone,
“but I’ll not come a step till I get ready.”

But low as the tone was, he heard her; a deeply-pained expression swept
across his features, he turned suddenly pale, but rose without a word
and moved with a calm, quiet step in the direction of his rebellious
child.

Lulu started to her feet as he appeared in sight. “I will, papa; I’m
coming.”

“Tardy obedience following upon a most insolent refusal to obey,” he
said, taking her hand and leading her to the side of the chair from
which he had just risen.

He resumed his seat, dropping her hand, and she stood there with
burning cheeks and eyes fixed on the carpet. Her refusal to obey had
been upon the impulse of the moment, and not intended for her father’s
ear, but she had spoken the insolent words louder than she was aware of
doing.

The captain addressed himself first to Max: “I am sorry, my son, to
find that you have not sufficient regard for either your sister’s
feelings or my wishes to lead you to refrain from teasing her; though
you know it is an easy matter to rouse her quick temper and so get her
into trouble.”

“It was very thoughtless and wrong in me, papa,” said Max, frankly. “I
beg your pardon, and Lulu’s too, and will try not to do so again.”

“That is right, my boy, and I am not angry with you now; but as this
is not the first time I have had to reprove you for the same fault, I
think I must inflict a slight punishment to impress the lesson upon
your mind. You will go to your room and stay there till the tea-bell
rings.”

“Yes, sir; it is a much lighter punishment than I deserve,” Max said,
moving instantly to obey.

He had gone and Lulu was left alone with her justly-displeased father.
There was silence for a moment. She still stood by the side of his
chair, and though her eyes were downcast, she felt that his were fixed
upon her. Her countenance was sullen; he could perceive in it no sign
of penitence.

“I am quite certain,” he said at length, speaking in a grave, sad tone,
“that it will not be long before my little daughter will be almost
overwhelmed with remorse on account of this day’s behavior toward the
father whom, I know beyond a doubt, she loves with all her heart.”

Before he had finished his sentence a change had come over her. “O
papa,” she cried, suddenly moving closer to his side and throwing her
arm round his neck, “I’m sorry _now_; oh, so, _so_ sorry and ashamed!
Please, _please_ forgive me for saying such naughty, _naughty_,
rebellious words to you; and please punish me for it just as hard as
you can!” and dropping her head on his shoulder she ended with a storm
of tears and sobs.

“I am afraid I must indeed punish you for your own sake,” he said,
sighing deeply; “it would hardly do to pass lightly over so flagrant
a breach of discipline, so insolent a refusal to submit to lawful
authority.”

“I didn’t mean to speak so you’d hear me, papa.”

“Ah! I am not at all sure that that admission sets your conduct in a
more favorable light.”

“Papa, I am sorry: oh, I didn’t think I’d ever be so bad again! But
every thing goes wrong with me to-day.”

“Surely then, you did not begin the day aright? Did you ask with your
heart that you might be kept from sin?”

“I did say a prayer, papa, but I was so late I had to hurry.”

“And so offered only lip service?”

She was silent.

“Ah, my child,” he said, “no wonder you were left to fall into grievous
sin! Approaching the King of kings with a haste and irreverence that
would be insulting to even an earthly monarch.”

“Oh, I never thought how very wicked it was!” she sobbed. “You’ll have
to punish me for that, too. Please do it now, papa, so I’ll have it
over.”

He did not answer her for several minutes; then he said: “I think I
shall try a new plan with you. As you were pleased to refuse obedience
to an order from me, I shall not give you another for some days; for
the four remaining days of this week you may try self-government;
regulating your conduct to suit yourself, except that you must not go
out of the house while the weather is inclement, or out of sight of it
at any time.

“I shall give you no command, direction, instruction or advice
concerning your daily duties; nor must you feel at liberty to come
to me for any, or to treat me with any greater familiarity than you
would use toward a gentleman in whose house you were only a visitor;
duties and privileges are not to be separated, and while released
from the duties of a child, you can have no right to claim a child’s
privileges.”

“But I don’t want to be released, papa,” she burst out in her vehement
way; “I want you to order me, and I do mean to obey the very moment you
speak; always, _always_!”

“So you think now,” he said, “but I am not at all sure that your good
resolution would last for any length of time; you may be quite as
willful and rebellious to-morrow as you have been to-day. You need, and
must have the lesson I hope you will gain by being left to be, for a
time, a law to yourself.

“Understand that I do not propose to subject you to any harsh
treatment; on the contrary I shall be as polite and as considerate of
your comfort as if you were my guest.”

“I don’t want to be company!” she exclaimed. “I don’t want you to be
polite to me! I want you to punish me, and then let me be your very own
child, just as I always have been! O, papa, please, _please_ do!”

“It is very far from being a pleasure to me to punish you,” he
returned, again sighing deeply as he spoke, “and I have quite decided
to try this other plan. I do not expect to enjoy it, either, any more
than you will; it will be a sad thing to me to have to do without the
loving attentions and caresses of my dear little daughter Lulu, even
for four days.”

She looked up into his face in blank dismay.

“O, papa, you can’t mean that I am not to kiss you, or have you kiss
me, for four whole days? I could never, never stand it!”

“I do not say that; I should not refuse a kiss to a little girl
visitor, should she ask for it—and I might even offer her one—but I
certainly should not expect to treat her, or be treated by her, with
the same affectionate familiarity which you and I have been accustomed
to use toward each other.”

“Oh, I sha’n’t know how to behave to you at all!” she cried
despairingly.

“When in doubt, you will only have to consider how you would expect a
little girl visitor—Eva, for instance—to act toward me. Now you may go,
for I have not time to talk any more to you at present.”

“Am I to go to my own room and stay there?”

“You will go where you please, and do what you please. You are your own
mistress for four days.”

Her own mistress! How often had she looked longingly forward to the
time when her right to be that should be acknowledged. But now—Oh, it
wasn’t felicity at all! it was misery to think that for four whole days
she was to be only like a stranger guest to papa, instead of his own
dearly loved and petted child.

Slowly, and feeling very much like one who had been suddenly turned out
of paradise, she went from his presence and on up the stairs to her
own rooms.

Grace was in the nursery, at play with the baby-sister; she heard their
voices and merry laughter as she passed the door; but she had no heart
for joining them and sharing their gayety; she did not pause till she
had reached the tiny room in the tower; the most private spot to which
she could have access at that time.

She sat down by the window, and leaning her arms on the sill, gazed out
into the grounds—looking desolate enough just now under leaden clouds
and swept by wind and sleet.

“It looks exactly as I feel, out there!” she sighed to herself. “O,
dear! four whole days! such a long, long while to be treated as only a
visitor!”

Then she fell to considering in what respect her father’s treatment of
her would differ during the four days, from what it ordinarily was, and
in what she must alter her conduct toward him.

Eva would certainly never think of running to him to put her arms round
his neck and gaze lovingly into his eyes, or taking a seat uninvited
upon his knee; nor would he invite her to that seat, or draw her into
his arms to hold her close to his heart and kiss her over and over
again, as if he thought her one of the dearest and sweetest things on
earth.

Oh, no; those were among the privileges and delights that had to be
dispensed with along with the duties of daughterhood; and oh, what
delights they seemed now that they must be resigned for a time! Ah,
if papa would but relent and commute her sentence to the severest
punishment he could possibly inflict, what a relief it would be!

Then recalling the insolent, rebellious words she had addressed to him,
she buried her face in her hands, almost overwhelmed with shame and
remorse.

What would she not give never to have spoken them! Oh, what base
ingratitude to the kindest and dearest of fathers! How those dreadful
words must have pained his loving heart! how had she found it in hers
to hurt him so? for, oh, indeed, she did love him dearly, _dearly_;
though she could hardly expect him to believe it any more!

What if he should decide that she didn’t love him, and so that he
didn’t want to keep her for his own, and should tell her she must go
away and be her own mistress always, or somebody else’s child!

Her heart almost stood still at the dreadful idea; but in a moment she
remembered with relief, that he had once said he would have no right to
let her go away from his care and authority—even if he wanted to be rid
of her—because God had given her to him to be protected and provided
for and trained up for his service; so there could be no danger of
that; for papa was a good Christian man who always tried to do exactly
as the Bible said.

It was growing dark; the supper-bell would soon ring, and—should she go
down to the table?

She dreaded meeting the family, and felt ashamed to look her father
in the face; and since she was her own mistress, she could do as she
pleased about it; but she would rather do as she supposed papa would
wish; and besides she began to feel hungry.

The bell rang and she obeyed the summons.

As she stepped out into the upper hall she and Max met face to face.

His eyes opened wide in surprise.

“Why do you look at me so;” she asked, half angrily, and feeling her
cheeks grow hot.

“Because I thought you would surely have to stay in your room for at
least a week, after talking as you did to papa this afternoon. I should
never dare to speak so to him, and I wouldn’t for the world hurt his
feelings so. If you had seen the pained look that came over his face——”

“Oh, Max, don’t!” she cried, with a burst of tears. “I could kill
myself for it! I don’t know what possessed me! I didn’t really mean to
say the words, but I thought out loud before I knew it.”

There was no time for any thing more, for they had reached the door of
the dining-room, and, as they passed in, Lulu hastily wiping away her
tears, found themselves in the presence of their parents who had just
sat down to the table.

Max and Lulu took their places in silence, the latter carefully keeping
her eyes down, that she might not meet those of her father. He asked
the blessing, then helped the plates, giving her, when her turn came,
what he knew she liked, without question or remark. She ate in silence,
the others chatting pleasantly among themselves as usual.

Presently a servant, passing a plate of waffles, handed them to Lulu.

The captain thought it not best, as a rule, for the children to eat hot
bread at night, but he sometimes made exceptions.

“Papa, may I have one?” she asked.

“I have nothing to say about it,” was his reply.

Violet gave her husband a look of surprise.

Lulu’s lip quivered. “I’ll not take it,” she said in a low tone to the
servant; then, a very little louder, and with a perceptible tremble
in her voice, “Mamma Vi, please excuse me,” and hardly waiting for an
answer, she rose and left the room.

Again Violet looked at her husband. “I fear the child is not well,” she
said enquiringly.

“Possibly not,” he sighed, “though I have heard no complaint of
illness.”

A light broke upon Violet, and she began talking of something else.

But the captain’s fatherly heart was stirred at the thought that
perhaps his child was not quite well; that there might be found in
threatened illness, some excuse for the misconduct of the day; and on
leaving the table he went in search of Lulu.

She was in the little tower-room again, and hearing him call to her
from the adjoining room, hastened to obey the summons.

“I am here, papa,” she said, appearing before him with drooping head
and downcast eyes.

“Are you not well?” he asked, and his tone was very kind.

“Yes, sir,” she answered tremulously, and without raising her eyes.

“I want you always to tell me when you feel at all ill,” he said. “We
are all expecting to spend the evening together in the usual way, and
will be glad to have you with us,” he added; then turned and left the
room.

“He didn’t call me daughter, or his child, or any thing, but Lulu,” she
sighed to herself; “and any other time he would have taken my hand and
led me with him. Oh, it isn’t nice at all to be treated like a visitor!”

She had always greatly enjoyed the evenings when they were just a
family by themselves, yet she shrank from accepting her father’s
invitation, feeling that she could not be one of them as heretofore.

But she found it lonely staying by herself, and at length sought the
room where the others were.

Grace, seated on her father’s knee, hailed her appearance with a glad,
“O Lu, so you’ve come at last! I was thinking I’d have to go and find
you. You’ve missed the fun with the babies; they’ve just been carried
away. Here’s a chair Max has set for you close beside papa; or perhaps
you can sit on his other knee.”

“I’ll sit here,” Lulu said, taking possession of an easy chair on the
opposite side of the fire.

“Why, Lu!” exclaimed Grace in astonishment, “what can be the matter
with you? Always before you’ve wanted to get just as close to papa as
ever you could.”

There was a moment of silence; then Lulu answered in a low,
half-tremulous tone, “I have not been a good girl to-day, Gracie, and
don’t deserve to sit close to papa.”

Then Max made a diversion by asking his father a question in regard to
his lessons for the next day.

“Gracie, will you get papa his slippers?” the captain asked presently.

“Oh, yes! if I may, papa,” she answered brightly, but with an enquiring
look at Lulu, who had always hitherto claimed that little service as
belonging to her.

“Papa doesn’t want me to do it, Gracie,” she said in a low, hurt tone.

He took no notice. Grace brought the slippers and was rewarded with a
smile and a kiss.

Then Violet came in with a bit of fancy work in her hand. Max brought
out the book they had been enjoying together for several evenings past,
and handed it to his father.

While the captain was turning over the leaves in search of the place
where he had left off the night before, Lulu drew quietly near the
table and took up a paper-cutter and a magazine that had come by that
afternoon’s mail.

“Don’t trouble yourself to cut those leaves, Lulu,” her father said;
“Max will do it for me.”

She dropped magazine and knife as though they had burned her, turned
away with quivering lip and eyes full of tears, and presently stole
away to her own room, went to bed and cried herself to sleep.

She knew it was not worth while to stay up for the usual good-night
visit from papa, for of course he would never think of paying one to a
little girl guest.

And in the morning when he came to the children’s sitting-room Grace
had him to herself.

Lulu met him first at the table, when he greeted her with a pleasant
“Good-morning, Lulu,” but offered no caress, and she did not ask for
one, though she had never felt more hungry for it.

She went to the school-room at the appointed hour and applied herself
industriously to her tasks, but he did not call her to recite; the
others were heard and dismissed, but she sat unnoticed at her desk. Her
father was at his, writing letters, and at length she rose and drew
near him.

“May I say my lessons now, papa?”

“I do not teach visitors,” he said, in a tone of polite astonishment;
“I instruct no one but my own children.”

“But I _am_ your own; your very very _own_! I _know_ I am for you have
told me so many and many a time!” she cried, bursting into sobs and
tears.

“Yes, you are,” he said gently, “and I purpose to claim my right in you
again one of these days; for not for all the gold of California would I
resign it entirely; but you must remember that for the present you are
considered only a visitor and your own mistress.”

“But I don’t want to be my own mistress! I want to be taught and
directed and controlled by you. O, papa, if you would only punish me
and forgive me, I don’t think I’d ever want to be rebellious again!”

“You shall be restored to all a daughter’s duties and privileges when
I deem that the proper time has come; but that is not yet,” he said;
“I love you just as dearly as ever, but I think you need the lesson I
am giving you, and that you could get it in no easier way. It grieves
me more than I can tell to see my dear little daughter unhappy, but
now and always I must seek her permanent good, rather than her present
pleasure.”

“You’re kind to tell me that you love me yet, papa,” she said, wiping
away her tears, “for I don’t deserve that you should, and I ’most
thought that you had stopped. Papa, I hate myself for hurting you so
yesterday.”

“I don’t doubt it, my child, and when the right time comes I will
listen to all you wish to say to me about it, but now I must attend to
my correspondence.”

“Then I’ll go away; but oh, mayn’t I have one kiss first? you said
you’d give Eva one if she asked you for it.”

Then he drew her to him, kissed her twice with warmth of affection, and
she went away feeling less unhappy than she had since her rebellious
reply to the last order he had given her.

She found Grace in their sitting-room dressing a doll.

“O Lu,” she cried, glancing up at her sister as she came in, “you’ve
been crying! What’s the matter? is papa angry with you?”

“He says I must be my own mistress all the rest of this week,
because—because I was disobedient and rebellious yesterday.”

Grace looked puzzled. “Don’t you like it, Lu? I thought you always
wished you could be.”

“I used to, but oh, it isn’t a bit nice, Gracie! I’m ever so much
happier when papa tells me what to do.”

“Yes, I like that best.”

“And he won’t let me do a single thing for him,” Lulu went on, “and
it’s dreadful; for I just love to wait on him and do all his little
errands about the house.”

She did not attempt it again, however, until restored to a daughter’s
place.




                            CHAPTER XXIII.


Lulu joined the rest of the family that evening and listened to the
reading, but was careful not to take any liberties inconsistent with
her position as only a guest. She asked for a goodnight kiss and
received it, but that was all; there was no close, loving embrace given
with it, as in former days, no words of tender fatherly affection were
spoken.

The next day and the next passed very slowly to her, with no lessons
to learn, no loving little services to render to her father, no
delightfully confidential chats with him; while by reason of mental
disquietude all employments had lost their usual interest for her; her
heart was very heavy because she felt she was not in full favor with
either her earthly or her heavenly Father.

For months past she had been happy in the consciousness that Jesus
loved her; that he was her Saviour and she his disciple, his servant,
belonging to him even more entirely than to the father whose “very own”
she loved to call herself.

But in rebelling against the authority of that earthly parent she had
broken God’s command, “Honor thy father and thy mother,” and the light
of his countenance was withdrawn from her.

The captain sat reading alone in the library on Friday evening, the
rest of the family having retired to their rooms for the night. A
slight sound caused him to look up from his book to find, much to
his surprise, Lulu standing by his side and wearing a very troubled
countenance.

“What is it?” he asked. “You bade me good-night some time ago, and I
thought had gone to bed. Are you not well, my child?”

“Yes, papa; but—papa, if Eva was troubled in her mind, and came to you
for help, wouldn’t you listen to her and tell her what to do?” she
asked, low and hesitatingly, her head drooping, her eyes on the carpet.

“Certainly; I should be very glad to do anything in my power to relieve
her, and if instead of Eva, it were one of my own children, I surely
should not be less ready to help and comfort. Tell me freely what it is
that troubles you.”

As he spoke he laid aside his book and took one of the small hands in
his, holding it in a tender, loving clasp.

Lulu’s tears began to fall. “Papa,” she sobbed, “when I behaved so
rebelliously toward you, I sinned against God, and I am afraid he is
angry with me. O papa, what shall I do?”

“Go at once and ask his forgiveness, daughter; ask in the name of
Jesus, and for his sake.

“‘If any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ,
the righteous.’

“‘If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our
sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.’”

“Papa, I thought I was a Christian; I thought I loved Jesus and had
given my heart to him; but now I am afraid it was all a mistake. Oh, do
you think a real, true Christian could behave so wickedly as I did the
other day?”

“If a man running a race should step aside for a moment from the path,
or stumble and fall, then get up and go on, I should not think he had
proved himself to have been mistaken in believing that he had really
set out to run it, and in the right path. Should a soldier fall back
for a moment before the enemy, I should not think that proved that he
did not love his country and his flag, and would never fight bravely
for them.

“But, my child, there is no need to settle the question whether you
really came at the time you thought you did; the way is open still and
you may come now; come anew, or for the first time. Jesus still invites
you, still says sweetly to you, ‘Come unto me and I will give you
rest.’ ‘Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.’”

“Papa, pray for me,” she entreated; “please ask Jesus to forgive me and
love me; to help me to come to him now, and always, always keep close
to him.”

Then, with her hand still in his, he knelt with her by his side, and
earnestly besought the Lord for her, “his dear, erring, but penitent
child.”

They rose from their knees, and lifting her tearful eyes to his face
with a look of ardent filial love, “Thank you, dear papa,” she said
in faltering tones; “I said the words after you in my heart, and I do
believe Jesus heard and has forgiven me and loves me now.”

“Yes, dear child, we have his own word for it, ‘Him that cometh to me I
will in no wise cast out.’”

He still held her hand in his, and now, laying the other tenderly on
her head, he said solemnly: “‘The Lord bless thee and keep thee: the
Lord make his face shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee: the Lord
lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee peace.’”

Then, with a good-night kiss, he sent her away to her rest.

“What a dear, _dear_ father he is,” she said to herself as she went
softly up the stairs again: “how I do love him! and oh, how I did
want to put my arms round his neck and hug him tight! It would have
been disobedience, though, and so I couldn’t; but to-morrow night I
may; for then this dreadful time of being my own mistress, and only a
visitor, will be over, and he’ll take me for his very own child again;
then oh, how happy I shall be!”

The next evening, as the good-nights were being said, she gave him a
most wistful, longing look.

“Yes,” he said, in a grave, serious, yet kindly tone, “I am coming to
your room for a little good-night talk.”

“Oh, I am so glad, papa!” she cried, her face lighting up with
joy, then went skipping and dancing to her room, hurried through
her preparations for the night, and when she heard his approaching
footsteps, ran to open the door and bid him welcome.

“It seems such a long while I’ve been without this, the pleasantest of
all my times,” she said, as he sat down and drew her into his arms with
the old fond gesture and tender caress.

“Well, daughter,” he said, “shall I give you another week of freedom
from my control and being your own mistress? or have you had enough of
it?”

“Oh, quite, _quite_ enough, papa! a great deal _more_ than enough!” she
exclaimed, nestling closer in his arms. “I do think I’ll never want to
be my own mistress again while I have such a dear, wise, kind father
to rule and direct me; to love and care for me. Papa, I actually feel
hungry for an order from you, that I may have the pleasure of obeying
it. And oh, it will be so delightful to wait on you and do all sorts of
little things for you again, if only you will let me!”

“Gladly, dear child,” he said, holding her close to his heart; “you can
scarcely rejoice more than your father does in your restoration to a
daughter’s place. I have found it a sad thing to have to do without the
loving services of my dear daughter Lulu, and this sweet interchange of
endearments with her.”

“Oh, it is ever so sweet to me!” she said. “But,” as if struck by a
sudden and not pleasant thought, “aren’t you going to punish me now for
my disobedience? Don’t you have to, because of your Bible orders?”

“I think not; I think you are penitent enough this time to make it
right for me to accord you free forgiveness; and I am very, _very_ glad
to do so,” he said, repeating his caresses.


                               THE END.

                ————————————— End of Book  —————————————




                    Transcriber’s Note (continued)


Errors in punctuation have been corrected. Inconsistencies in spelling,
grammar, capitalisation, and hyphenation are as they appear in the
original publication except where noted below:

  Page 10 – “arn’t” changed to “aren’t” (aren’t we?)

  Page 15 – “spite” changed to “in spite” (in spite of the ridicule)

  Page 27 – “he” changed to “be” (Zoe and I may be counted on)

  Page 27 – “Leris” changed to “Levis” (Shall we not, Levis?)

  Page 81 – “our’s” changed to “ours” (What a nice home ours is,
            papa!)

  Page 131 – “Capttain” changed to “Captain” (Captain Raymond)

  Page 149 – “exlaimed” changed to “exclaimed” (she exclaimed)

  Page 151 – “be” changed to “he” (he said at last)

  Page 173 – “wont” changed to “won’t” (just won’t be)

  Page 189 – “practisced” changed to “practiced” (I practiced a whole
             hour)

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 67309 ***