that they would go, he asked them to take the rear in retreating, they indignantly refused, saying, *You mean to sacrifice us. When you marched down you said there would be no fighting for Indians; we might go down and smoke our pipes; numbers of our warriors have been killed, and you mean to sacrifice us also.'
" The council broke up, the Indians fled, the panic was communicated to the rest of the army, and they fled in terror to their boats on Oneida Lake, the Indians making merry over their flight, hurrying on after them with the warning cry: *They are coming, they are coming!' So alarmed were the Tories and British^troops that they threw away their knapsacks and their arms as they ran. Also the Indians killed or robbed many of them and took their boats, so that St. Leger said, 'they became more formidable than the enemy we had to expect.' "
"And did the Americans chase them that time, sir?" asked Walter.
"Yes; Gansevoort at once sent word to Arnold that the British were retreating, and Arnold sent nine hundred men in pursuit. The next day he himself reached the fort; but he and his men presently marched back to the main army, then at Stillwater, leaving Colonel Willett in command of Fort Schuyler.
"So ended the siege of ^which Lossing says that 'in its progress were shown the courage.
skill, and endurance of the Americans everywhere so remarkable in the revolution.'"
"Yes, sir," said Walter; "but will you please tell what became of Hon-Yost?"
"Yes; he went with the British as far as Wood Creek, then managed to desert and at once carried the news of Arnold's approach to Fort Schuyler. He went back to Fort Dayton, afterward fled with his family and fourteen of his Tory friends, and joined Sir John Johnson. When the war was over he returned to the valley, where he died in 1818."
CHAPTER VIL
** Now, papa, if you're not too tired won't you please tell us about the writing of tlie 'Star-Spangled Banner'?" pleaded Lulu, with a smiling, coaxing look up into her father's face.
" I am not too tired, and if all wish to hear it, will willingly tell the story to the best of my ability," he replied, taking in his and softly patting the hand she had laid on his knee.
"I'm sure we will all be glad to hear it, sir," said Walter. " It happened in the War of 1812, didn't it?"
"Yes. The British had taken Washington, where they had behaved more like vandals than civilized men, burning and destroying both public buildings and private property—the Capitol, the President's house, the Arsenal, the library of Congress, and barracks for nearly three thousand troops; besides private property—a large ropewalk, some houses on Capitol Hill, and a tavern; all of which they burned. The light ©f the fire was seen at Baltimore, and the news of the capture of Washington caused intense excitement there; particularly because it was known that the British were so much exasper-
ated at the Baltimoreans on account of its being the place whence had been sent out many swift clipper-built vessels and expert seamen who had struck heavy blows at British commerce on the high seas.
"Baltimore is on the Patapsco River, ten miles from Chesapeake Bay. The narrow strait connecting harbor and bay is defended by Fort McHenry, which stood there at that time. It was expected that Baltimore would be the next point of attack by the enemy, and there was, of course, great excitement.
" General Samuel Smith, who had been a revolutionary officer, at once exerted himself to prepare both Baltimore and Annapolis for successful defence. He was a fine officer. You all perhaps remember him as commander at Fort MiflGlin when attacked by the British and Hessians in the Revolutionary War. He had been active in this war also, ever since the appearance of a British squadron in the Chesapeake, in the spring of the previous year, 1813."
"And this was in the fall of 1814, was it not, captain?" queried Evelyn.
" Yes, early in September. In the spring of 1813 it was rumored that the British were coming to attack the city, and several persons were arrested as traitors and spies. Also five thousand men were quickly in arms ready to defend the city, and companies of militia came pouring
in from the country. All this within a few hours.
"Then General Striker's brigade and other military bodies, to the number of five thousand and with forty pieces of artillery, were reviewed. The marine artillery of Baltimore was one hundred and sixty in number, commanded by Captain George Stiles, and composed of masters and master's mates of vessels there. It was a corps celebrated for its gallantry, and was armed with forty-two pounders.
" Finding the city so well prepared to give them a warm reception the British abandoned their intention to attack it, went to sea, and Baltimore enjoyed a season of repose. But, as I have been telling you, they returned after the capture of Washington, and again the people set to work at preparations for defence.
" General Smith was made first in command of all the military force intended to insure the safety of the city. But it is with the attack upon Fort McHenry and its repulse that we are concerned. The fort was garrisoned by about a thousand men under the command of Major George Armistead."
"Regulars, sir?" asked Walter.
"Some were, others volunteers," replied the captain. "There were, besides, four land batteries to assist in the work. But I will not go into particulars in regard to them, as I know
they would be rather uninteresting to the greater part of my listeners.
"It was on Sunday evening, September 11, that the British were seen in strong force at the mouth of the Patapsco, preparing to land at North Point, fifteen miles from the city by land, twelve by water. Their fleet anchored off that point, two miles from the shore. It was a beautiful night, a full moon shining in a cloudless sky, and the air balmy.
"Ross intended to take Baltimore by surprise, and had boasted that he would eat his Sunday dinner there. At two o'clock 'in the morning the boats were lowered from his ships, and seamen and land troops went on shore, protected by several gun brigs anchored very near. The men were armed, of course, and each boat had a carronade ready for action. Admiral Cockburn and General Ross were on shore by about seven o'clock with 5000 land troops, 2000 seamen, and 2000 marines.
" Their intention was to march rapidly upon Baltimore and take it by surprise, therefore they carried as little baggage as possible, and only eighty rounds apiece of ammunition. At the same time a frigate was sent to make soundings in the channel leading to Baltimore, as the navy was intended to take part in the attack upon, the city."
"Oh, wasn't everybody terribly frightened, papa?" asked Grace.
"There was a good deal of alarm," replied the captain, "and many of the citizens fled, with their valuables, to places in the interior of the country, filling the hotels for nearly a hundred miles north of the city.
" I will not at present go into the details of the battle of North Point, which immediately followed, but will tell of what was going on upon the water.
" The British frigates, schooners, sloops, and bomb-ketches had passed into the Patapsco early in the morning, while Ross was moving from North Point, and anchored off Fort McHenry, but beyond the reach of its guns. The bomb and rocket vessels were so posted as to act upon Fort McHenry and the fortifications on the hill, commanded by Rodgers. The frigates were stationed farther outward, the water being too shallow to allow them to approach within four or five miles of the city, or two and a half of the fort.
" Besides, the Americans had sunk twenty-four vessels in the narrow channel between Fort McHenry and Lazaretto Point, to prevent the passage of the vessels of the enemy.
" That night was spent by the British fleet in preparations for the m/^rrow's attack upon the
fort and the entrenchments on the hill, and on the morning of the 13th their bomb-vessels opened a heavy iire upon the American works, about seven o'clock, and at a distance of two miles. They kept up a heavy bombardment until three o'clock in the afternoon.
"Armistead at once opened the batteries of Fort McHenry upon them, but, after keeping up a brisk fire for some time, discovered that his missiles fell short and were harmless. It was a great disappointment to find that he must endure the tremendous shower of the shells of the enemy without being able to return it in kind, or do anything whatever to check it. But our brave fellows kept at their posts, enduring the storm with great courage and fortitude.
"At length a bomb-shell dismounted one of the twenty-four pounders, killing Lieutenant Claggett and wounding several of his men. That caused some confusion, which Cochrane perceived, and, hoping to profit by it, he ordered three of his bomb-vessels to move up nearer the fort, thinking to thus increase the effectiveness of his guns.
"No movement could have been more acceptable to Armistead, and he quickly took advantage of it, ordering a general cannonade and bombardment from every part of the fort, thus punishing the enemy so severely that in less than half an hour he fell back to his old anchorage.
**One of their rocket vessels was so badly injured that, to save her from being entirely destroyed, a number of small boats had to be sent to tow her out of the reach of Armistead's guns. The garrison gave three_^cheer8 and ceased firing.
" The British vessels returned to their former stations and again opened fire, keeping up, with very little intermission, a furious bombardment until past midnight, when it was discovered that they (the British) had sent a pretty large force up the Patapsco to capture Fort Covington, commanded by Lieutenant Newcomb, of the United States Navy, and the City Battery, then attack Fort McHenry in the rear. For this purpose there had been sent one thousand two hundred and fifty men in barges, with scaling ladders and other implements for storming the fort. But providentially their errand was made known to the garrison of Fort McHenry in good season by the throwing up of rockets to examine the shores, and not the fort alone but also two redoubts on the Patapsco immediately opened a heavy fire upon them, and drove them away.
" So heavy was the firing that the houses of Baltimore were shaken to their very foundations. Lossing tells us that Rodgers's men in Fort Covington worked their guns with effect, but to Webster's continuous cannonade with
his six gun battery Armistead said he was persuaded the country was much indebted for the final repulse of the enemy. The historian adds that he thinks it not too much to say that Webster's gallant conduct on that occasion saved both Fort McHenry and the city."
"Were any of the British killed, sir?" asked Walter.
"Yes, a large number; also two of their vessels were sunk."
"And did they go on firing at the fort?"
"They did, until seven o'clock in the morning of the 14th, then ceased entirely."
" Oh, papa, you have not told us of the writing of the * Star-Spangled Banner'!" exclaimed Lulu. "Wasn't it that night it was written?"
"Yes; by Mr. Francis S. Key, a resident of Georgetown in the District of Columbia, who was at that time a volunteer in the light artillery commanded by Major Peter.
*^When the British returned to their vessels after the capture of Washington, they carried with them Dr. Beanes, a well known physician of Upper Marlborough. Cockburn carried him away on board the flag-ship of Admiral Cochrane, in spite of the intercession of his friends.
" Then Mr. Key was entreated by the friends to go to Cochrane and intercede for the doctor's release. Key consented, obtained permission of the President, and went under a flag of truce-
in the cartel ship Minden in company with General Sicinner.
**When they reached the British fleet it was at the mouth of the Potomac, preparing to attack Baltimore, and though Cochrane agreed to release Dr. Beanes, he refused to let him or his friends return then. They were placed on board the Surprise and courteously treated. The fleet sailed up to the Patapsco, and they were transferred to their own vessel, but with a guard of marines to prevent them from landing and communicating with their friends and countrymen.
" Their vessel was anchored in sight of Fort McHenry, and from her deck the Americans watched the fight, oh, so anxiously! and though it was, as I have said, over before midnight, those anxious"watchers did not know until morning how it had ended—whether by surrender of the fort, or the abandonment on the part of the enemy of the attempt to take it. It was with very anxious hearts they waited for the coming of the dawn, but at last, in the dim light, as the day began to break, their eyes were gladdened by the sight, through their glasses directed toward Fort McHenry, of the beautiful stars and stripes 'still there,' and to their great joy they soon learned that the attack on Baltimore had failed, that Ross was killed, and ^e British were returning to their vessels.
** It was while pacing the deck during the bombardment, full of anxiety for the result, that Mr. Key composed that song so dear to the American heart, 'The Star-Spangled Banner.' "
"Oh, let us sing it!" exclaimed Lulu, and with one consent, patriotic enthusiasm swelling in every breast, they did so, the voices of old and young uniting in the soul-stirring words.
** Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light.
What'so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming ? Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight, O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming And the rockets* red glare The bombs bursting in air. Gave proof through the night that our flag was still
there; Oh, say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ?
" On that shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep. Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep. As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses? Now it catches the gleam Of the morning's first beam. In full glory reflected, now shines in the stream; *Tis the star-spangled banner ; oh, long may it wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave l
•* And where are the foes who so vauntingly swore That the havoc of war, and the battle's confusion, A home and a country should leave us no more ? Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps pollution; No refuge could save The hireling and slave, From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grav* \ And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brav© !
** Oh, thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved homes and the war's desolation I Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation I Then conquer we must When our cause it is just, And this be our motto, ' In God is our trust *; And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ! **
A moment of silence followed the dying away of the last strains, then Captain Raymond resumed his narrative:
"The first rough notes of the song were written by Key upon the back of a letter he happened to have in his pocket, and after his arrival in Baltimore he wrote it out in full. The next morning he read it to his uncle, Judge Nicholson, one of the gallant defenders of the fort, asking his opinion of it. The judge was
delighted with it, took it to the printing office of Captain Benjamin Edes, and directed copies to be struck off in handbill form. That was done, the handbills were distributed, and it was sung first in the street, in front of Edes' office, by James Lawrenson, a lad but twelve years of age. That was on the second day after the bombardment of Fort McHenry. The song was *set up,' printed, and distributed by another lad seventeen or eighteen years old, named Samuel Sands. It created intense enthusiasm, was sung nightly at the theater, and everywhere in public and private."
**Papa," asked Lulu, " what became of that Tery star-spangled banner Mr. Key was looking vfor when he wrote the song?"
"I presume it is still in existence," replied ■lier father. "Lossingsays it was shown him in Baltimore, during the Civil War, by Christopher Hughes Armistead, the son of the gallant defender of the fort, and that it had in it eleven lioles made by the shot of the British [during the bombardment."
" Had not the British made very sure before-liand of being able to take Baltimore, Captain?" asked Evelyn.
"Yes; and their intention was to make it the base for future operations. As early as the iVth of June a London paper said, *Inthe diplomatic circles it is rumored that our naval and
military commanders on the American station have no power to conclude any armistice or suspension of arms. They carry with them certain terms which will be offered to the American government at the point of the bayonet. There is reason to believe that America will be left in a much worse situation, as a naval and commercial power, than she was at the conj;-mencement of the war."
" Ah, but they crowed too soon—before they were out of the woods," laughed Walter. **They needed the lesson they got at Baltimore^ and the one Jackson gave them some inontlaff later at New Orleans."
CHAPTER Vin.
"Captain, I fear we have been imposing sadly upon good nature in asking so much history of you in one evening," remarked Ci-randma Elsie; " and you have been extremely kind in complying with the request."
"It has been a pleasure to me, mother," he returned. *'There is hardly a subject more interesting to me than the history of my dear native land, and it is my ardent desire to train and teach my children to be earnestly, intelligently patriotic."
"Including your pupils in the list, I presume, sir?" supplemented Rosie, with a saucy smile up into his face.
" Of course, little sister, and as many others as I can influence," was his pleasant toned rejoinder. " But I am happy to believe that there are few Americans who are not ardent lovers of their own country, considering it the best the sun shines upon."
"As it certainly is, sir!" exclaimed Walter. "I'm more thankful than words can express that God gave me my birth in the United States of America."
"As I have no doubt we all are, little brother," said Violet. " But to change the subject : when shall we take that delightful trip to New Orleans? I suppose the sooner the better, that we may not be too much hurried with the necessary dressmaking?"
"I think so," said her mother, "for both the reason you have given and because the weather will soon become unpleasantly warm for shopping in the city."
"You are going with us, mamma?" queried Rosie.
"I really have not thought of it, and probably it would be more prudent for me to gtay quietly where I am, Rosie dear," she replied.
" Oh, mamma, we must have you along if you are able to go!" exclaimed Walter. "Please do say that you will."
"Yes, mamma dear, I think it would do you good," said Violet; and all the young folks joined urgently in the request that she would make one of the party.
"Perhaps you might, Elsie," her father said in reply to an inquiring look directed to him. "I incline to the opinion that such a change, after your long seclusion here, might, probably would be, of benefit."
"Possibly, father," she said, "though I had been thinking my staying at home might make
Vi more comfortable in leaving her little ones for a day or two."
■**Ido not care to go, and will gladly take charge of the babies if Vi and the captain will trust me with them," Grandma Rose hastened to say, and was warmly thanked by both parents, and assured that they would have no hesitation in doing so except on the score of giving her too much care and trouble and missing her pleasant companionship on the contemplated trip.
However, after some further discussion of the matter, it was decided that Mr. and Mrs. Dins-m.ore would remain at Viamede in charge of liouse and little ones during the short absence of the others on the contemplated trip.
**Papa, dear papa," Lulu said, with tears shining in her eyes, and putting her arms lovingly about his neck when he had come into her room to bid her good-night, as his custom was, **you are so good to me, your own bad, quicktempered little daughter! Oh, I do want to be good and make you glad that I belong to you."
'*I am that, my darling, in spite of all your faults," he said, caressing her tenderly. "You are very dear to your father's heart, and I am not without hope that you will one day gain full control of the temper which causes so much pain to both you and me."
"Oh, 1 do hope I shall, papa, and I want you
to punish me every time I indulge it," she saidj " but I'm so glad, so thankful to you that yoiE have said I may go with you and the others tomorrow. I feel that I don't deserve it in th^ least, but I do intend to try as hard as possible to rule my own spirit in future."
"I am glad to hear it, daughter," the captain responded, imprinting a kiss upon her foreheads *'But I must leave you now, for it is growing: late and you ought to be in bed, that you majr be ready to rise betimes in the morning."
"Yes, sir; but oh, do stay one minute longer;,
I—I " she paused, blushing and a trifle
shame faced.
"What is it, daughter?" he asked, smoothing her hair and cheek caressingly. " Never be afraid to tell your father all that is in your heart."
"Yes, sir; I don't think I'm really afraid— yes, I am a little afraid you might be displeased, and I don't want to do anything to vex or trouble my dear, kind father, but if you're willing, papa, I would like to be allowed to-choose for myself what I'm to wear to the-wedding."
"Your taste and wishes shall certainly be consulted, daughter," he replied kindly, "yet I am not prepared to promise that you may have in every case exactly what you would prefer;, we must take your mamma and Grandma Elsie
into our counsels in order to make sure of getting what will be most becoming and appropriate."
"Dear me, I would like to be grown up enough to be considered capable of choosing things for myself!" she exclaimed with rueful look and tone. " But oh, don't be grieved and troubled," as her ear caught the sound of a low breathed sigh; "I'm determined I will be good about it. It certainly would be a very great shame if I were anything [else, papa, after all your undeserved goodness to me."
"I do not like to refuse my dear child anything she asks," he said, drawing her into a closer embrace, "but I know too much indulgence would not be for her happiness in the end. And since life is short and uncertain with us all, it may be that she will not be long troubled by being subject to her father's control."
"Oh, papa, please don't talk so!" she exclaimed, sudden tears springing to her eyes. " I can't bear to think of ever losing my own dear, dear father. I hope God may let you live till he is ready to take me too."
"If he sees best I hope we may long be spared to each other," the captain said, holding her close to his heart. "But now about the matter of which we were speaking. Wise as my dear eldest "daughter considers herself, her father thinks Grandma Elsie and Mamma Vi, by reason
of their superior age and knowledge, will be better capable of judging what will be most suitable for her to wear as one of the bride's-maids. And as they are very tasteful in their own dress, and her father is ready to go to any reasonable expense that his dear little girl may be suitably and tastefully attired, also entirely willing to allow her to decide for herself where-ever there is a choice between two or more equally suitable articles, do "you not think, as he does, that she should be ready and willing to take what the ladies and he deem most suitable in other things which she would perhaps prefer to have somewhat different?"
"Yes, you dear papa," she returned, with a look of ardent affection into his eyes. "I do always find out in the end that you know best; and I'd even rather wear any of the dresses I have now than not have you pleased wath me; for I know I'm never the least bit happy when you are displeased with me."
"Neither am I," he sighed; "it troubles me more than I can tell when my dear daughter Lulu is disobedient and wilful. But it is high time you were in bed and resting. God our heavenly Father bless my dear child and keep her safely through the silent watches of the night." And, bestowing upon her another tender embrace, he released her and left the room.
She was quite ready for bed, and as she laid
her head on her pillow, "Lulu Raymond," she said to herself, " if you do the least thing to vex or trouble that dear father of yours, no punishment he could possibly inflict would be equal to your deserts."
In another minute she was fast asleep, nor did she move again till awakened by some slight sound to find the sun already shining in at her windows.
Her father had directed her the night before what to wear as most suitable for making the trip to the city and back again, and she now made her toilet in haste, but with the care that he required, and which her own neat taste made desirable. She had just finished when he came in.
"That is right," he said, with an approving smile, and bending down to give her the usual morning caress; "my little girl looks neat and bright, and I hope is quite well."
"Yes, papa," she returned, putting her arms round his neck and her lips to his in an ardent kiss; "and are you and all the rest?"
"All, so far as I know, and all who are to take the little trip with us full of pleasurable excitement. We must now go down to breakfast, which is earlier than usual this morning, for we expect the boat in an hour or so."
He took her hand and led her from the room as he spoke. " The others have nearly all gone
down already," he added, "and there is the bell now; so we have no time to lose."
Lulu was full of pleasurable excitement. " Oh, I'm so glad and so thankful to you, papa, that you will let me go!" she exclaimed, lifting to his eyes sparkling with joyous anticipation; "for I know I don't deserve it in the very least. But I do intend to be as pleasant tempered and obedient as possible."
"I don't doubt it, daughter, or expect to have any trouble with you," he said kindly.
But now they had reached [the dining room door, morning salutations were exchanged as the different members of the family came flocking in, all quickly took their places at the table, the blessing was asked, and the meal began.
The talk was almost exclusively of what would probably be seen and done during the trip by those who were to take it, suitable gifts for the bride that was to be, and necessary or desirable shopping for themselves and those remaining at home.
Lulu, sitting beside her father, asked in a low aside, "Papa, may I buy a handsome present for Cousin Betty? I've had occasion to spend hardly any pocket-money since we have been here; so I think I've enough to get her something handsome."
"1 shall be pleased to have you do so," he re« plied, with a pleasant smile.
** And I may choose it myself?"
" Yes; but don't you think it would be well to get some assistance from the rest of us in making your choice?"
"Oh, yes, sir; yes indeed. I really would not want to buy anything you and Grandma Elsie and Mamma Vi thought unsuitable, or that would not be likely to please Cousin Betty."
"And may I too, papa?" asked Grace, who, seated close to his other side, had overheard the bit of low toned talk.
"Yes, yes indeed, little daughter," he replied, laying a caressing hand upon her head for an instant.
An hour later the little party were all on board the boat steaming away in the direction of the Gulf, and the talk was more of the beautiful country they were passing through than of the history of that portion yet to be visited. Their route grew more interesting to the young people, and indeed to all, as they came upon scenes made memorable by events in the Revolutionary and Civil Wars and that of 1812-14.
As they passed up the river, the captain pointed out Forts St. Philip and Jackson, and other localities connected with the doings and happenings of those times, all gazing upon them as scenes to be indeliblv impressed upon the memory of every lover ot our dear native land.
The localities about New Orleans connected with the struggle there against British invaders and aggressors, received due attention also, and were regarded with equal interest by the young girls and Walter, to say nothing of the older members of the party.
Lulu and Grace, not to speak of Rosie and Evelyn, who were allowed more latitude in their selection, or of Walter, who was more than willing to trust to "mamma's taste" rather than his own, readily adopted the opinions of papa, Grandma Elsie, and Mamma Vi.
On the evening of their second day in the city they went to their hotel, weary enough, to enjoy a few hours of rest.
"Mamma dear," said Violet, glancing at her mother's face as they entered the lower hall, ** you do look so fatigued; let us step into this parlor and rest a little before going to our rooms."
"Perhaps it would be as well to do so," replied Mrs. Travilla, following her daughter into the room and sinking wearily into an easy chair which Violet drew forward for her.
" Oh, dear Grandma Elsie, how tired you do look!" exclaimed Grace; and Walter, speaking at the same instant, said in a tone of deep concern, "Oh, mamma, how pale you are! You must be ill. I wish Cousin Arthur, or some
other good doctor, was here to do something to make you feel better."
" Mamma, dear mamma, I fear you are really ill!" exclaimed Rosie in a tone of anxiety, while Lulu ran back into the hall in search of her father, who had stepped aside to the clerk's desk to attend to some business matter; for to her he was a tower of strength to be flown to in every need.
But an elderly lady and gentleman, the only other occupants of the parlor at the moment, hastily rose and drew near the little group, the lady saying in a tone of mingled concern and delight, " It is my Cousin Elsie—Mrs. Travilla— I am sure! You know me, dear cousin? Mildred Keith—Mrs. Dr. Landreth? And this is my husband, the doctor. I think he could do something to relieve you."
" Cousin Mildred! Oh, what a joyful surprise \ how glad I am to see you!" exclaimed Mrs. Travilla, the color coming back to her cheek, and the light to her eyes, as she raised herself to a sitting posture and threw her arms about Mildred's neck.
The two held each other in a long, tender embrace, hardly conscious for the moment of the presence of the others, who stood looking on in surprise and delight. Captain Raymond and Lulu having joined the group.
Then mutual introductions and joyous greet-
ings followed, questions about absent dear ones were asked and answered, and each party learned that the other was in the city for but a brief sojourn, purposing to go thence to Viamede or its near vicinity.
And in the meanwhile Mrs. Travilla seemed to have forgotten her weariness and exhaustion, and was looking more than ordinarily young and bright.
Dr. Landreth remarked it with a pleased smile. "I am glad to meet you. Cousin Elsie," he said, "though you seem no longer in need of my services as physician."
"No indeed. Cousin Charlie," she returned brightly; "you are so excellent a doctor that your very presence—especially when accompanied by that of your wife"—with a smiling glance at Mildred—" does one good like a medicine."
" Still, if you will allow it, I will prescribe, were it only to keep my hand in," he said: "an hour's rest on a couch in your own room, to be followed by a good, substantial meal either there or at the table with the rest of us."
"Exactly the prescription I should give were I your physician, mother," said Captain Raymond. "May I not assist you to your room?"
"Yes," she said with a smile. "As I know Dr. Landreth to be an excellent physician I shall follow his advice, confidently expecting to
profit J so doing. Doctor," turning to him, " we have a pleasant private parlor where we take our meals and enjoy each other's society in the intervals of sight-seeing, shoj^ping, etc. I hope you and Cousin Mildred will join us at mealtimes, and all times when you find it agreeable, making yourselves perfectly at home. Now good-by for the present. I hope to be able, after an hour's rest, to join you all at the tea-table."
With evident pleasure her invitation was accepted; an hour later she made her appearance in the parlor, much refreshed by rest and sleep; a tempting meal was partaken of by all, with evident appetite, the remainder of the evening passed in delightful social intercourse, and all retired early that they might be ready for a long day of interesting and, to the children especially, captivating shopping; for, as Rosie remarked, " Nothing could be more enjoyable than the business of selecting wedding gifts and pretty things to be worn at the wedding festivities."
She was delighted with her own finery and presents for Betty, selected by herself with her mother's assistance, Violet occasionally giving her opinion or advice, Mrs. Landreth and the gentlemen doing the same when asked. They consisted of handsome jewelry and silver.
Walter, too, chose, with his mother's help.
a set of gold lined silver spoons for his cousin Betty. Evelyn's gift was a handsome silver pie knife and salt spoons. Lulu, too, and Grace, gave silver, also a pair of beautiful gold bracelets. The captain's own gift was an expensive set of jewelry; Violet's a lovely bridal veil; Grandma Elsie's a beautiful and costly diamond pin, to which she afterward added a check for five thousand dollars. Also Dr. and Mrs. Lan-dreth bought as their gift some very handsome articles of dress and house furnishing.
The shopping and a little sight-seeing filled up the time till Saturday, when they returned to Viamede by the same boat that had brought the captain and his party to the city.
It was a very warm and joyous welcome that awaited them there from Grandpa and Grandma Dinsmore, and little Elsie and Ned Raymond, and none the less joyous was the greeting given to Dr. and Mrs. Landreth by their relatives and. old friends, Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore.
To each of the four it was a delightful reunion, and much of the evening was passed in recalling the events of their intercourse in those early days when Elsie and her cousin Annis were happy children together, these older ones gay, young married folks, the eldest son of each couple but a baby boy, though now each was the head of a young family of his own.
These reminiscences were very interesting to
themselves, Grandma Elsie, and the Keiths, who had been invited to Viamede to take tea with these relatives, and who were to go to the parsonage after a short stay with these others.
But after a little the young folks grew tired of listening to the talk, and sought out another part of the veranda where they could converse among themselves without disturbing their elders.
Captain Raymond's eyes followed the movements of his little girls with a look of fond fatherly pride, not without a shade of anxiety as they noted the weariness in Grace's face, and presently he rose and drew near the little group.
" Gracie, my darling, do you not want to go to your bed?" he asked. " I think my little girl is looking tired and would be better for a long night's rest."
"Yes, papa, I am 'most too tired to keep my eyes open," she replied, with a faint smile up into his face.
"Then come, my pet," he said, bending down and taking her in his arms; "I will carry you to your room and bid the others good-night for you when I come down again; you are too tired to wait to do that yourself," and he carried her away.
Lulu sprang up and ran after them. " Shall I ^o too, papa?" she asked.
**If you, too, feel too tired to stay up for prayers," he answered pleasantly; "otherwise I would not have you absent from that &er-Tice."
"Yes, sir, I'm not too tired. Good-nighty Gracie," she said, and ran back to her mates.
Their tongues were running on the old theme of the wedding so soon to take place, gifts to the bride, and dresses to be worn by her and her attendants. But all of them were pretty well worn out with the shopping and traveling gone through in the last few days, seeing which their elders thought best to hold the evening service a little earlier than usual, then retired to rest.
"Papa, please may I ask a few questions now, before you leave me?" Lulu entreated when he came in to bid her good-night.
"Yes," he replied with an amused look; "that is number one, and how many are to follow?" seating himself and drawing her to his knee.
"Oh, I don't know exactly, sir; it will depend somewhat upon the answers, I think," she returned laughingly, putting an arm round his neck and kissing him with ardent affection.
" Then let me go through the ordeal as soon as possible," he responded, patting her cheek and pressing his lips to hers.
" I hope it won't be a very dreadful ordeal to you, papa," she said, smiling up into his eyes.
** Firstly, then, are we to have school as usual between this and the time of the wedding?"
"Yes," was the prompt, decided reply.
"Oh, dear!" she said between a sigh and a laugh, "I 'most wish you were one of the fathers that could be coaxed. But oh, please don't begin to look sorry and grave. I'm determined I will be good about that and everything; just as good as I know how to be; and if I'm not I just hope you'll punish me well, only not by refusing to allow me to act as bridesmaid to Cousin Betty."
"Love to your father and a desire to please him seems to me a far better motive for good behavior than fear of punishment," he said with grave look and tone.
"Yes, sir; and that is my motive; please believe it, my own dear, dear father," she said, lifting dewy eyes to his.
"Then I have strong hope that my pleasure in the coming festivities will not be spoiled by having a naughty, rebellious little daughter to deal with, or an idle one, either. Now what else?"
"Only this, papr.: that if you should have letters to write you will let me help you, using my typewriter, you know."
"Thankyou, my dear little helpful daughter. Should I find that I have letters you could an. swer for me in that way, I will call upon you
for your offered assistance, as I well know it will be a pleasure to you to render it," he replied, with a smile and another tender caress. "And I hope you feel no doubt that it is not for lack of love for his dear child that your father refuses the holiday you have asked for."
"No indeed, papa. I know you love me dearly. It would break my heart to think you didn't."
" As it would mine to think my little girl did not love me. Now you must go at once to bed. Good-night and pleasant dreams."
CHAPTER IX.
It was early morning at Ion, breakfast awaiting the return of Mr. Edward Travilla, who had ridden into the village on some business errand, leaving word that he would he back within the hour to partake of the morning meal with his wife.
Zoe, tastefully attired, was on the veranda, and the twin babies, fresh from their bath, looking, the young mother averred, like little angels in their dainty white robes, were toddling about there, laughing, cooing, and prattling. They were the idols of her heart. She romped and played with them now, but with frequent pauses to listen for the sound of a horse's hoofs or gaze down the avenue, saying in joyous tones to the babies, "Papa is coming, coming soon; dear, dear papa! and mamma and his darlings will be so glad to see him. Ah, there he is at last!" she added at length, as a horseman turned in at the great gates and came at a quick canter up the avenue.
He lifted his hat with a bow and smile to his wife as he drew near; then alighting at the steps, where a servant took the reins and led the horse away, he hastily ascended them, and
the next moment was seated with a little one upon each knee.
"Papa's darlings!" he said, caressing them in turn; "papa's dear pets I"
"Tell papa we have been wanting him," said Zoe, standing alongside, smoothing Edward's hair with softly caressing hand, and smiling down fondly into the faces of the three; "tell him he stayed so long we did not know how to wait."
" I must acknowledge I am a trifle late, my dear," Edward said, smiling up into the pretty, rosy face, "detained by business; but here is my atonement," handing her a telegram which he took from his pocket.
Zoe read it aloud. It was an invitation to a wedding (whose it did not say), at Viamede to take place in three weeks from that day.
" Why, who on earth can be going to be married?" she exclaimed in surprise. "Rosie? Evelyn? Lulu? Every one of them is too young." Then with a look into Edward's laughing eyes, "Now you needn't laugh, Ned. I know and acknowledge that Rosie is a little older than I was when we married, but we would not have made such haste except under those peculiar circumstances."
"Quite true, my dear," he responded. "But I suppose you will hardly think it necessary to decline the invitation on that account?"
"Oh, no indeed," was the quick, laughing rejoinder. " I am altogether in favor of accepting—shall begin my preparations at once. But there's the breakfast bell."
When they had fairly begun their meal the subject was renewed, Edward remarking, "My dear, you will want a new dress. If you like we will drive into the city this morning, make necessary purchases, and at once set Alma or some other dressmaker at work."
" Oh, thank you, dear Ned," she returned, her eyes shining with pleasure; "no woman ever had a more generous husband than mine. But there are so many ways for your money to go, and I have several that would be, with remodelling and retrimming, tasteful, handsome, and becoming as any new one."
"But you must have a new one, my love," Edward replied decidedly. " I can easily afford it, and it is a great pleasure to me to see my little wife well and becomingly dressed."
"A very nice speech, my dear husband," returned Zoe laughingly, " and really I have not the heart to refuse you the pleasure of seeing your wife arrayed in finery just suited to your taste. So I am very glad you are willing to go with me and assist in the selection. Shall we take the babies along?"
"To help with the shopping? I doubt if we would find them of much assistance."
"They are good little things though, and would not be any hindrance," returned the young mother laughingly. " But the trip might interfere with their morning nap, so if you think best we will leave the darlings at home."
"I really think they would have a more comfortable time," Edward said; "we also. Hark! there's the telephone. Excuse me a moment, my dear."
"Certainly, my love, but as I may possibly be the one wanted, I'll go along; by your leave," she added laughingly, running after him as he left the room.
The call proved to be from Mrs. Elsie Leland. A telegram from Viamede had reached them also, and they would be at Ion in the course of an hour to talk over necessary arrangements for the journey, if, as they supposed, Edward and Zoe would like to take it in company with them. They too were invited, of course?
*'Yes," Edward answered; "mamma would certainly not neglect her eldest son at such a time. Come over as soon as you like, prepared to drive into the city with us to make necessary purchases before setting the dressmakers at work upon suitable adornments for the ladies of our party."
"Nothing to be bought for the gentlemen, I suppose?" was Elsie's response, accompanied
by a low, sweet laugh. " Will be happy to accept your invitation. Good-by till then."
" Now let us go back and finish our breakfast," said Zoe. "If the Lelands are to be here in half an hour we have no time to spare."
They were turning away when the bell rang again.
It was Ella Conly who called this time. The same invitation for herself and brothers had just been received. They knew that Ned and Zoe must of course have shared the summons to Viamede, and, if convenient, they would call at Ion after tea that evening to talk over plans and preparations.
They were cordially urged to do so. Then Edward called to his Uncle Horace at the Oaks, his Aunt Rose at the Laurels, and Aunt Lora Howard at Pinegrove, and learned to his satisfaction that all had received, and would accept the same invitation. But they had not yet settled upon their plans in regard to needed preparations and the time of setting out upon their journey.
Edward suggested that it might be satisfactory for all to meet at Ion that evening and talk the matter over, an invitation which was promptly accepted by all.
"Now let us finish our breakfast," Edward said, leading the way back to the table.
"Yes," said Zoe, "for I am sure that I for one
have no time to waste if I'm to be ready to start for the city in an hour."
She was ready, however, when, in less than an hour, the Fairview carriage drove up bringing the Lelands. Elsie declined an invitation to alight. " We have none too much time now," she said, "for shopping cannot always be done in haste, and we are not making a very early start. Just get in here with us, you two, will you not? There is plenty of room, and we can talk over matters and settle plans as we drive."
"A very good idea, and we are much obliged," returned Edward, handing Zoe in and taking a seat by her side.
"Who is to be married, Elsie?" asked Zoe. "Surely it could not be mamma herself?" she added, with a light laugh. "I feel quite sure she would not accept the best and greatest man upon earth."
"And I feel as sure of that as you do," said Mrs. Leland. "She thinks of my father not as lost to her but waiting for her to rejoin him in the better land. I have been trying to think who the coming bride is to be, and suppose it is Betty Johnson."
" But it may be that the groom and not the bride belongs to our family," remarked Lester. "Who more likely than Dick Percival?"
"Why, yes, to be sure!" exclaimed Edward. "It is about time Dick had a wife. And
mother would of course be interested and ready to do anything in her power to make it pleasant for him and her."
" Well, I should really like to know something more about it before choosing gifts for her," remarked Zoe.
"I too," said Elsie.
"Then suppose we let that wait for another day, and content ourselves with purchasing what is needed for the adorning of you two ladies," suggested Edward; and that was what, after a little further consultation, was decided upon.
The city was reached in safety, and some hours later they returned, as Zoe said, " Laden with lovely things for their own adornment."
The babies were on the veranda waiting, watching eagerly for papa and mamma, who, their nurse kept telling them, would soon be seen coming up the avenue. When they did appear, alighting from the Fairview carriage, they were recognized with a glad cry, and Zoe, forgetting her weariness, ran to the little ones, embraced first one and then the other, put a toy in the hand of each, spent another minute or two caressing them, then hurried to her own apartments to dress for tea and the family gathering expected in the evening.
Elsie and her husband had driven home, but
would return for the informal assembly of the members of the connection.
The guests came early, Ella Conley and her brothers from Roselands being the first. Ella was in high glee. She had long felt an ardent desire to visit Yiamede, and now hailed with delight the opportunity to do so. The circumstances of both brothers had greatly improved; they were disposed to be very generous to the only sister remaining at home with them, and had told her she must have a new, handsome dress for the wedding, and everything else she needed to fit her out well for the journey and a sojourn of some weeks at Viamede.
Zoe felt flattered by being consulted in regard to necessary or desirable purchases, and greatly enjoyed exhibiting her own, and describing Elsie's, of that day.
Then the other families, or delegates from t'lem, arrived in rapid succession, and a merry sociable interview ensued. All were quite resolved, should nothing interfere, to accept the invitation to Viamede, but some of them could not yet decide upon the exact time when they would be prepared to leave their homes for that distant point, and for an absence of several weeks. But the Ion, Oaks, Fairview, and Rose-lands people would all go in two weeks in company.
It was still early, when wheels were heard
approaching from the direction of the village, a hack turned in at the gate, drove rapidly up the avenue, halted at the veranda steps, and an old gentleman alighted.
" Cousin Ronald!" exclaimed Elsie Leland, Edward, and Zoe in a breath, and they and the others gathered about him with words of cordial greeting and welcome.
"You have given us a most pleasant surprise, Cousin Ronald," Edward said when the old gentleman was comfortably seated in an easy chair. "You have not been to tea?"
"Yes, laddie, I took that in the village yonder where I alighted frae the cars. But the auld folks seem to be missing here," glancing about in search of them as he spoke. "I dinna see your honored grandsire, his wife, or my sweet Cousin Elsie, your mither. The bairns Rosie and Walter, too, are not here; what's become o' them a', laddie? They're no ill, I hope?"
"They were quite well at last accounts, sir," replied Edward. " They have spent the winter and early spring at Viamede, and will not return for some weeks yet."
"Ah ha! um h'm! ah ha!" murmured the old gentleman reflectively. "It's no the best o* news to me—an auld mon who has been wearyin' for a sight o' your mother's sweet face."
"Don't say that, cousin, for we are going there ourselves, and shall be glad indeed to
take you with us. I know of no one who would be a more welcome guest to my mother."
"Have a care, sir, that ye dinna tempt an auld mon too far," laughed Cousin Ronald.
" Oh, but you must go with us, sir," said Zoe. " What would mamma say if we failed to bring you? Besides, we want your company even if mamma would not be displeased were you not with us."
" Ah ha! um h'm! ah ha! Weel, my bonny leddy, I can no refuse an invitation that holds out so great a prospect of enjoyment."
"No, you must not think of refusing. Cousin Ronald!" exclaimed Edward and his sister Elsie, speaking simultaneously.
"Indeed no," said Mr. Horace Dinsmore; "we can assure you of a hearty welcome, and my sister, as Zoe says, would be by no means pleased should we fail to take you along with us. But since the first division of our company does not start for two weeks, there will be abundance of time to hear from her on the subject."
"Certainly there will, uncle," responded Edward. "I shall write to mamma to-night. Several of us have heard from her to-day by telegraph. Cousin Ronald, and we think we shall surely have letters soon."
Then followed the story of the telegrams received that day, and the guesses and surmises
as to whose wedding they were invited to attend.
Mr. Lilburn was evidently much interested and more than willing to yield to their persuasions to accompany them to Viamede.
"Well, friends and cousins," he said, 'Hhere is scarce anything I can think of at this moment that would delight me more than to gang with you to see them at that lovely spot—an earthly paradise, as it may well be called. I am somewhat fatigued the now, but rest for a few days—the days that must come and go afore you start—will no doubt supply the needed strength for the new journey; and the wedding festivities to follow will not come amiss even to a man of my ain venerable age."
*'No, indeed!" exclaimed Zoe, **I should think not. Surely people of any age may enjoy gay and festive scenes and doings. It has always been a source of regret to me that Edward's and my nuptials were graced by none of them."
** Possibly there may be better luck for you next time, my dear," remarked Edward laughingly.
"Indeed I want no next time," she returned with spirit. "I've no intention of trying a second husband lest I might do worse than I did in taking you."
"It strikes me there might be a possibility
of doing very much worse, my dear niece," remarked Mr. Horace Dinsmore pleasantly.
"As it does me," responded Zoe, with a proudly affectionate look into her young husband's eyes.
"I am glad to hear it," was his answering remark, given with a smiling, affectionate glance into the bright, sweet face.
For the next two weeks Zoe and the other ladies of the connection were very delightfully busy with their preparations for the wedding.
Letters had come telling that Betty was, as had been conjectured, the prospective bride; also who was to be the groom, where the ceremony was to take place, the bridal feast to be partaken of, with other interesting particulars. The dresses of bride, bridesmaids, and maids of honor were not described, as they would be seen by all the relatives at, if not before, the wedding.
The journey to New Orleans was made by rail; from there they took a steamboat for Berwick Bay, preferring to make the rest of the journey by water. The party consisted of the Dinsmores, Lelands, Travillas, Conleys, and their Aunt Adelaide, Mrs. Allison of Philadelphia, who had come on from her home shortly before to join these relatives in their trip to Louisiana; for she too had been urgently invited
to attend the wedding; and last but not least was Mr. Ronald Lilburn.
They were a cheerful set, the younger ones quite gay and mirthful. There were a few other passengers, among whom was a lady clad in deep mourning—widow's weeds—who kept her face carefully concealed by her thick crape veil and sat apart, seeming to studiously avoid all contact with her fellow voyagers; observing which they refrained from making advances toward acquaintanceship. But now and then Dr. Conley turned an observing eye upon her. There was a droop about her figure that struck him as an indication of illness or exhaustion from some other cause.
At length he rose, and stepping to her side, said in a low sympathizing tone, *'I fear you are ill, madam. I am a physician, and if I can do anything for you my services are at your command."
She made an inarticulate reply, in tones quivering with emotion, staggered to her feet as she spoke, made one step forward and would have fallen had he not caught her with his arm.
Her head dropped upon his shoulder, and instantly the other members of his party gathered about them with hurried, excited exclamations. •*What is the matter?" "Is she ill?" "Do you know her, Art? She has fainted, has she
not?" The last exclamation and query came from the lips of Mrs. Elsie Leland.
"Yes; she is quite unconscious," was Arthur's low toned reply "and this thick, heavy Teil is smothering her."
The next instant he had succeeded in disen« tangling it. With a quick movement he threw it back, lifted the seemingly lifeless form, laid it on a settee with the head low, laid his finger on her pulse for an instant, then began compressing the ribs and allowing them to expand again.
"I will have to loosen her clothing," he said, leaning over her to do so; then for the first time catching sight of her face, he started back with a low, pained exclamation: "My sister Virginia! is it possible!"
"Virginia!" exclaimed Adelaide and Calhoun in a breath; for both were standing near; "can it be?" The others exchanged glances of astonishment; then Ella asked in low, terrified tones, "O Art, is she—is she dead? Poor^ poor Virgie!"
"No; it is only a faint," he answered, going on with his efforts to restore consciousness,, in which he was presently successful.
Virginia's eyes opened, looked up into his with evident recognition, then closed, while tears stole down her cheeks. He leant over her in brotherly solicitude.
*'Yirgie, my poor, dear sister," he said m tones tremulous with emotion, "you are with relatives and friends who will gladly do anything and everything in their power for your comfort and happiness. I think you are not well '*
She seemed to be making an effort to speak, and, leaving his sentence unfinished, he bent down over her with his ear almost touching her lips.
*'Starving," was the whispered word that came in reply, and he started back aghast, his features working with emotion.
"Can it be possible!" was his half suppressed exclamation.
"What is it?" asked Calhoun; "what does she say?"
"She is faint and ill with hunger," returned his brother in a moved tone. "Get me a glass of hot milk as quickly as you can, Cal," and Calhoun hurried away in quest of it.
In a very few minutes he was back again with a large tumbler of rich, sweet milk, which Virginia drank with avidity. Some more substantial food was then given her, and after a little she was able to exchange greetings with the other relatives on board and to give some account of herself.
"Henry Neuville is dead, and I set out on my journey to beg a home with Isa as soon as I had seen him laid decently away," she said. **I have no means at all—unfortunate creature
that I am—but perhaps I can make myself useful enough to earn my bread."
"And your brothers will be both able and willing to clothe you," said the doctor, Calhoun adding, "certainly; and to give you a home, too, should Isa and her husband find it inconvenient to do so."
At that tears coursed down Virginia's cheeks.
"You are good, kind brothers," she said; "far better to me than I deserve. But living^ with a man of the stamp of Henry Neuville has taught me how to appreciate true gentlemen."
"O Yirgie, did he die as he had lived?" asked her cousin Elsie.
"I saw no sign of repentance or reformation," returned Virginia; "he died of drink and with curses on his tongue. I can't mourn his loss; how could I? but I'm the most unfortunate woman—the poorest in the whole connection. I wasn't brought up to support myself either, and can't do it."
"Perhaps you may learn how," said Zoe encouragingly. "There are many avenues to self-support now open to women, you know."
A look of disgust .and annoyance was Virginia's only response to that.
A few moments of silence ensued, broken only by the prattle of the little ones, then there was a sudden sound as of some heavy body plun-
ging into the water, and a shrill cry: ''Man overboard!"
A great commotion instantly followed, the captain giving his orders to lower a boat and go in search of the man, and at the same time slowing the movements of the steamer.
Our party were much interested and excited, most of them full of concern for the drowning one, who seemed to have strangely disappeared, for not a trace of him could be seen as the boat was rowed hither and thither; and at length, resigning all hope of finding even the lifeless body, the men returned to the larger vessel to report their failure.
The ladies were in tears, and as the captain drew near, Zoe asked 'in tones tremulous with emotion, "Is there no hope at all of saving the poor fellow, captain?"
"I'm afraid he's gone to the bottom, ma'am, though it's odd he couldn't keep up for the few minutes it took to launch the boat; but I suppose the wheel must have struck him. By the way," he added, as if struck by a sudden thought, "I don't know yet who it was. I must have the crew mustered on deck and see who is missing."
He proceeded to do so at once, when to the surprise of all it was discovered that no one was missing.
"A stowaway, evidently!" growled the cap-
tain, "and he's got his deserts; though I wouldn't have let him drown if I could have helped it."
At that instant a light broke upon Edward Travilla and Dr. Conley/and both'turned hastily toward their guest, Mr. Ronald Lilburn.
He was sitting near, quietly listening to the talk, his features expressing grave concern, yet they could perceive a sparkle of fun in his eye.
Edward stepped to his side, and, bending down over him, spoke in an undertone close to his ear. "I think you could tell us something of the man. Cousin Ronald."
"I, laddie? What would I ken o' the folk i' this part o' the world?" queried the old gentleman, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise.
"Ah, sir, who is to say he belonged to this part of the world ?'' laughed Edward. *' I must own that I strongly suspect he was a countryman of yours; a Scotchman, at least."
Then going to the side of his wife he said a word or two in an undertone that chased away her tears, while she sent a laughing glance in Cousin Ronald's direction.
But they were drawing near their journey's end, and presently everything else seemed to be forgotten in gazing upon the ever changing beauties of the landscape as they threaded their way through lake and lakelet, past swamp, forest, plain, and plantation. They gazed with de-
light upon the cool, shady dells carpeted with a rich growth of flowers, miles upon miles of smoothly shaven lawns, velvety green and shaded by magnificent" oaks and magnolias, lordly villas peering through groves of orange trees, tall white sugarhouses, and the long rows of cabins of the laborers, forming all together a panorama of surpassing loveliness.
*'0h, it is an earthly paradise, is it not, Ned?'* cried Zoe, clasping her hands in an ecstacy of delight.
*'Very, very beautiful," he responded, his eyes shining with pleasure. *'But you know this is not, like yours, my first sight of it; I spent a very happy winter here in the days when my dear and honored father was with us."
**And I," said his sister Elsie, softly sighing at the thought that that loved parent had left them to return no more. *'It will not seem the same without him; yet with so many dear ones left—especially our dear, dear mother—our visit can hardly be otherwise than most enjoyable. Ah, Ned, is not that our own orange orchard just coming into view?"
"It is, my dear sister; we will be there in a very few minutes now."
*'At home and with mamma!" she exclaimed in joyous tones; then called to her little sons, "Come here, Ned and Eric. We are al-
most at dear grandmamma's house, and she will soon have you in her arms."
At that the little fellows came running to her with a joyous shout, for they dearly loved their Grandma Elsie, and to their infant minds the time of separation from her had seemed very long.
To their Aunt Adelaide, the Conleys—Arthur excepted—and the young Dinsmores the scenes were equally new, and called forth from one and all demonstrations of admiration and delight. Yery soon the boat reached and rounded to at the landing, where were gathered all the members of the Viamede, Magnolia Hall, and parsonage families to meet and welcome these dear ones from their own old homes farther to the north.
It was an altogether joyous meeting. Cousin Ronald and Virginia, as well as the rest, receiving most kind and cordial greeting, though the latter was an entirely unexpected guest.
Isadore took her sister in her arms, kissed and wept over her as a near and dear one who had gone through great trials during the years of their separation.
*'What a long, long while it is since we parted, and what sore trials you have gone through in the meantime, Virgie!" she sighed. ** Ah, I hope the future may have better things in store for you."
"I should say it ought indeed, considering all I've had to suffer in the past," returned Virginia. "I've come to beg a home with you, Isa, as you might have had to of me if I had been the lucky one in the matter of drawing a prize in the matrimonial lottery."
"I will try to do the very best I can for you, Virgie," was Isadore's pleasant toned reply, though it was not with unmingled satisfaction that she saw opening before her the prospect of receiving this selfish, indolent sister into her peaceful, well regulated household as a permanent addition to it.
Zoe was in ecstasies over the beauties of Via-mede—the large, palatial mansion, the beautiful grounds, the lovely scenery.
"Oh, mamma," she exclaimed, pausing on the veranda to take a general survey, "it is just too lovely for anything! It really exceeds my expectations, though they were raised very high by all I have heard of the beauties of Viamede. I wonder you can ever resign yourself to leaving it for a longer time than the hot season, when it is not so healthy as your more northern home.'*
"Yes, I sometimes wonder at myself," Elsie said with a smile; "and yet both Ion and the Oaks are very dear to me—so many happy years of my life have been passed in them. Ah, no, I could not give up those dear homes entirely any more than I could this."
*'Ah, you are a most fortunate woman, cousin mine," remarked Mr. Lilburn, standing by, *'and worthy of it all; no one more so."
"Ah, Cousin Ronald, you, like all the rest of my friends, are only too ready to pass my imperfections by and see only virtues; some of them altogether imaginary, I fear," she returned with a smile. "I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you here again, and I hope you may so greatly enjoy your sojourn among us that you will be pleased to repeat your visit whenever opportunity offers."
*'Ah, many thanks, cousin, but have a care lest you should be in danger of seeing me here oftener than will be found agreeable," was his laughing reply.
At that Elsie only shook her head with a playful smile, then turned to baby Lilly, who was reaching out her little arms to grandma, crying, ''Take! take, gamma!"
"No, no, mother dear, "Edward said, coming up to them and taking his little daughter from the nurse's arms, "I can't have you wearying yourself with her." Then to the child, "Papa is going to carry you [upstairs, little pet. Dear grandma has been sick and is not strong enough to carry you about. The friends and relatives will all be here for some time, mother?" turning to her again.
"Yes," she replied; "they will all stay to tea."
"And Zoe and I will join you and them again in a few minutes," he said, moving on through the hall, in the direction of the stairway.
All scattered to their rooms then, but reassembled on the veranda some few minutes before the call to the tea-table. It was a large, merry, informal tea-party. Grandma Elsie having been most hospitably urgent that everyone should stay, partake with her and the others who had been making Yiamede their home for months past, and spend the evening.
The approaching wedding and matters connected with it were naturally the principal themes of discourse, and Betty was good-hu-moredly rallied on the conquest she had made and the pleasant prospect of having a home of her own with at least one loyal subject. Zoe insisted on a description of the trousseau, especially the wedding dress.
*'Drive over to Magnolia Hall day after tomorrow and you shall see everything for yourself, Zoe," Betty said, laughing and blushing; **at least all but the gifts which have not yet come in."
*'Thank you; I think I'll accept that invitation," returned Zoe. "But I suppose there is something to be seen here?"
"Yes; the dresses of the bridesmaids and maids of honor," said Rosie; "and we who are to wear them think them quite beautiful. Don't
we, girls?" turning toward Evelyn and Lulu, who answered with an emphatic, "Yes, indeed!"
**Suppose you come and take a look at them, Zoe," proposed Rosie, as they left the table, and Zoe promptly accepted the invitation, Betty, Elsie Leland, Ella, and Virginia, and the Dinsmore cousins going along.
**0h, they are lovely!" was the united exclamation at sight of the dresses, Zoe adding, *'I <;an't say which is handsomest."
**That's just how it is with me," laughed Betty; "but I own to thinking the bride's dress a trifle handsomer than any of these."
"Ah, yes; but just think how we may outshine you when our turns come to wear a wedding dress," said Rosie. "I mean to have one that shall be a marvel of beauty and taste. Don't you, Eva and Lu?"
"I very much doubt whether I shall ever have any," replied Evelyn, with her grave, sweet smile.
"If you don't it will be your own fault, I ana sure," said Rosie. "And it will be just the same with Lu."
"I'm not going to get married ever!" cried Lulu emphatically. "I wouldn't leave my father for all the rest of the men in all the world."
"Ah, your father is glad to hear it," said a
voice close at her side, while a hand was laid affectionately on her shoulder. "But my dear eldest daughter is still quite too young to be even thinking of such things."
"Then I won't think of them if I can help it, papa dear," she said, lifting loving, smiling eyes to his face, "for indeed I do want to obey even your slightest wish."
"I don't doubt it, daughter," he returned, pressing affectionately the hand she had slipped into his.
"Now, Elsie," said Zoe, addressing Mrs. Le-land, "let us show our wedding finery. You, Ella Conley, I suppose won't care to open your trunks, as they are to be carried over to the Parsonage."
"They have already gone," said Isadore, she also having joined the party of inspection, "but the finery can be shown there just as well."
"Yes, it can wait," returned Ella, "and will perhaps be all the more appreciated for not being seen along with so many other beauties.'*
"I am the only one who has no finery to exhibit," remarked Virginia in an ill used tone. But they were already on the way to Mrs. Le-land's room and no one seemed to hear or heed the complaint, everybody being too much engrossed with the business in hand to take notice of her ill-humor.
But it was Saturday evening and the Parsonage and Magnolia Hall people returned to their homes at an early hour, taking their guests with them.
"Now, daughter," Captain Raymond said, turning to Lulu as the last carriage disappeared from sight, *'go at once to your own room and prepare for bed."
"Yes, sir; and must I say good-night now to you?" she asked in a low tone, close at his ear.
"No," he returned, with a smile, "I will be with you presently for a few minutes."
She looked her thanks, and hastened to obey.
"I am quite ready for bed, papa," she said when he came into her room. "Please mayn't I sit on your knee for five or ten minutes?"
"That is just what I want you to do," he said, taking possession of an easy chair and drawing her to the coveted place. "I must have a little talk with ray dear eldest daughter," he continued, smoothing her hair and cheek caressingly.
"What about, papa dear?" she asked, nestling closer in his arms. "I haven't been misbehaving, have I? You are not displeased with me, are you?"
"No, dear child; only afraid that you may be caring too much about dress and finery, and that perhaps I am not altogether blameless in re-
gard to that—that I may not have guarded my dear little girl against it as I should."
"I am afraid that perhaps I do care too much about it, papa dear," she sighed, hanging her head, while blushes iyed her cheek; "but I'm sure it is all my own fault, not yours at all; so please don't feel badly about it."
He took up her Bible, opened it, and read, ** Whose adorning, let it not be that outward adorning of plaiting the hair, and of wearing of gold, or of putting on of apparel; but let it be the hidden man of the heart, in that which is not corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price. For after this manner in the old time the holy women also, who trusted in God, adorned themselves."
*'Papa, is it wrong to wear nice, pretty clothes, and to enjoy having them?" she asked, as he closed the book and laid it aside. *'Is that what is meant in those verses?"
"I think not," he said; "if lunderstood it in that way I should feel it wrong to allow a daughter of mine to wear them. I think it means that you are not to care too much about such adornment, but more, much more, for that other and greater adornment, even the hidden man of the heart, the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, remembering that in the sight of God it is of great price, worth infinitely more than
any ornament of gold, the richest jewels, or the finest attire. Cultivate that with all diligence, my own darling child, if you desire to please and honor your heavenly Father and make yourself even dearer than you now are to your earthly one, and lovelier in his eyes."
*'0h, I do, papa! I do want to please and honor God, and you too; I want to be just a joy and blessing and comfort to you, my own dear, dear father! I don't think you have any idea how very, very dearly I love you, papa," putting her arms about his neck and kissing him over and over again. "Gracie and I think-— indeed we feel quite sure—that no other children ever had such a dear, good, kind father as ours. And I know Max thinks the same."
**Well, daughter, I delight in having you and all my children think so, however mistaken you maybe," he said, with a pleased smile, holdi^ig her close and returning her caresses; *'and it certainly is the earnest desire of my heart to be the best, kindest, and dearest of fathers to the darling children God has given me."
*'As I am sure you are, dear papa," she said. *'I never have any doubt of it at all, even when you punish me. And, papa," she added, with an effort, "if you think finery bad for me, I am willing to be dressed just as plainly as you think best."
"That is my own dear little girl," he re-
turned, with a gratified look; **but I have not been dressing you better—more richly, gayly, or tastefully—than seems to me right and proper; also, I think quite as much sin may be committed by being proud of plainness in dress as proud of wearing finery. What I am aiming at is to have my little daughter look upon dress as a secondary matter, and feel far more anxious to be one who is pleasing in the sight of her heavenly Father than one admired and envied by some earthly creature as the possessor of wealth, and fine or costly raiment. In short, I want you to feel that the style and richness of your attire is a matter of little consequence, while to live in the light of God's countenance, pleasing and honoring him and growing in holiness and conformity to his will, is to be desired and striven for beyond everything else."
"Yes, papa," she said softly, *'I will ask God to help me to do so; and you will pray for me too, won't you?"
"Indeed I will, my darling; we will kneel down and ask him now; ask for help to keep from indulging in worldly mindedness and vanity, and that our earnest desire and effort may ever be to serve and honor and glorify him in all our words and ways."
"My own dear father," she said, when they bad risen from their knees, "I am sure that if I don't grow up a good Christian the fault will
«ot be yours." Then, glancing at the bed where Grace lay in a profound sleep, *'I am so glad and thankful that I am not feeble like poor, dear Gracie, because if I had to go to bed and to sleep so early as she almost always does, I'd miss these nice talks from you. But, fortunately, she doesn't need so much help to be good as I do^ Ah, papa, I've given you a great deal more trouble to train me up right than she ever has, or will."
*'My darling," he said, *'if you only grow up to be a noble, useful Christian woman, such as I hope one day to see you, I shall feel more than repaid for all the anxiety, care, and trouble of your training."
CHAPTER X.
Guests and entertainers, old and young, went to church the next morning, riding, driving, or walking, as best suited the inclination of each.
In the afternoon there was the usual gathering of the house servants and field hands on the lawn, near the veranda, where the family and guests were seated, and Mr. Dinsmore, Dr. Landreth, and Captain Raymond each gave them a little talk suited to their capacities, and the sacredness of the day, and their needs as members of the fallen race of man.
The captain, standing before them with an open Bible in his hand, said, "My friends, I want to talk with you a little, about some of the words spoken by the Apostle Paul when he was taking leave of the elders of the Church at Ephesus. He told them that he had been testifying both to the Jews, and also to the Greeks, repentance toward God and faith toward our Lord Jesus Christ. Now, what is meant by repentance toward God? It is a feeling of true sorrow for our sins against him (and everything wrong we have done, or thought, or felt was a sin against God). And what is it to have faith
toward our Lord Jesus Christ? To believe in him as one abundantly able and willing to save us—to save us from sin, from the love of it, and the punishment due to us for it. We are all sinners; we have all come short of the glory of God, neglecting many things that we ought to have done, and doing very many things that we ought not to have done. We are all born with a sinful nature, and God only can change it, so^that we will^hate sin and love holiness; he only can give us true faith in his dear Son the Lord Christ.
'«*By grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God.' We are saved by grace; it is only of God's undeserved goodness, not because we havp done or can do anything pleasing in his sight. Paul speaks in this same chapter of the Gospel of the grace of God. Gospel means good news, and what could be better news than that? that God offers us salvation of his free, unmerited grace? What an offer that is! salvation as his free, undeserved gift,without money, and without price. His offer is, 'Come unto me and be ye saved all ye ends of the earth.' No one is left out; this wonderful offer is to each one of us, and to every other inhabitant of this world, so that if any one fails to be saved, the fault will be all hi^ own. For God has said, *I have no pleasure in the death of him that dieth: wherefore turn
yourselves and live ye.' And oh, how plain he has made it that he does love us and would have us live! 'For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.*"
The service was not a long one, and when it was over the captain repaired to the schoolroom with Lulu and Grace to hear them recite their Bible verses and catechism.
When that duty had been attended to, "Now, daughters," he said, "if you have anything to say, or questions suitable to the sacredness of the day to ask, I am ready to listen and reply to the best of my ability; but even a child may ast a question that a grown person cannot answer," he added with a smile.
"Indeed, papa," said Grace, putting an arm round his neck and laying her cheek lovingly to his, "I think you do know 'most everything; and I'm oh! so glad God gave you to me for my own father."
"I know you are, Gracie, I'm sure of it; but you can't be gladder than I am that he is my father, too," said Lulu, lifting to his eyes full of filial love and reverence.
"Nor than I am that these two little girls are my very own," responded the captain, holding both in a close embrace. "But now for the qmestions."
"I have one to ask, papa," said Lulu. " It is, what does the Bible mean by growing in grace?**
" Growing in likeness to Jesus and in conformity to his will; having more and more of the love and fear of God in our hearts; more faith and patience, and more love to our fellow-creatures ; for the more we love the Master, the more will we love those whom he died to redeem."
"And the more we love him, the more we will try to be like him?" Lulu said in a tone of mingled assertion and inquiry.
"Yes, my child; and it is the dearest wish of my heart that I may see my children thus growing in grace, and in likeness to the dear Master."
"Papa, I want to," said Grace softly; "oh, I want to, very much!"
" Then ask God to help you, my darling, remembering that he is the hearer and answerer of prayer."
"And you will ask him for both of ua, won't you, papa?"
"I will, I do, my darling; there is never a day when I do not pray earnestly for each one of my dear children, that God will make them his own true followers and keep them in every time of trial and temptation, taking them safely to heaven at last. Life in this world is exceedingly short compared with the eternal existence which awaits us all in another—that life of in-
finite joy and blessedness at God's right hand, or of everlasting, untold misery, unending, inconceivable anguish, in the blackness of darkness, shut out forever from his presence," he added in moved tones. "God in his infinite goodness and mercy grant that the first and not the last may be the portion of each one of my beloved children!"
"Oh, papa," said Grace softly, "howcan any one help loving the dear Saviour who died that we might go to heaven and not to that other awful place!"
"Oh," said Lulu, "I do want to love him more and serve him better! When I think of his wonderful goodness and love to us poor sinners, I'm just as ashamed as I can be that I don't love him at all as I ought, and am so often ill-tempered and selfish and bad. Papa, I do really think it is kind and good in you to punish me when I deserve it, and need it to make me a better girl."
"And I shall be very glad indeed if you never again make it necessary for me to do so." he responded.
"I do hope I won't," she returned. "Papa, I'm very much afraid I'll be thinking and talking to-day about the wedding and what everybody is going to wear at it, and I know I won't be in half so much danger of doing so if I keep close to you; so mayn't I?"
"Yes, daughter; I am always glad to have you near me," he said kindly; "and it pleases me that you are desirous to avoid temptation to do wrong.'*
" And you are just as willing to let me keep near you, papa?" Grace said inquiringly, and with a wistful, pleading look up into his face.
" Certainly, my dear little daughter. I love you not a whit less than I do your sister," he said, drawing her into a closer embrace. " However, you may both stay here reading your Bibles and Sunday school books for a half hour longer. Then I will come for you and you may spend the rest of the day as close to your father's side as you choose." With that he left them.
"Such a dear, good father as ours is!" exclaimed Lulu, gazing after him with loving, admiring eyes.
"Yes, indeed! I am sure there couldn't be a better or dearer one. Oh, I do love him so!" said Grace, turning over the leaves of her Bible. "Let's read verse about, Lu."
"I'm agreed; and let it be the Book of Esther. I do think that is such a lovely story."
" So it is; and so is Kuth, and that's shorter. I don't believe we'll have time to read all of Esther before papa comes for us."
"Maybe not," assented Lulu; "so we will read Ruth."
They had finished the story and were talking
it over together when their father came. It was then nearly tea time.
Sacred music filled up most of the evening, and all the young girls and boys retired early to bed that they might be ready for the pleasures and employments of the coming day. The older people sat somewhat longer upon the veranda, conversing upon topics suited to the sacredness of the day. They were Christians, and loved to speak of the Master and the things concerning his kingdom.
"Then they that feared the Lord spake often one to another: and the Lord hearkened and heard it, and a book of remembrance was written before him for them that feared the Lord and that thought upon his name. And they shall be mine, saith the Lord of hosts, in that day when I make up my jewels; and I will spare them as a man spareth his own son that serveth him."
As usual. Lulu was up early the next morning, and joined her father in a walk under the trees along the bank of the bayou.
" Well, daughter, has the rest of the Sabbath made you ready for work in the school-room again?" he asked, smiling down affectionately into her face, rosy, bright,and happy with health and gay spirits.
" Yes, papa, I feel more like it than I did on Saturday," she answered, lifting to his sparkling eyes, full of affection.
"I rejoice to hear it," he said; "for it is by-no means a pleasant task to me when I have to compel a pupil—whether one of my own chil-ren or the child of someone else—against his or her inclination; though I enjoy teaching when all are happy and interested."
" As we all ought to be when we have such a good, kind, wise teacher, dear papa," she returned. "It will be difficult, very difficult, I'm afraid, to give my mind to lessons when we are all so much taken up with the preparations for the wedding, but I'm determined to try my very best to do so to please my dearest, kindest, best of fathers," lifting his hand to her lips.
"A father who would far rather be obeyed from love than fear," he said, with a tender, loving look down into her face.
" Yes, I know you would, papa, and my love for you is, oh! ever so much stronger than my fear; though I own I am afraid of your displeasure and punishments, for I know you can punish severely when you think it your duty and for my good; but I respect and love you too a great deal more than I would or could if you indulged me in bad behavior."
" I don't doubt it," he said; " and I, as I have often told you, punish you when I deem it needful, because I know you will be the happier in the end for being compelled to try to con-
quer your faults; happier than you ever could be if allowed to indulge them."
"Yes, papa, I know that is so; I am never at all happy when indulging wrong tempers and feelings," she acknowledged, with another loving look up into his face.
At that moment they were joined by Evelyn and Rosie.
"Brother Levis," said Rosie, "you surely are not going to be so unreasonable and tyrannical as to require lessons of us to-day?"
"I'm afraid I am, little sister," he replied, with a smile, "and I hope you are not going to be so naughty and rebellious as to require any kind of discipline?"
"I don't know," she said, with a pretended pout; "I feel no inclination at all toward lessons, but a very strong one in favor of a ride or drive over to Magnolia Hall."
" Which can be gratified when study and recitations have been duly attended to," returned the captain; "and if in need of an escort you may call upon me for that service."
"Oh, a thousand thanks! that will do very well indeed!" she exclaimed in a tone of relief and pleasure.
" And all the good and industrious little girls may go along," added the captain, with a smiling look into Lulu's eagerly inquiring face.
"Thank you, papa; thank you very much!'*
she exclaimed joyously. " I do want to go, and intend to be as industrious as possible, and as good and obedient, so that you can take me. And you'll take Gracie too if she wants to go, won't you?"
"Certainly," he said; "Gracie deserves all the indulgences and pleasures I can give her."
"You are very kind indeed. Captain, to spend so much of your time in teaching us to-day; for I feel very sure you would enjoy going to Magnolia Hall with the other gentlemen and the ladies this morning," remarked Evelyn, with a grateful, affectionate look up into his face.
" Thank you, my dear," he replied. " It would be pleasant to me to go, but it is also a pleasure to help my own children, and other appreciative pupils, to climb the hill of science."
Just then Grace and little Elsie came running to meet them, and the next minute the breakfast bell summoned them all to the house.'
After breakfast followed family worship, school, play-time, then dip.ner, and, late in the afternoon, the pleasant drive through the woods to Magnolia Hall. It was only for a call, however, and at tea-time the Viamede family and all their guests gathered about the table there.
From then until the wedding day the young folks were in a state of pleasurable excitement, though the captain kept his pupils steadily at their work, and they found it not impossible to
fix their minds upon their studies for a portion of each day. The other relatives invited had arrived, and in a few days the marriage was to take place.
It was Saturday morning. Scarcely two hours had been spent in the school-room when the captain dismissed his pupils, telling them, with his pleasant smile, that they had done very well indeed, and would be allowed a holiday until the wedding festivities were over, an announcement no one was sorry to hear, although he had made the lessons interesting and enjoyable to them as ever since undertaking the work of teaching them. All returned warm thanks, and Rosie, Evelyn, and Walter hastened from the room, which Captain Raymond had already left; but his two little girls lingered there a while longer, putting their desks in perfect order.
"Gracie," said Lulu, "how much money have you left?"
"Not a single cent," was the reply in a rather rueful tone; "and I suppose yours is all gone too?"
"Yes; every cent of it. I feel as poor as a church mouse."
"But we are not wanting to buy anything just now, and papa will be giving us some pocket-money again pretty soon," returned Grace in a determinedly cheerful tone.
"Yes, so he will! Oh, what a dear, good,
kind father he is! I really don't believe there are very many girls of our ages that get so much pocket-money every week. And papa gave us so much extra money too, to use in buying our gifts for Cousin Betty."
"Oh, yes, and now I think of it, I don't believe we ought to expect any more pocket-money for a good while. Do you, Lu ?"
"No, I don't; for this wedding's costing a good deal—to papa as well as other folks; and the journey home will cost ever so much, besides all that papa paid to bring us here. Then, too, he's going to see Max again after we get home, and will maybe take one or both of us along—if we're good."
"Oh, do you think so?" exclaimed Grace. "Oh, I'd love to see Maxie! but if only one of us can go it ought to be you, because you're the oldest, and so well that it wouldn't give papa half so much trouble to take care of you as of me."
"I'm just sure papa doesn't think it any trouble to take care of you, Gracie," returned Lulu in her quick, earnest way. "And you are a better girl than I, therefore more deserving of such indulgences."
"That's a mistake of yours, Lu," said Grace; "you've been good as gold ever since we came to Yiamede—as well as before—and helped papa with your typewriter, "while I haven't done
anything but wait on him a little, and try to learn my lessons well, and amuse the little ones sometimes."
Lulu's face had grown very red while Grace "was speaking, and she hung her head in a shamefaced, remorseful way.
"No, Gracie," she said in alow, mortified tone, "Ihaven't been half so good as you think; I displeased papa very much that day when you all went to Magnolia Hall, and I had to stay at home and learn my lessons over. I was very angry and cross with dear little Ned because he meddled with my herbarium, which I had carelessly left lying out on my desk. If papa had punished me very severely it would have been no more than I deserved, but all he did was to send me to my room for a while till I told him how sorry I was and asked forgiveness of him, and Neddie, too."
Grace looked surprised. "No, I never heard a word of it before," she said; "but I'm sure you did all you could when you asked forgiveness of both of them—papa and Neddie."
The little girls had no idea that their father was within hearing, yet such was the case, and their little talk pleased him greatly.
"The darlings!" he said to himself, "they shall not be long penniless, for their father thinka them very worthy to be trusted with pocket-
money. Two more unselfish children I am sure it would be hard to find."
With that he rose and went to the library, to which they presently followed him, asking if there were anything he wanted them to do.
"Why, it is your play-time, daughters," he returned, with a loving smile into the bright young faces.
"But we'd like to do something to help you, dear papa," Grace said, laying her small, white hand on his arm, and looking lovingly up into his face.
"Yes, indeed we would, papa," said Lulu, standing on his other side, and putting her arm round his neck. " Please, if you have letters to answer, mayn't i write them for you on mj typewriter?"
" Does my dear eldest daughter deem that a' privilege?" he asked, smiling down into her beseeching eyes, while he put one arm round her, the other about Grace's waist, and drew both in between his knees, kissing first one and then the other.
"Indeed i do, papa," Lulu answered in an earnest tone; " it's very sweet to me to feel that I am of even a little use to my dear, dear father, who does so much for me, taking so much trouble to teach me, and gives me so many, many nice things to eat, to wear, to read,^and to amuse
myself with—so many that it would take quite a long while to count them all up."
"Ah, that reminds me," he said, taking out his pocket-book, " I shouldn't wonder if my little girls had about emptied their purses in buying gifts for the bride that is to be, and so forth. Get them out and let me see what can be done toward replenishing them."
He noted with pleasure that as he spoke each young face grew very bright.
"We've left them upstairs, papa," said Lulu, "and though you're ever so kind," hugging and kissing him again," we don't want to take any more now when you have to spend so very much on the wedding, and to take us all home to Woodburn."
"No, indeed we don't, you dear, dear papa," chimed in Grace, nestling closer to him and patting his cheek lovingly.
"My precious darlings!" he said, holding them close, "your father can spare it without denying himself or anybody else anything at all needful; and he feels very sure that he could not get more enjoyment out of it in any other way. So get your purses and bring them here to me," he concluded, releasing them from his embrace.
They ran joyfully to do his bidding, and on their return each found a little pile of money waiting for her—two clean, fresh one dollar
bills, two silver half dollars, four quarters, and ten dimes; all looking as if just issued from the mint.
" Oh! oh! oh!" they cried, " how much! and all so bright and new!" Lulu adding, "Papa, are you quite, quite sure you can really spare all this without being—embarrassed?"
"Yes, quite sure," he returned, regarding her with a twinkle of fun in his eyes; "I really think I should not be greatly embarrassed if called upon for twice as much."
At that Lulu drew a long breath of relief^ while Grace threw her arms about his neck, saying, " You dear, dear papa! I don't believe any other children ever had such a good, kind father as ours."
"Well, now, I really hope there are a great many other fathers quite as good and kind as yours," he said, with a smile, pinching the round, rosy cheek, kissing the ruby lips, and fondly stroking the soft, shining curls of her, pretty head.
"I hope so," said Lulu, "but I'm just sure there's not another one I could love so, so dearly as ours. I do think God was very good to me in making me yours, papa. Your very own little daughter."
"And me too," said Grace.
"Yes; good to me as well as to you," responded the captain, "for my darlings seem to
me the dearest, most lovable children in th© world. Well, Lulu daughter, you may help me with your machine for a half hour, if you wish."
" Oh, yes, papa; yes, indeed! I'll be glad to!" she exclaimed, hastening to uncover it, put in the paper, and seat herself before it, while her father took up a letter, glanced over the contents, then began his dictation.
It was a business note and had no interest for Grace, who presently wandered out upon the veranda with her well filled purse in her hand.
Grandma Elsie sat there alone, reading. "What a bright, happy face, my little Gracie," she said, glancing up from her book as the child drew near. "Has some special good come to you, dear?"
"Yes, ma'am; see!" exclaimed the little girl, displaying her well filled purse; " it was empty, and my dear papa has just filled it. You see, Grandma Elsie," drawing near and lowering her voice, " I was wanting to buy a few things for good-by presents to some of the poor old colored folks, but I'd spent every cent of my money and thought I'd have to give it up; and I'm oh, so glad that I won't have to now. And—Oh, Grandma Elsie, you and mamma will help me to think what will be best to get for them, won't you?"
**I will be very glad to do anything I can to
"help you, dear child," replied Grandma Elsie in her low, sweet tones, and softly stroking the golden curls as the little girl stood close at her side. "Suppose you get a pencil and paper from the school-room and make out a list of those to whom you wish to give, and opposite to each name the gift that seems most suitable."
Grace's reply was a joyful assent, and she hurried away in search of the required articles.
She was not gone more than a very few minutes, but on her return found that her Mamma Yi, Rosie, and Evelyn had joined Grandma Elsie on the veranda, had been told by her what was the business in hand, and were desirous to have a share in it.
They had a pleasant time over their lists, each making out one for herself, while Lulu finished the work she had undertaken for her father. They decided to write to the city for what was wanted, and that anyone else who wished could send at the same time; so that matter was satisfactorily disposed of.
"Oh!" exclaimed Grace, struck by a sudden thought, " suppose I run to the library and tell papa and Lu about it, and get him to tell her what to say, and let her write on the typewriter for the things?"
Everyone thought it an excellent idea, and Grace immediately carried it out.
"I quite approve," her father said, when she had told her story and made her request.
"I too," said Lulu, "and I'll join you if papa will help me to decide what to buy, I'll write the letter too, if he will tell me what to say."
"I am entirely willing to do both, daughter," lie said. " Let us set to work at once, as it will fioon be dinner-time, and I want to take my little girls out for a drive this afternoon."
" Oh, thank you, papa, thank you very much!" they cried in joyous tones.
"Is anybody else going, papa?" asked Lulu.
"Your Grandma Elsie, Mamma Vi, and our little ones, in our carriage; as many more as may wish to go either in other carriages or on horseback. Perhaps you would prefer to ride your pony?"
"No, sir; not if you are to be in the carriage I may ride in."
"Ah, you are very fond of being with your father," he said, with a pleased smile.
"Yes, sir; yes, indeed! just as close as I can get," stroking and patting his cheek, then pressing her lips to it in an ardent kiss.
"And it's exactly the same with me, you dear, darling papa!" exclaimed Grace, putting an arm round his neck. "And it's exactly the same with every one of your children from bigMaxie down to baby Ned."
"I believe it is, and it makes me very happy to think so," he replied. "But now, my dears, we must to work on our list of articles."
CHAPTER XI.
It was a large party that set out from Via-mede shortly after leaving the dinner-table. Most of the young people—among them Chester, Frank, Maud, and Sydney Dinsmore, Evelyn. Leland, Rosie and Walter Travilla—preferred riding.
These, having swifter steeds, presently distanced the rest of the riders, as well as those who were driving, and in passing a plantation,, which was the home of Kettie Vance, an old school-mate of the Viamede young folks at the time, several years before, of their attendance at Oakdale Academy, they were joined by her and a young man whom she introduced as her brother, both well mounted and looking merry and happy.
"Bob and I were just starting out for a ride," •he said, "and consider ourselves fortunate in meeting with such good company. May I take my place alongside of you. Miss Leland? I have a bit of news to tell which I think will interest you and Miss Travilla. It is that Signor Foresti, who, as you will doubtless remember, was a teacher of music—anything but an agreeable
one, by the way—at Oakdale Academy when we were there together, is quite ill, partly from an accident, partly from drink, and extremely poor. I must say I hardly pity him very much for that last, but I do feel sorry for his wife and children."
"I too," said Evelyn. "I wish it were in my power to relieve them, but my purse is about empty just at present. However, I will report the matter at Yiamede, and I am sure the kind friends there will see that something is done toward supplying their pressing needs."
"Yes," returned Nettie, "I have heard a great deal of the kindness and benevolence of Mrs. Travilla and her father; of Captain Raymond's also; though I for one could hardly blame him if he utterly refused to give any assistance to a man who had abused his daughter as Foresti did Lulu."
"Nor I," said Evelyn; "yet I feel almost certain that he will assist Foresti. He would not let the wife and children suffer for the man'a ill deeds, nor indeed the man himself, unless I am greatly mistaken; for the captain is a truly Christian gentleman."
"Indeed he is," said Rosie, "and very benevolent; exceedingly kind to the poor; to anyone who is in distress of any kind. I am very proud of that brother-in-law of mine, Nettie, and don't care who knows it."
"I do not wonder at that," returned Kettie. **I certainly should be if he were mine; it is very plain from the way in which Lulu and Gracie look at him that they are both fond and proud of their father."
"Nor do I wonder at it," said Robert Yance, joining in the conversation. "Nettie pointed him out to me at church last Sunday, and I remarked then that he was as fine looking a man as ever I saw; tall, straight, handsome in feature, and of most noble countenance."
^*Thank you," Rosie said, with a smile and a bow. " I think him all that, and as noble in character as in looks. It is my opinion that my sister Violet drew a prize in the matrimonial lottery; and the captain also, f or Vi is in every way worthy of him."
"Surely," returned the young man, "one glance at her is sufficient to assure one of that."
Rosie and Evelyn then asked where the Forestis were to be found, and what were their most pressing needs, and having learned those particulars, promised that someone from Yia-mede would call to see and relieve them, Rosie adding, with a smile, "We, as you probably know, are busy with preparations for a wedding \n the family, yet I have no doubt some one or more among us could find time to attend to this call for help."
"Yes," said Walter, who had been quietly
listening to the talk, "mamma will be sure to find time for such an act of kindness; she always does."
"I am sure of it," responded Nettie heartily, "from her sweet looks and all I have heard of her. And so your cousin, Miss Johnson, is going to be married?" she added, looking at Rosie. "We received our invitations yesterday, and are busy with our preparations. It must be delightful to have such a thing coming off in the family; particularly to be the bride; for I hear it is to be quite a grand affair and the match an excellent one."
"Yes," returned Rosie, "we are all much pleased with what we have heard of the gentleman, and I hope they are going to be very happy together."
"I hope so, indeed," responded Nettie. "I am but slightly acquainted with Miss Johnson, but have always liked her looks."
It was near tea-time when the Viamede party reached home again; the ladies and little girls had barely time to dress for the evening before the summons to the table.
It was while all where seated about it that Rosie and Evelyn told of the news learned from Nettie Vance in regard to Signor Foresti and his family.
"Ah, poor things! we must do something for them," Grandma Elsie said, when the story was
finished. " Papa, shall we stop there to-morrow on our way to or from church? It would be a work of mercy suited to the day, I think. Do not you?"
"Yes," replied Mr. Dinsmore; "audit might be well to carry a basket of provisions with us."
Lulu had listened in silence while the others were talking, and all through the evening she had but little to say, seeming much of the time lost in thought, though usually she was quite talkative, unless, as occasionally happened, checked by a slight reminder from her father that it would be more becoming in a child of her age to show herself a quiet listener to older people.
The captain noticed her abstraction, but, guessing at the cause, said nothing about it till they were alone together in her bedroom; then, drawing her to his knee, "My little girl has been unusually silent this evening," he said. "Is anything wrong with her?"
She drew a long sigh. " I have been trying to decide a question of duty, papa," she said, " and, please—I'd like you to tell me what to do."
"In regard to what, daughter?"
" Giving a part* of my money—the money you put into my purse this morning—to—to the For-estis."
" I think it would be right and kind for you to do so. Do not you?"
"Yes, sir; and I will do it," she said with suddeD determination. "It will be returning good for evil, as the Bible bids us; won't it, papa?"
"Yes; and I think will help you to forgive the man for his ill treatment of my dear little daughter," drawing her closer and kissing her fondly.
"Yes, sir; even the resolve has made me feel more kindly toward him. How much ought I to give, papa? I hardly think I'll have very much left after I've paid for the presents I've sent for, for the servants here."
" No, not a very great deal, I presume; but you are not likely to need much before there will be more pocket-money coming to you."
"Oh, no, sir, I'll not, of course, because my dear, dear father provides everything I need to eat or wear, and pays my travelling expenses too, so that I'm not really obliged to spend anything on myself," she said, putting an arm about his neck and laying her cheek lovingly to his. "Papa, do you think a dollar will be enough for me to give the Forestis?"
" You may decide that question for yourself, my darling," he said, patting her cheek and stroking her hair; "I leave it entirely to you to give much, little, or nothing, as conscience and inclination dictate."
"Thank you, papa; you are very kind to say
that ; but please tell me if you think a dollar will be enough for me?"
"Yes, I do," was his reply, and Lulu looked satisfied and relieved.
. "I'm glad, papa," she said, *'for I really do not know that I shall have more than that left after paying for the presents for the servants; and of course I can't give more than I have."
" Quite true," he returned, with a slight smile. " I would have you make it a rule never to go into debt for your own gratification or for any other object. *Out of debt, out of danger,' is an old and wise saying. Now, daughter, it is time to say good-night; but first let me remind you that to-morrow is the Lord's day, and to be kept holy. Try not to think of the exciting events expected in the coming week, but to spend the time in the worship of God and the study of his word, that you may grow in grace and conformity to his will, thus becoming 'meet for the inheritance of the saints in light,' and ready, when he shall call you away from earth, to dwell forever with him in that holy, happy land where sin and sorrow are unknown. We will kneel down together now for a moment and ask him to help us both to do so, ^running with patience the race set before us, ever looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith.' "
Sunday was passed by the Yiamede family in the usual quiet way, most of its hours filled up
with divine service in the sanctuary or at home, and all retired to rest at an early hour, to rise the next morning in renewed health and strength, the children rejoicing in their holiday and the near approach of the wedding, festivities.
Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore had the day before, on their way to church, called upon the Italian music teacher, taking with them delicacies for the sick man, and other articles of food for the rest of the family; some money also, in which was included Lulu's dollar; and finding the services of a physician were needed, had engaged to send one.
Dr. Dick Percival undertook the errand, made a professional call, and on his return reported the man quite ill, but likely to recover with good and competent nursing. He went over again on Monday morning, but called first at Yiamede to report to his uncle Dinsmore and the captain.
Lulu was present at the interview and heard with interest all that Cousin Dick had to tell about the signor and his family.
"There are three children," said Dick—"forlorn looking little creatures, with apparently no playthings except a few broken bits of china, and for doll babies, some corn cobs wrapped in rags."
"Oh, papa," exclaimed little Elsie, seated
upon her father's knee, "mayn't I send dem some of my dollies?"
"Yes, if you want to do so," he replied, smiling Jupon her, and smoothing her curls caressingly with his hand.
"And I will hunt up some playthings for them too, if I may, papa," said Lulu.
" Certainly," he said; " you may do so at once, and we three and Gracie will drive over there in the carriage, which I will order immediately; that is, if Cousin Dick does not object to our company?"
" Not by any means. Captain; I shall be delighted to have it," said Dr. Percival. "And will you drive over with me, Art?" turning to Dr. Conley.
"With pleasure, Dick," was the reply, and in a short time all were on their way, the children well laden with toys and sweets for the little Forestis.
Violet had been invited to accompany her husband, but declined because of some preparations still to be made for the wedding. Little Ned, however, had no such excuse, and gladly made one of the merry little party in his father's carriage.
Dr. Percival, having other patients needing his attention, said he intended to make but a short call upon the Italian, and the captain did not think it worth while for his children to
alight; but from the carriage they witnessed with delight the pleasure conferred upon the little Forestis by their gifts.
Captain Raymond left them for a few moments while he went in to see the sick man, to whom he spoke with the utmost kindness, condoling with him on his sufferings, and inquiring if they were very great.
"De bains ish ver bad, sare," replied the man, with a heavy sigh. Then, with an earnest look into the captain's face, his own flushing hotly, "You, sare, ish de fader off Mees Lu Raymond?" he said inquiringly.
"I am, sir," replied the captain with some sternness of look and tone.
"Mees Lu, she bees one goot leetle girl for send me that monish yesterday," continued Foresti; " dot make me ver sorry I haf so leetle batience mit her dat time she sthrike me mit de music book."
"Yes," said Captain Raymond, "and I trust that when you are again able to teach you will try to be more patient and forbearing with your pupils. It will be better for both you and them."
" Yes, sare, I vill try dat blan; but mine batience bees sorely dried mit de mishtakes off dose careless bupils I haf to teach."
"I dare say that is true," said the captain, " but one who finds it impossible to have patience
with pupils, should try some other way of making a livelihood than by teaching."
In another minute or two the captain left—not waiting for the doctors, who were, as he knew, going in another direction—re-entered his carriage, and started on the return trip to Viamede.
"Papa," asked Lulu, "can't we take a little different route going home?"
"Yes," he replied in an indulgent tone, and gave the necessary directions to the driver.
It was a pleasant, shady road into which they presently turned, and the children chatted and laughed right merrily, receiving no rebuke from their father and fearing none.
They had not gone far on that road when they espied two horsemen approaching from the opposite direction.
"Oh," cried little Elsie, "here come Cousin Ronald and Uncle Horace."
"An unexpected meeting, Captain," Mr.Dins-more remarked, with a bow and smile as they drew near.
"But none the less pleasant," returned Captain Raymond.
"Very true, sir," said Mr. Lilburn, bowing and smiling in his turn.
"For the captain and you young folks, na doubt, but a trifle less delightful for us who have the load to carry," seemed to come from
the mouth of one of the horses as he tossed his head to shake off a fly.
"True enough, Selim. You doubtless envy me with only this gentleman to carry; and I pity you from the bottom of my heart; only that it must be good fun to hear those little folks chatting and laughing," was the answering remark apparently made by the horse ridden by Mr. Lil-burn, speaking as they passed the captain's carriage.
Lulu and Grace clapped their hands, laughing merrily, while baby Ned exclaimed, with a look of astonishment, "Me didn't fink horsey could talk like udder folks!"
"Oh, yes! but why did they never do it before?" cried little Elsie. "Papa, did you know they could talk?"
"I never heard them do so before, daughter," the captain said, with an amused smile <iown into the earnest, surprised little face, "and I suspect that it is only when Cousin Ronald is about that they can."
CHAPTER Xn.
Rides, drives, sports of various kinds, and preparations for the wedding, made the time pass very rapidly and pleasantly to the young folks at Yiamede, Magnolia Hall, and the Parsonage, until at length all was in readiness for the expected festivities.
The ceremony was to be performed at the church, the Rev. Cyril Keith officiating, and to be immediately succeeded by a wedding breakfast on the lawn at Magnolia Hall. That was to be about noon, so did not interfere with the usual morning meal and family devotions at Viamede.
When these had been attended to, the ladies and young girls scattered to their rooms to dress for the important occasion.
It had been arranged that Grace Raymond and Rose Lacy were to act as flower girls, dressed in white tarlatan, and white hats trimmed with white ribbon, and each carrying a basket filled with white roses, white japonicas, and smilax. Rose Travilla, Evelyn Leland, and Lulu Raymond, dressed as had been planned at the firsts were to act as bridesmaids, while Lora Howard,
S07
Maud and Sydney Dinsmore, were to be maids of honor, dressed in white, and carrying bouquets of white flowers.
Betty's own dress was a rich white silk, trimmed with elegant and costly lace—the gift of her brother-in-law, Mr. Embury—and a tulle veil, fastened to her head with a wreath of orange blossoms. Her bouquet was of bride roses and smilax. The Dinsmore and Howard cousins were to act as ushers and groomsmen.
All this had been satisfactorily arranged, and rehearsals gone through with several times at Magnolia Hall and Viamede, that each one might be perfect in his or her part; otherwise timid little Gracie could not have been induced to undertake her share in the ceremony.
When she and Lulu were dressed for the occasion they went in search of their father to ask his opinion of their appearance and attire. He scanned each daintily attired, graceful little figure with a look of proud, fond affection, clasped them in his arms and kissed them tenderly.
" My darlings look very sweet in their father's eyes," he said; "but do not be too proud of your appearance, for fathers are apt to see their own children through rose-colored glasses; and it is not very likely that you will attract particular attention among so many attendants upon the bride, who will doubtless be gazed upon more admiringly and critically than anyone else."
"I'm ever so glad of that, papa," Gracie said, with a sigh of relief; "because I don't like to be viewed with a critic's eye," she concluded with a merry, though slightly disturbed little laugh.
" Well, dear child, just try to forget yourself, and I have no doubt everything will go right," he said, drawing both her and Lulu closer into his arms for a little more petting and caressing.
That was interrupted by the entrance of their mamma Yi, coming upon the same errand that had brought them.
"Will I do, my dear?" she asked, with a bright, winsome smile.
"Ah, my Violet, my sweet and beautiful flower," he returned, regarding her with ardently admiring eyes, " I fear you will outshine the bride. You look very like one yourself, except a most becoming air of maturity; scarcely older and certainly not less beautiful than when you gave yourself to me."
"And accepted you in return; deeds which I have never yet for a moment regretted," she said, with a coquettish smile up into his face; for he had put his little girls gently aside and risen to take a critical survey of his young and beautiful wife.
" And never shall if in my power to prevent it, my love, my darling," he said low and ten-
derly, laying a hand upon her shoulder, and bending down to press a fond kiss upon her lips.
They were in the library, whither the captain had gone, after arraying himself for the wedding festival, to wait for the ladies and damsels who were to go under his care.
"Ah, Brother Levis, I have caught you in the very act," laughed Rosie, dancing into the room, already in bridesmaid's attire, and looking but little less attractive than Violet herself.
" Ah! and what of that, little sister?" he asked. "Who has a better right than her husband to bestow caresses upon a beautiful and attractive woman ?"
" Captain Raymond, being my teacher, has an undoubted right to question me in the schoolroom," laughed Rosie, with an arch look up into his face, "but—I don't know that he has here and now. Now please let me have your candid opinion of my dress and appearance,"
"You will do very well, little sister; there is no fault to be found with your appearance, so far as I can see," he answered in a non-committal tone, and with a mischievous twinkle of fun in his eye.
At that Rosie pretended to j^out. " You keep all your comj^liments for Vi," she said. " But— ah, here comes Eva, and I wonder if you can afford one to her. She is certainly worthy of it."
Evelyn did indeed look sweet and fair in a
becoming white chip hat and her pretty dress of pale blue silk trimmed with lovely lace.
Rosie's own dress was a delicate pink; Lulu's canary color; all of the same material.
"That she is, in ray opinion," returned the captain, bestowing a fatherly caress upon the young orphan girl, then offering the same to Rosie.
" Well, now, you are a nice brother—my big, big brother, you remember," she laughed, "so I won't repulse you; help yourself and let us have it over."
Just at that moment her mother came in, dressed for the wedding in a beautiful pearl-colored silk and point lace, a knot of white roses at her throat and in her belt, her lovely and abundant golden brown hair simply and tastefully arranged.
"Mamma!" exclaimed Violet, "you are the most beautiful and tastefully attired one among us!"
"In the partial eyes of my daughter Violet," was the smiling rejoinder. "But to me her youthful beauty far exceeds her mother's fading charms.".
"I incline to the opinion that the fading is perceptible to no eyes but your own, mother," remarked the captain gallantly.
"I also," said Violet; "a richer, riper bloom is all that I can see."
" Or that anybody else can," added Walter, who, ready dressed for the wedding, had entered the room just in time to catch Violet's first exclamation.
Then the other members of the family and the guests came flocking in, the carriages were announced as waiting for their living freight, and presently all were seated in them and on their way to the church, which they found crowded with invited guests and other spectators.
The ceremony was short, but impressive. Bride, bridesmaids, flower girls, and maids of honor were all looking their best, and behaved admirably; groom, groomsmen, and^ushers also, among whom were a brother and an intimate friend of the bridegroom, the young cousins Arthur and Walter Howard, Chester and Frank Dinsmore, and little Walter Travilla.
Old Mr. Dinsmore, the uncle and guardian of the bride, gave her away, and was the first to salute, and call her by her new name on the completion of the ceremony, the first to congratulate the groom, and wish them a great deal of happiness.
Other affectionate greetings and best wishes followed in quick succession; then the carriages were re-entered, and all drove to Magnolia Hall to partake of the wedding breakfast.
The place was looking its very loveliest: the
grass on the lawn like a velvet carpet of emerald green, spangled with many flowers of varied hues, which filled the air with delicious perfume, and there, scattered about underneath the magnolia, orange, and other beautiful shade trees, were many small tables resplendent with the finest napery, shining [silver, cut glass, and delicate china, and loaded with delicate and delicious viands.
Presently every table was surrounded by a merry group quite disposed to do justice to the tempting fare, and the air filled with the pleasant hum of happy voices and low, gleeful laughter.
The bride and groom, with their attendants, were seated about two tables not many feet apart, while the older members of the Yiamede family and Cousin Ronald occupied another, quite near to both; and Mr. Embury and his Molly, with the Parsonage family, Virginia and the older Embury children, filled a third, not far from either of the others, when presently Nero, a great big Newfoundland dog belonging to Mr. Embury, showed himself at his master's side, looking up wistfully into his face.
"I'm hungry, good master," were the words that seemed to come from his lips, " and surely your faithful dog might have a taste of this feast."
At that some of the guests looked startled and
astounded, too much surprised to speak, but Mr, Embury, who was not ignorant of Cousin Ronald's talents, though a little startled at first, recovered his wits instantly, and replying, " Certainly, certainly, Nero; that's only fair," handed the dog a generous bit of chicken, and bade him carry it to a distance and eat it. An order which was promptly obeyed.
"Ah ha, ah ha, um h'm! that's a bright and capable dog, Mr. Embury," remarked Cousin Ronald, elevating his eyebrows in mock surprise. "What would you take for him, sir?"
"He is not ^for sale, Mr. Lilburn," was Mr. Embury's grave rejoinder. "You must surely see for yourself, sir, that he is no ordinary dog, but an uncommonly valuable animal. There are not many of his race who can speak so plainly."
**Ah ha, ah ha, umh'ml that is very true^ sir. I don't wonder you are not inclined to part with him, for it is no easy matter to find a dog that can speak such good English, nor for that matter any other language."
"No, sir, they are scarce indeed," said Mr. Embury, "and I had no idea Nero was one of them until he spoke just now."
"Ah, I'm afraid the power of speech will be lost by him as suddenly as it was found," remarked Mrs. Embury with a low, gleeful laugh."
** There must certainly be a ventriloquist among us," remarked the groom, with a searching look at Cousin Ronald.
"Ah, do you really think so, sir?" inquired Mr. Lilburn gravely, " and would you do me :.he favor to point him out?"
"Well, sir, I cannot say that I am absolutely certain, but strongly incline to the opinion that he sits in the chair occupied by yourself."
"Indeed, sir, I didna think I filled the place BO ill that room could be found in it for another mon!" exclaimed Mr. Lilburn, again raising his eyebrows like one astonished, then sending a downward glance over his own portly person, and assuming so comical an expression of countenance that no one could see it without smiling or laughing outright.
So fully was he absorbing the attention of all that no one noticed the return of Nero until words were again heard apparently issuing from his lips.
"That was a nice morsel, master, but not enough to satisfy the appetite of a dog of my size; so another bit, sir, if you please."
"Yes, sir, you shall have it, since you ask so politely," returned Mr. Embury, handing him another and larger piece of the chicken, "but carry it off where there will be no danger of contact with wedding finery."
Nero obeyed, and as he trotted away, a voice
that seemed to come from behind Mr. Embury, said whiningly:
"I'm hungry too, sir, and surely a human creature should be treated at least as well as a dog."
At that Mr. Embury turned suddenly round as if to see the speaker, nearly everyone else doing likewise, but no beggar was in sight.
"Well, sir," he said, *'I cannot give to an invisible suppliant; show yourself if you want anything."
"Sir," replied the voice, now seeming to come from a clump of bushes near at hand, "I'm not used to begging, and don't want to be seen. Can you not send a servant here with a plateful of your most toothsome viands?"
"Quite a modest request, sir," returned Mr. Embury, laughing. "But I think you will have to wait till the servants have more leisure; at present they are all fully occupied in waiting upon my guests."
"But then you'll let him have something to eat, won't you, papa?" pleaded little Mary Embury. "You never do turn anybody away hungry."
"Certainly not, little daughter; if he could be found he should be fed."
"But shan't I drive him out, sir?" queried a servant man; "we doan' want no beggahs 'bout
yar. Dey mout help deirselfs to some o' de silvah when nobody aint lookin'."
"Well, Bill, you might drive him out; he's perhaps a tramp watching his opportunity to help himself."
Bill, well pleased with the errand, set down with alacrity the dish he carried, and hurried toward the clump of bushes that apparently concealed the tramp. " Ki, you ole tief you!" he cried, "git long out ob dis; nobody doan' want yo' hyar! I'se break yo' skull fo' yo' ef ye doan be gone putty quick!"
He pulled apart the bushes as he spoke, but instantly started back in astonishment and terror as he perceived that no one was concealed there.
" Whar dat fellah dun gone?" he exclaimed. "Dis chile doan' see nobody dar nohow 'tall!"
"Ha, ha! you don't look in the right place," cried the same voice that had begged for food a moment before, the speaker seeming to be directly behind him; and Bill wheeled about with unusual alacrity with the intention of seizing his tormentor, but turned almost white with terror on perceiving that no one was there.
" Wha—wha—wha dat raskil done gone?" he exclaimed, "t'ot he right dar, an' he aint no-whar 'bout."
"Nevermind, Bill; it seems he has saved you the trouble of driving him off," said Mr. Em-
bury, "and you may come back to your duties. More coffee is wanted here."
Bill obeyed, but on his return with the coffee kept glancing apprehensively in the direction of the bushes.
"I wonder where the man did go!" exclaimed little Mary presently. "I've been watching, and don't know how he could get away without being seen."
"Beggars are sometimes very quick at hiding, little lassie," remarked Mr. Lilburn.
"Ha, ha! so they are!" cried the voice of the beggar, sounding as though he stood just behind her chair.
" Oh!" she exclaimed, with a start and a backward glance. "Why, where is he? I don't see him at all."
"Don't be frightened, daughter," Mr, Embury said in an encouraging tone.
"No, bit lassie, he's not dangerous," remarked Mr. Lilburn, with a reassuring smile.
" Oh, do you know him, sir?" she asked, looking up inquiringly into his face.
"I didna see him," replied the old gentleman laughingly, "but judging by his voice I think I know who he is—a quiet, inoffensive countrymen o' me ain."
"Ah, yes, a rather intimate acquaintance of yours, sir, is he not?" queried Norton, with a
searching look into the face of the old gentleman and a half mocking smile.
" I think I may have heard the voice before, sir," Mr. Lilburn replied with unmoved countenance. " It is not unusual for beggars to accost one who is by no means o' the same class as themselves. In fact, as ony body can see, it would be useless to ask alms o' those no richer than themselves."
"Ah, true enough, sir!" was the reply.
Meanwhile, many mirthful glances had been exchanged by those—particularly the young folks—acquainted with the secret of Cousin Ronald's peculiar talent, and the guests at more distant tables were looking on with a good deal of curiosity. Bill was presently questioned as he passed them on his way to and from the kitchen. " What was it you saw yonder in that bush. Bill?"
"Nothin' 'tall, sah."
"But you seemed frightened; you looked scared."
"Dat's de reason, sah; somebody talkin'an' nobody dare."
"Why, how was that. Bill?" queried another voice.
"Dunno, sah; maybe witches roun'; 'spect dat de splanation ob de mattah."
" Oh, of course," laughed the gentleman; " but one hardly expects such company at a wedding."
Questions were put to Mr. and Mrs. Embury and others as the guests drew together again upon the conclusion of the meal, but no satisfactory answers were elicited.
A reception occupied some hours after that, then all returned to their homes, to meet again at Viamede in the evening, where a beautiful and bountiful entertainment awaited them.
The next evening a smaller party was given at the Parsonage, and on the following afternoon the bride and groom took their departure for a little trip northward, expecting to settle down in their own home upon their return.
CHAPTER Xm.
It was only the next day after the departure of Betty and her husband that a letter was received by Mrs. Cyril Keith, informing her of the death of her aunt Delaford, leaving the bulk of her large fortune to her, and a fat legacy to each of the Conley brothers—Calhoun, Arthur, Walter, and Ralph—and the sisters Virginia and Ella.
Isadore was well satisfied with the provision® of the will, as were the others also, with the exception of Virginia, who frowned and grumbled audibly that she herself might have been made to share equally with Isadore, who had a good home and husband already, therefore really-needed less than herself, "lone and lorn, and poor as a church mouse."
"But you have no children, Virgie," said her cousin Elsie, in whose presence the remark wa^ made, "no one to support but yourself; and the interest of this money will be sufficient for your comfortable maintenance."
"Possibly, if I had a home, as Isa has; but not without," returned Virginia in a pettish tone, while her eyes flashed angrily. ssa.
Elsie bore patiently with the rebuff, and said no more at that time, but considered the matter earnestly, carefully, and prayerfully, in the privacy of her own room, then had a talk about it with her father, without whose approval she seldom took a step of any great importance.
Finding him alone on the veranda, "Papa," she said, taking a seat by his side, "I want a few minutes' chat with you before we are joined by anyone else. You heard Virginia's complaint of yesterday—that she had no home of her own. I have been thinking it over, also of the fact that Dick and Bob are in the same condition, and it has occurred to me that I might invite them to take possession here while we are absent at our more northern home, giving employment to the servants, keeping the house in repair, and the grounds in order; that is, merely overseeing the work and looking to me for the means necessary to cover the expense, I to retain my present satisfactory overseer, and pay his wages out of the returns from the crops; also those of the laborers."
" You mean that you would simply give a home here to your cousins?" returned Mr. Dinsmore interrogatively.
"Yes, sir; a home without expense—except, perhaps, some small increase of the wages of the servants in consideration of the additional work made for them, and a share of the fruits,
vegetables, fowls, and so forth, raised upon the plantation."
"A share? meaning all they might want to use? the'and so forth' I suppose, meaning milk, cream, butter, and eggs?"
"Yes, sir."
"I should call it a very generous offer, and I have no objection to bring it forward, seeing that you are well able to afford it, if it is your pleasure so to do."
" I am glad my project meets with your approval," she said, with a smile, "for otherwise, as I think you know, papa, it would never be carried out. Ah, how thankful I should be, and I hope I am, that I have been given the financial ability to do such kindness to others!"
"Yes," he said, with an affectionate smile into the soft brown eyes looking into his; "I know of no one who enjoys doing kindness more than my dear eldest daughter.
" What a delightful winter and early spring we have had here," he continued after a pause; "but it is now growing so warm that I think we must soon be moving northward."
"Yes, sir; when the last arrivals have had a week or more of the enjoyment to be found in this lovely region of country."
"Yes; they are enjoying it," he said, with a pleased smile; " the younger ones especially, the children of your brother and sister not less than
the others. And by the way, daughter, I think you will be doing no little kindness to your cousins Cyril and Isadore by giving Virginia a home here."
" Yes, I think their home life will be more peaceful," she said in assent. "Poor Virgie seems to be not of—the happiest or most contented disposition."
"No, she never was," said Mr. Dinsmore; "a discontented, fretful, complaining creature she has always been since I have known her, and she was a very little child when our acquaintance began."
In the course of that day Elsie's plans were made known to the Keiths, Virginia, and her cousins Dick Percival and his half-brother Bob Johnson, joyfully accepted by the two gentlemen, and half ungraciously by Virginia, who said complainingly, that "Viamede was a pretty enough place, to be sure, but would be dreadfully lonesome for her when the boys were away."
" Then you can amuse yourself with a book from the library, a ride or drive, as the horses and carriages will be left here for your use and that of Dick and Bob," Elsie answered j^leas-antly, while Isadore, blushing vividly for her sister, exclaimed, " O Virgie, you could not have a lovelier, sweeter home, and I think Cousin Elsie is wonderfully kind to offer it!"
"Of course, I'm greatly obliged to her/* Virginia said, coloring slightly as though a trifle ashamed of her want of appreciation of the kind offer "and I'll not damage anything, so that the house will be none the worse for my occupancy, but possibly a little better."
"Yes, perhaps it may," Elsie said pleasantly, "thoughthe servants usually left in charge are careful about airing it and keeping everything neat and clean. I really think you will have no trouble with your housekeeping, Yirgie."
" That seems a pleasant prospect, for I never liked housekeeping," returned Virginia, "and I really am much obliged to you, Cousin Elsie."
" You are very welcome, and I hope will be happy here," was the kindly reply.
Another fortnight of constant intercourse between the three places—Viamede, Magnolia Hall, and the Parsonage—of rides, drives, walks, sailing or rowing about on the lagoon, and every other pleasure and entertainment that could be devised, then the party began'^to break up, those from the north returning to their homes, most of them by rail, as the speediest and the most convenient mode of travel. However, Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore, Evelyn, Grandma Elsie and her youngest two, Cousin Ronald and the Woodburn family, returned together by sea, making use of the captain's yacht, which he had
ordered to be sent to him in season for the trip by the Gulf and ocean.
There was no urgent need of haste, and the captain did not deny that he was conscious of a longing to be, for a time, again in command of a vessel sailing over the briny deep; besides, it would be less fatiguing for the little ones, to say nothing of their elders.
The little girls were full of delight at the prospect of both the voyage and the return to their lovely homes, yet could not leave beautiful Via-mede without deep regret.
It was the last evening but one of their stay; all were gathered upon the veranda looking out upon the lagoon sparkling in the moonlight, and the velvety flower-bespangled lawn, with its many grand and beautiful old trees. The little ones had already gone to their nests, but Evelyn, Lulu, and Grace were sitting with the older people, Grace on her father's knee, the other two together close at hand.
There had been some cheerful chat, followed by a silence of several minutes. It was broken by a slight scuffling sound, as of a negro's footstep, in the rear of Elsie's chair, then a voice said in mournful accents, "Scuse de in'truption, missus, but dis chile want to 'spress to you uns dat we uns all a'most heart-broke t'inkin' how yoij's gwine 'way an' p'r'arps won't be comin'
heah no mo' till de ol'est ob us done gone for-eber out dis wicked worl'."
Before the sentence was completed every eye had turned in the direction of the sounds; but nothing was to be seen of the speaker.
"Oh, that was you, Cousin Ronald," laughed Rosie, recovering from the momentary start given her by the seemingly mysterious disappearance of the speaker.
"Ah, Rosie, my bonnie lassie, how can you treat your auld kinsman so ill as to suspect him of murdering the king's English in that style?" queried the old gentleman in hurt, indignant tones.
" Because, my poor abused cousin, I am utterly unable to account in any other way for the phenomenon of an invisible speaker so close at hand."
Cousin Ronald made no reply, for at that instant there came a sound of bitter sobbing, apparently from behind a tree a few feet from the veranda's edge, then a wailing cry, " Oh, Miss Elsie, Massa Dinsmore, and de res' ob you dar, doan' go for to leab dis po' chile! She cayn't Stan' it nohow 'tall! her ole heart like to break! Doan' go way, massa an'missus; stayhyah wid de niggahs dat lubs you so!"
" Oh, Cousin Ronald, don't!" Elsie said in half tremulous tones. " It seems too real, and alnrost
breaks my heart; for I am greatly attached to many of these poor old men and women."
" Then I think they will not distress you with any more complaints and entreaties to-night, sweet cousin," returned the old gentleman in pleasant, though half regretful tones.
CHAPTER XIV.
The next day the servants were gathered on the lawn and presented with the parting gifts procured for them by the ladies and little girls, which they received with many thanks and demonstrations of delight. But the following morning, when the time of parting had really come, there were some tears shed by the old retainers, yet they were greatly cheered by the assurances of their loved mistress, her father, and Captain Raymond, that in all probability it would not be very long before the family would be there again for a season.