“Itis a lovely morning, one of October’s fairest days!” exclaimed Lucilla, glancing from the window of her dressing-room on the day after their home-coming from their recent sojourn upon the banks of the Hudson. “Oh, Chester, my dear, I wish you could just stay at home and spend the day with me!”
“It would be very pleasant to do so, my love,” he returned, “but business forbids; and besides,” he added laughingly, “I feel very sure you would not be content to really stay at home all day.”
“No,” she returned in mirthful tone, “but Woodburn seems to me only a part of my home—holding my dear father and the other loved ones—and I cannot be content to refrain from spending a part of every day with them, or from having them spend a part here with me.”
“Yes, dearest, I fully understand, and rejoicethat you have their loved companionship when I must be away from home, so that you might be lonely indeed without them,” returned Chester. He came close to her side and put an arm about her as he spoke.
“My dear husband,” she murmured low and softly, “your companionship has become more and sweeter to me than any or all other, even that of my dear father.”
“Oh, thank you for those sweet words, dearest,” he returned with emotion. “Ah, I esteem myself a very fortunate man in having such a wife. But it grows late and I must hasten with my preparations, for breakfast first and business after.”
“Do, my dear. I am just ready to go down, and I think the call to breakfast will soon follow my entrance into the dining-room.”
She met Max in the hall, and they exchanged a pleasant morning greeting.
“How are wife and baby?” she asked.
“They seem to be well, bright and happy.”
“And you are looking so.”
“Look as I feel, then, when I can refrain from thinking of Uncle Sam’s coming orders,” he returned with a rather rueful smile.
“Oh, dear! I’d break loose from that old uncle if I were you. Won’t you and Eva come in and breakfast with us?”
“No, thank you; we were with you last night, you know, so it’s your turn to come to us. Take your breakfast with us this morning, you and Chester, won’t you?”
“Thank you, but Chester is so hurried in the mornings. I think he would prefer to join you at tea some of these evenings.”
“Ah, yes, that will be better. And there! both breakfast bells are ringing.”
Those sounds brought both Evelyn and Chester into the hall. Morning greetings were exchanged with them and the four descended to their breakfast rooms.
Chester did not linger over his breakfast, but Max and Eva ate leisurely, as there was no necessity for haste with either of them at that time.
Lucilla saw her husband on his way, returnedto the table, finished her breakfast, had a pleasant little stroll about the grounds with her father, then returned to the house and found them, baby and all, on the veranda, for it was a bright, warm morning. Eva sat with the babe in her arms, Max standing by her side, gazing in the direction of Woodburn.
“Why didn’t father come in?” he asked, his tone expressing disappointment and chagrin.
“He said it was a little too late. Mamma Vi would be ready for her breakfast, and he could not think of keeping her waiting. But he thinks they will be here in an hour or so and convoy us all over there.”
“All right, as father’s plans always are,” returned Max with a sigh of satisfaction.
“Just as I think,” said Evelyn; “but I doubt if we can make a lengthened stay, as I overheard occasional remarks yesterday at Ion indicating that we would be likely to receive a number of calls from relatives and friends to-day.”
“But,” laughed Lucilla, “they will be calling upon the Woodburn folks, too, and it will be to them a saving of time and trouble to find us all in one house.”
“So it will,” responded Max in laughing tone, “and I hope they will appreciate our kindness in so evidently consulting their convenience in regard to the matter.”
“Ah, how sweet our little darling looks this morning!” exclaimed Lucilla, stepping to Evelyn’s side and bending over the little one. “Precious pet, Aunt Lu loves to look at you.”
“Tell Aunt Lu you will look much sweeter when you have had your bath and are dressed for the day,” said Evelyn, and the child seemed to answer:
“Let me have it soon, mamma, before my dear grandpa sees me.”
“Yes, so you shall,” Eva replied, with a laughing look at her husband. “Baby dear, you should appreciate the blessing of having a father who can talk for you until you can do it for yourself. Now,” she added, risingwith the child in her arms, “we will go and make the contemplated improvements.”
“And I to attend to household affairs,” added Lucilla, and they passed into the entrance hall together.
The families at Woodburn and Ion sat down to their breakfast at very nearly the same time. At both places all were well and in good spirits, and as a consequence the chat was lively and pleasant.
“What a lovely morning,” remarked Mrs. Dinsmore. “This is one of our delicious October days.”
“Yes, and quite a good deal of it would be properly spent in walking and driving,” said her husband. “Shall I take you and Elsie over to Woodburn and Sunnyside?”
“You may take me in either way that suits you best,” she returned with a pleased smile.
“And you, Elsie?” he asked.
“Thank you, father,” she said, her tone and look indicating a grateful appreciation of his kindness in giving the invitation. “I last evening accepted an invitation from Walter;but we might make up a family party and all go. ‘The more the merrier,’ as I am sure the Woodburn folk will think.”
“Oh, do, do! Let us all go!” cried little Lily. “I want to see the monkeys again.”
At that everybody laughed, and Grandpa Dinsmore said:
“Very well, you can visit the monkeys, and the rest of us our relatives.”
Lily hung her head and blushed.
“I didn’t mean I cared more about the monkeys than about aunt and uncle and the cousins, for I don’t.”
“No, dear, we all understand that,” said Grandma Elsie soothingly; “the monkeys are not the principal attraction, but merely an additional one.”
“Yes, ma’am,” returned the child with a relieved sigh. “I don’t want anybody to think I don’t love Aunt Vi and uncle and the rest, because I do; but the monkeys are the funniest.”
“Of course, they are,” said her Uncle Herbert; “and who doesn’t like fun?”
“I know of no one in this house who objects to it in the right time and place,” remarked her father, bestowing a reassuring smile upon the little girl.
“We seem likely to have a gay time while our young naval officer remains in the neighborhood,” remarked Mr. Dinsmore.
“Yes, sir,” said Edward; “so I understand, and I hope they—the various parties planned—may prove enjoyable.”
“I have no doubt that they will, my dear,” said Zoe.
“I hope they will be in the daytime, so that we children can go,” said Lily.
“But even if they do, the monkeys will surely not be present at all of them,” remarked Walter gravely.
“But I’m not a monkey, Uncle Walter,” she returned in a slightly resentful tone. “You wouldn’t have me for your niece if I was.”
“No; and you haven’t the least look like one. So if you can do without their companionship,I hope you will be permitted to go to all the parties talked of.”
“If she is a good girl she shall go to all the parties she’s invited to; all the daytime ones in the connection, I mean,” said her mother.
“Oh, thank you, mamma!” exclaimed the little girl; “and I may go to-day with you and papa, may I?”
“You shall go somehow and with somebody; we will get it all arranged presently. There are conveyances enough for all to ride if they wish, and it is a delightful day for walking so short a distance if any one prefers to do that.”
Some did prefer it, and in a few moments their plans in regard to that were all arranged.
In the meantime Lucilla had made her housekeeping arrangements and toilet for the day, the next-door neighbors had done likewise, the baby, beautifully attired, was sleeping in her carriage, which Max was proud todraw with his own hands, and they set out on their trip across the lawn to Woodburn.
They received a joyous welcome there, and were told they were just in time to prevent the call from being made in the other direction.
“We were just about to start for Sunnyside,” said Violet, “for we were all hungry for a sight of my little granddaughter.”
“Oh, mamma, she isn’t that, and you don’t look a bit like a grandmother!” exclaimed Elsie.
“I’m her own grandfather’s wife,” laughed Violet, “and what’s my husband’s is mine also. Isn’t it, my dear?” turning to him with a pleased little laugh.
“Yes,” he replied, “I consider you as having a right to a share in all my possessions.”
“That’s nice and kind in you, papa,” said Elsie, “but I don’t like my pretty young mamma to be thought old; and folks will think so if she’s called grandma.”
“Well, daughter, I should think a sight ofher face would convince anybody of the absurdity of that,” the captain said, drawing Elsie to his side and smoothing her hair caressingly. Then bending over the babe, which was waking, he said caressingly: “Grandpa’s pretty pet! the first grandchild, sweet and beautiful as a lily or a rose.”
At that she looked up into his face and cooed.
“That’s a pretty reply to grandpa, baby darling,” he said, softly touching her cheek with his lips.
Then she seemed to speak:
“I love you, my dear grandpa.”
“Oh, that’s nice for her to say,” cried Elsie, clapping her hands and laughing merrily; “and I do believe she does, papa, for see how sweetly she looks at you. Oh, I think she’s just the dearest, prettiest baby that ever was made.”
“That’s rather strong, isn’t it?” laughed Max; “but you are young and have seen comparatively few of her age.”
“I really think a brighter or prettier onewould be hard to find,” said her grandfather.
“And it wouldn’t be worth her father’s while to pretend to disagree with me,” he added, glancing at Max with a twinkle of fun in his eye.
“We are not disposed to contradict you, father,” Evelyn said with a smile, “but perhaps it is partly because she is our very own that she looks so pretty to us.”
“Oh, there are some folks coming up the driveway!” exclaimed Ned. “Why, they are grandma and Uncle Herbert and—Uncle Walter, I do believe!”
“And I think you are right,” said his father, then hurried forth to meet and welcome the approaching guests. Violet followed closely in his footsteps, the others a little more slowly.
Warm greetings were exchanged, then came a gathering about the carriage, and Evelyn and Max were gratified by hearing Walter say he really thought it the prettiest young baby he had ever seen.
“And so far she’s as good as she is pretty,” said Lucilla; “a bit bairnie to be proud of.”
“There’s nobody here who will contradict you in that,” said Violet, gazing admiringly upon the sweet baby face.
“She seems a fortunate little one—has come to the right place, I think,” remarked Herbert.
“Yes, the right place to be loved and petted,” said Violet. “I suppose partly because we have had no baby among us for some years.”
“I’m glad we have one now, and that she’s my little niece, the dearest, prettiest baby in the land!” cried Elsie, bending over the child and regarding it with loving admiration.
“Where’s Harold?” asked Violet. “I wonder he didn’t come with his mother and brothers.”
“Gone to visit some patients who have been longing for his return,” replied Herbert; adding laughingly: “They actually appear tothink him a better physician than either Cousin Arthur or myself. I presume he will be in after a little, though. And yonder, I see, come grandpa and grandma, with Ed and his family.”
“Ah, that is well,” said the captain; “the more the merrier.”
The new arrivals met a hearty welcome, spent a delightful half hour, then returned to Ion; but had scarcely left Woodburn when a servant came to tell the Sunnyside folk that callers were there awaiting the return of its owners.
“Who are they?” asked Max.
“The folks from the Oaks and Beechwood,” was the reply.
“Oh, just our own connections,” said Lucilla; “so, father, you, Grandma Elsie, Mamma Vi and the rest, you will accompany us, won’t you? I think it would be pleasant for us all.”
Evelyn and Max added their urgent invitation, and all accepted except Herbert, who excused himself on the plea that therewere patients whom he ought to call upon promptly.
Max and his wife and sister found their callers seated upon the veranda at Sunnyside, enjoying a view of the beautiful grounds, and chatting cosily together while awaiting their coming.
Cordial greetings were exchanged, the baby was noticed and admired, and some one asked if she could still talk as well as she did yesterday.
“Can’t you, my pet?” asked her father, leaning over her, and an answer seemed to come from her lips:
“I’ll try, papa, if you will help me.”
“I really think she can talk now quite as well as she did yesterday,” Max said with becoming gravity.
“And I presume she will be able to whenever her father is with her,” laughed Violet.
“And when he is gone, perhaps she may succeed when Cousin Ronald is by,” said the captain. “I shall certainly not be surprised if she does.”
“It probably will not be so very long before she can use her own tongue,” said Mr. Lilburn.
“And we will hope she will use it aright as she grows up to girlhood, and then to womanhood,” remarked her grandfather, gazing affectionately upon the little one now nestling in her mother’s arms.
“Your first grandchild, is it not, sir?” asked Mr. Lilburn, addressing the captain.
“Yes,” he replied, “and her coming has given me some serious thoughts about my increasing years. I believe I am growing an old man.”
“Not so very,” laughed Cousin Ronald, shaking his head. “I have been a grandsire for years, and when I began the business I was older than you are now.”
“And to me he doesn’t seem so very old even yet,” Annis said with an affectionate smile.
“That sounds pleasant, coming from the lips of my bonny young wife,” Mr. Lilburn said, returning her smile.
There was a momentary silence, then the old gentleman went on in a meditative tone:
“Life in this world has many blessings and many trials, but the Bible tells us, ‘As thy days, so shall thy strength be,’ and in my experience that promise has been fulfilled many, many times. Friends, the day after to-morrow is the Sabbath. Suppose we meet together, as we were wont to do in the past, and have ‘strength’ as the subject for the Bible lesson. I invite you all to come to Beechwood for that purpose.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Captain Raymond, speaking for all, “but allow me to offer Woodburn as the place for meeting, it being more central and—so near this—better suited to the entertainment of my little granddaughter, whose parents would hardly like to go leaving her behind.”
Cousin Ronald laughed at that.
“No; and that would be a bad lesson to begin her education with—the keepin’ her oot o’ the Bible class. I’m not particular whereour class shall meet, and Woodburn will suit me as well as any ither place.”
Just then there were arrivals from Fairview and the Laurels, which caused the subject to be dropped for the time. But it was taken up again after a little, and Woodburn finally settled upon as the place for the next Sunday’s Bible class.
Thefine weather continued; Sunday was bright and beautiful—the woods gay with autumn tints, the air balmy and sweet with the scent of late fruits and flowers. The Ion, Fairview, Roselands, Beechwood, Woodburn, Sunnyside and the Laurels people went to church in the morning, and in the afternoon most of them gathered at Woodburn to spend an hour in the study of the Bible, Mr. Ronald Lilburn being the leader of the class.
“Our subject to-day,” he said, “is the strength the Lord promises and gives to His people—His own loved ones, His servants, in their hours of need. ‘As thy days, so shall thy strength be.’ Captain Raymond, can you bring to our attention any other promise of strength as it is needed?”
“Yes,” replied the captain; “here in thefortieth chapter of Isaiah we read: ‘Hast thou not known? Hast thou not heard that the everlasting God, the Lord, the Creator of the ends of the earth, fainteth not, neither is weary? There is no searching of His understanding. He giveth power to the faint, and to them that have no might He increaseth strength. Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall: but they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run and not be weary; and they shall walk and not faint.’”
“A most beautiful passage,” said Mr. Lilburn, “and now, friends, I think each one of you has one or more passages selected; please read aloud in turn as you sit, without waiting to be called upon.”
Violet’s turn came next, as she sat beside her husband, and she read: “I will love Thee, O Lord, my strength. The Lord is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; my God,my strength, in whom I will trust; my buckler and the horn of my salvation, and my high tower.”
Her mother sat next, and she read: “The Lord is my strength, and He will make my feet like hinds’ feet, and He will make me to walk upon mine high places.... This day is holy unto the Lord: neither be ye sorry: for the joy of the Lord is your strength.”
Then Grace read: “The king shall joy in thy strength, O Lord; and in thy salvation how greatly shall He rejoice.”
Then Lucilla read: “Unto thee, O my strength, will I sing: for God is my defence, and the God of my mercy.”
“Seek the Lord and His strength: seek His face evermore,” read little Elsie.
Then Harold: “I can do all things through Christ who strengtheneth me.”
Then Herbert: “Trust ye in the Lord forever; for in the Lord, JEHOVAH, is everlasting strength.”
Then Max: “Let him take hold of any strength, that he may make peace with Me; and he shall make peace with Me.”
Then Evelyn: “Strengthened with all might, according to His glorious power, unto all patience and long suffering with joyfulness.”
The others said their selected texts had been read.
There was a moment’s pause, then Mr. Lilburn said:
“I think it altogether likely that every one present who has gone past the meridian of life could tell of personal experience of the fulfilment to her or himself of that gracious, precious promise, ‘As thy days, so shall thy strength be,’ and I, for one, should be very glad to hear their testimony to our Heavenly Father’s faithfulness to His promise.”
A moment’s silence, then the captain said:
“And you, Cousin Ronald, being the eldest and our chosen leader, might well be the first with your story of the Lord’s goodness to you, and faithfulness to His promises.”
“I am entirely willing,” the old gentleman returned pleasantly. “The Lord has been exceedingly good to me through all the years of my life. I have had very many troubles, trials and difficulties, but His grace and the many great and precious promises of His Word have helped me through them all. I have seen the grave close over wife, children, parents and friends, but have been sustained under the sore trial by the glad hope of meeting them all in that better land where there is no more death, no sin, no parting, but all is righteousness and peace and joy forevermore.
“And even in this world the Lord has given me much to repair my losses and renew the joys of my younger days,” he added with a very loving look and smile directed to Annis.
She returned the smile and spoke in low, pleasing tones:
“I, too, have had some sore trials, and can testify to the Lord’s faithfulness to His promise, ‘As thy days, so shall thy strength be.’ Years ago my heart was torn with grief over the deaths of parents, brothers, sisters andother dear ones. There have been other trials also, but the Lord’s promise has never failed. He has brought me safely through them all, and is making my later days my best days—full of peace, comfort and happiness.”
It was now Mrs. Elsie Travilla’s turn, as she sat next to her Cousin Annis. She spoke in low, sweet tones, distinctly audible in the quiet of the room:
“I give my testimony to the Lord’s faithfulness to that gracious promise, ‘As thy days, so shall thy strength be.’ I never knew a mother’s love and care, for mine died when I had been but a few days in this world; and my father was so far away that it seemed much as if I had none. But I was in the care of those who taught me of Jesus and His love as soon as I could understand the meaning of the words; and while yet a very little child I learned to know and love Him. I loved my home, too, and it was a sore trial to be brought away from it. Then, when I first saw my father and perceived that he did not care for me, my heart was almost broken andonly the love of Jesus helped me to bear it.
“That trial was soon happily over; but later in life sore bereavement came, the nearest and dearest being called away from earth. But even then strength was given me according to my day; and while grieving for myself, I could rejoice for them. And these later days are, oh, so full of peace and joy and love!”
Harold sat near his mother, and was the next to speak:
“I have as yet seen no very great trials, but in going into the recent war with Spain I felt that I was risking life and limb; but the Lord sustained me with the thought that I was doing so for the sake of oppressed and suffering fellow-creatures, and with that thought came strength according to my day.”
“And my experience was the same,” added Herbert.
“Mine also,” said Max. “When we went into the fight at Manila I feared wounds and death, but I knew we were in the right—fightingto free the downtrodden and sorely oppressed, and, knowing that the Lord had the disposal of it all, I had strength given me according to my day. Now you, dearest,” he added in an undertone to his wife.
Eva said in low, gentle tones:
“I have seen sorrow, losing my dear, passionately loved father before I had grown to womanhood; but my strength was according to my day, the Lord comforting me with His love, and as wife and mother, and having a kind father, brothers, sisters and friends, I am now a very happy woman, indeed.”
A slight pause, then Captain Raymond spoke.
“I have had many, many blessings and some trials also. My dear father died when I was a young lad, my best of mothers when I had scarcely more than reached man’s estate; brother and sisters had gone from earth also, and I was left alone, with small means, but good health. I was still quite a young man when I met a sweet young girl who had been, like myself, bereft of all her nearest relatives.We loved and married, but I had to leave her often, sometimes for long intervals, for the duties of my profession. We were very happy when together, but in a few years she left this world for a better, and the three children God had given us to my sole care, though I had to be away most of the time upon the sea. I have since found one to take her place—one as dear and loving as she was herself,” he added with a look and smile directed to Violet that thrilled her heart with joy and love.
It was her turn now, and she began at once:
“I have had a peaceful, happy life, both as a young girl and as a married woman, though some deep sorrows came to me years ago; first the death of a darling younger sister, then that of the best and dearest father that ever lived.” Her voice trembled with emotion, but she went on. “But then in those sad hours was fulfilled to me that precious promise, ‘As thy days, so shall thy strength be;’ and though I feel it to be only reasonable to expect other and greater trials in the future,I can trust my Heavenly Father to fulfil it to me again and again till I reach that blessed land where there is no more sin or sorrow or suffering.”
No one else in the room made any lengthened response to the invitation to tell of the fulfilment to them of the gracious promise “As thy days, so shall thy strength be,” merely saying that they believed it and trusted in it for the future, but as yet had had no very great trials.
Then Violet went to her organ, played a short prelude and began singing a hymn, in which all joined:
“In every condition, in sickness, in health,In poverty’s vale, or abounding in wealth,At home or abroad, on the land, on the sea,As thy days may demand shall thy strength ever be.”
“In every condition, in sickness, in health,In poverty’s vale, or abounding in wealth,At home or abroad, on the land, on the sea,As thy days may demand shall thy strength ever be.”
“In every condition, in sickness, in health,In poverty’s vale, or abounding in wealth,At home or abroad, on the land, on the sea,As thy days may demand shall thy strength ever be.”
“In every condition, in sickness, in health,
In poverty’s vale, or abounding in wealth,
At home or abroad, on the land, on the sea,
As thy days may demand shall thy strength ever be.”
Thewhole connection seemed filled with a desire to entertain their returned travellers, especially Max, whose present stay among them would be but short. And that the baby might accompany its parents, the gathering together of the relatives and friends was always in the afternoon.
On Monday they took dinner and spent the afternoon at the Laurels, on Tuesday at the Oaks, Wednesday at Roselands, Thursday at Beechwood, and there the younger ones had great sport, Cousin Ronald and Max helping them.
They were all on the veranda after dinner, chatting pleasantly among themselves, when Ned exclaimed:
“Oh, let’s have some fun on the lawn! We may play there, mayn’t we, Cousin Ronald?”
“You may, Cousin Ned,” answered the old gentleman with a pleased smile, “and mayhap I’ll tak’ a turn wi’ ye, if I’m not deemed sae auld as to spoil the sport.”
“Oh, I think it would be fun for us to have you with us, sir!” cried Ned. “Now, how many of you boys and girls would like to join in a game of ‘I spy’?”
In reply to that query all the children present immediately expressed a desire to take part in the game, and they promptly adjourned to the grounds. All were familiar with the game.
“Now who shall be the one to hide his eyes?” asked Ned, his look and tone of voice showing a desire to fill the position himself.
That was evident to the others, and two or three of the cousins said at once:
“You, Ned; you’ll do as well as any other.”
So, the base being chosen, Ned covered his eyes and the others scattered and hid behind bushes, trees and summer houses. Then from every direction came the cry “All Ready!” and Ned’s eyes were instantly uncovered andaway he ran, looking about him searchingly from side to side.
Presently catching a glimpse of a familiar coat worn by his cousin Eric Leland, “I spy Eric Leland!” he shouted. “I’ll beat you in to base,” then turned and ran back to the chosen base—the lower step of the front veranda.
Both boys ran as fast as their young legs could carry them, but Ned reached the base and Eric became “It.”
Directly after these two came all the others engaged in the game, and just as the last one had reached the goal there came an angry growl, apparently from under the veranda.
“How dare you rude youngsters come tramping and stamping here in this rude way? It’s enough to kill a man with a headache like mine, and I wont stand it. Clear out, every one of you.”
For a moment the children seemed thunderstruck, then they began asking each other in awed, frightened tones:
“Who is it? and where is he? Is there aroom for him under there? and will he come out and fight us?”
Then all at once Ned, Elsie and the cousins from the Oaks and Fairview began to laugh.
“Oh, it’s Cousin Ronald or Max, and we needn’t be a bit afraid,” they said.
But at that the voice spoke again:
“I a relation of yours? Think I’d own any o’ you for relations o’ mine?”
“Yes, I do think so,” replied Ned stoutly. “I know you’re either Cousin Ronald or Brother Max, and whichever you are I’m not a bit afraid of you, because you’re both as good and kind as ever you can be.”
“That’s the way to talk,” replied the voice. “You are a pretty good boy, I perceive. So go on with your play, and if you don’t make a racket here and hurt my head I’ll not interfere with you.”
“Where is your head, cousin or brother, whichever you are?” asked Ned.
“On my shoulders, saucebox,” was the reply.
At that all the children laughed.
“That’s funny,” said Ned. “Mine is at the top of my neck.”
“Well, keep it there,” said the voice. “Now run off to your play, all o’ ye, and leave me in peace to nurse my head and get rid of the ache.”
“Yes,” said Ned, “but first I’m going to look for Cousin Ronald and Brother Max, because I’d like to know which has been trying to cheat us and pretending to scold.”
He straightened himself and looked earnestly along the veranda as he spoke. Evidently the company there had been listening to what was going on and enjoying the sport, Cousin Ronald and Max among them. Captain Raymond was there, too, standing at the top of the steps and looking as if he had been having a share of the fun.
“You are having a good deal of fun, aren’t you, my young friends?” he asked. “To hear and see it all makes me rather hungry for a share of it. Would you object to my joining you?”
“Oh, no! No, indeed!” cried several young voices. “Please come; we’ll be glad to have you.”
So the captain stepped down and joined them.
That started the older people. Not only Mr. Lilburn and Max hastened to join the players, but Chester and Lucilla, Dr. Harold and Grace, Dr. Herbert and Dr. Arthur Conly.
They all seemed to renew their youth, entering heartily into the sport, to the great delight of the children, the two ventriloquists increasing it by the use of their peculiar talent. Sometimes the players were surprised and puzzled by voices, unlike any of theirs, calling from different quarters, but presently the more knowing ones would give a merry shout that would open the eyes of the others to the fact that it was only a ventriloquial trick for their amusement.
When they grew tired of “I spy” other games were tried with success, and it was only as the time for going home drew near thatthey ceased their sport and rejoined the older members of the party upon the veranda.
Evelyn was sitting there with her baby on her knee, and many of the children gathered about her, saying they wanted a bit of fun with her—the baby—before going home; wanted to hear her talk.
“But she is too young to talk,” said Evelyn; “she will hardly be able to say anything for months to come.”
“Oh, her father can make her talk,” laughed Eric; “if he tells her to, she’ll mind him. Won’t you, baby dear?”
“Yes, I will. Babies ought to do what their papas tell them to.”
The words seemed to come from the little lips, and the children turned to see if Max was near. He was, and smiled in response to their questioning glances.
“Doesn’t she do pretty well for so young a talker?” he asked.
“Yes, sir, with her father to help her,” laughed Eric. “But I’m afraid she won’t be able to do so well when you are away on shipboard.Unless Cousin Ronald is somewhere near,” he added, as an after thought.
“Yes, I like Cousin Ronald,” the baby voice seemed to say.
“And you love your aunties, don’t you?” asked Elsie Raymond, leaning over her.
“Yes, I love you and all the other ones.”
“And don’t you love your cousin doctor, who takes care of you and mamma when you need him?” asked Dr. Harold, joining the group.
“Yes, indeed! Will you be my uncle some day?”
“I hope so,” laughed Harold. “You will make a nice little niece, I think.”
“And I think he will be a nice uncle,” laughed Grace, who was standing by his side.
Captain Raymond, too, was near, the baby being as attractive to him as to any one else—except, perhaps, the parents.
“I should like to be able to prove that very soon,” said Harold with a significant glance at the captain.
At that Grace blushed and gave her fathera loving, entreating look that seemed to say:
“Don’t be angry with us, father dear. I love you, and we are not rebellious.”
“‘Patient waiting no loss,’” he said with kindly look and smile. “I love my daughter too well to be in a hurry to give her away.”
“What will you do when your papa goes away to his ship, baby?” asked Eric.
“Stay at home with mamma,” was the reply, at which the children all laughed.
But now the carriages were at the door, and they must hasten to prepare for their homeward drive.
It was but a short one from Beechwood to Woodburn, and to that hospitable home went not only the immediate family, but the Sunnyside folk also, Grandma Elsie and her sons, Harold and Herbert.
An inviting tea was ready for them on their arrival, and after it they had a delightful social evening together, music and conversation making the time pass very swiftly.
But the guests were all disposed to retire to their homes at a reasonably early hour; first, however, they sang a hymn together; then the captain read a portion of Scripture, and led them in a prayer full of love and gratitude for the numberless blessings that sweetened their lives. Then the good-nights were said and the outsiders departed to their homes. But there was no sadness in the partings, for all expected to meet again in a few hours.
When Grace came to her father for the usual good-night caress he took her in his arms and held her close.
“My own darling daughter,” he said low and tenderly, “you don’t know how dear, how very dear you are to your father. Millions could not buy you from me.”
“Dear, dear papa, it is very sweet to have you love me so,” she responded in tones trembling with emotion, “and I think my love for you is as great as yours for me.”
“Yet you want me to give you away?”
“No, sir; only to take another son as apartner in the concern when you think the right time has come,” she answered, smiling up into his face.
At that he gave her a smiling caress.
“So I will when I think that time has come,” he said, “but till then I hope you can be happy in my home, under my care, and loved and petted as one of my own God-given children.”
“I am sure I can, papa, and I shall never, never be willing to go too far away to see and talk with you every day.”
“That is pleasant for me to hear,” he said, “and I hope to keep you in this home with me even after you exchange my name for another; and if you and Harold grow tired of that I think I can find room on this estate for another dwelling, not inferior to Sunnyside, put it up and furnish it for my second daughter, who is not to be treated with any less favor than her elder sister and brother.”
“Oh, papa, how good, good you are to me!” she exclaimed low and feelingly. “I am so glad and thankful that I was born your child.But I should love to be that even if you were poor and couldn’t do anything for me.”
“I believe you would, my darling,” he returned. “But now bid me good-night and go; for it is time you were resting, after all the excitement and fatigues of the day.”
“Yes, papa, dear, dear papa,” she said, putting her arms around his neck and kissing him with ardent affection, “you are so kind to me, and, oh, how I do love you! I wouldn’t marry even Harold, whom I dearly love, if I knew that he would take me far away from you.”
“Nor could I be willing to give you to him if that was to be the result. But there seems little or no danger of that, as his home and near connections are in this neighborhood and he seems to have no desire to leave it. My greatest objection to the match is the mixture of relationships it will bring about. You, my own daughter, will be my sister-in-law, and Harold son-in-law to his sister. Still, as there is no blood relationship between you two, and you seem so devotedly attached toeach other, I have not felt that I had any right to forbid the match.”
“Yes, papa, and you were very, very kind not to do so; for dearly as I love Harold, I would never marry him without your consent.”
“No, I know you would not, my darling, for I have not a more obedient, bidable child than you. But I must not keep you longer from your needed night’s rest.”
Then laying his right hand gently upon her head, he gave her the fatherly blessing Lucilla loved so well: “The Lord bless thee and keep thee; the Lord make His face shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee; the Lord lift up His countenance upon thee and give thee peace.”
“Dear papa, thank you,” she said with emotion, glad tears in her eyes. “I do love that blessing, and I hope you will have it as well as I.”
“I hope so, daughter,” he said; “nothing could be better for either of us. And I am exceedingly glad that he who has won your young heart is a Christian man.”
Maxand Evelyn were in their own Sunnyside home, leaning over their sleeping babe, their faces shining with love and joy.
“The darling!” exclaimed Max, speaking low and tenderly. “She seems to me the dearest, loveliest child that ever was made.”
“To me, too,” returned Eva with a low and sweet laugh, “though I know that is because she is yours and mine; and there must have been very many others quite as beautiful and sweet.”
“Yes, no doubt; and I suppose it is because she is our very own that she seems so wonderfully attractive and lovable to me. And yet she seems to be so to others not related to her.”
“Quite true, Max, and my heart sings for joy over her; and yet we cannot tell that she will always be an unmixed blessing, for wedo not know what her character in future life may be. Oh, Max, we must try to train her up aright, and we must pray constantly for God’s blessing upon our efforts; for without His blessing they will avail nothing.”
“No, dearest, I am sure of that, and my darling little daughter will be always remembered in my prayers. That will be almost all I can do for her in that line, as my profession will call me almost constantly to a distance from home. You, dearest, will have to bear the burden of her training and education; except such parts as money can procure.”
“I know, I know,” Evelyn replied in moved tones, “and you must pray for me that I may have wisdom, grace and strength according to my day.”
“That I will, dear wife; and we will converse every day by letter, shall we not?”
“Yes, indeed, and you shall know as well as written words can tell you how baby grows, and looks, and learns. And she shall know her papa by seeing his photograph and hearinga great deal about him from mamma’s lips.”
“It is pleasant to think of that,” Max said with a smile. “And of my home-coming, which I hope will be rather frequent, as we are at peace and I am likely to be on some vessel near the shore of this, our own land.”
“Oh, I hope so!” exclaimed Evelyn. “How I shall look and long for your coming! Ah, I envy those women whose husbands are always at home with them.”
“Oh, my dear, some of them would be glad if they weren’t. Unfortunately, all marriages are not the happy ones that ours is; some husbands and wives have little love for each other, little enjoyment in each other’s society.”
“Alas, my dear, that is a sad truth,” sighed Evelyn; “and our mutual love and happiness in each other is still another cause for gratitude to God.”
“Yes, indeed, and I thank Him every day—and many times a day—for the dear, lovable wife He has given me.”
“As I do for my best and dearest of husbands,” she said in response.
“And oh, what a number of dear relatives and friends our marriage has given me! Friends they were before, but not really relatives. I am so glad to be able to call your father, sisters and little brother mine. It is so sad to have no near relatives.”
“Yes, I feel that it must be, though I have not known it by experience, having always had my dear father and sisters, Lu and Grace. But now, dearest, it grows late and you are looking weary. Had you not better get to bed as quickly as possible?”
“Yes, my dear, thoughtful husband; it has been quite an exciting day and I am weary,” she said, turning from the cradle to him, her eyes shining with love and joy.
After Grace had said good-night and retired to her own apartments the captain and Violet sat chatting together in the library for some time. It was quite past their usual hour for retiring, when at length they went up to their bedroom. The door was open betweenit and the next room, which had formerly been occupied by Grace, but was now given up to Ned, he having graduated from the nursery, much to his own gratification. He considered it plain proof that he was no longer a baby boy, but a big fellow hastening on toward manhood.
“I have been feeling somewhat anxious about our little boy,” Violet said in an undertone to her husband, while laying aside her jewelry, “he was so flushed and excited while getting ready for bed. Oh, hark, how he is talking now!”
She paused in her employment and stood listening, the captain doing likewise.
“I got to the base first, and it’s your turn to be ‘It,’ Eric!” Ned called out in excited tones.
Tears started to Violet’s eyes as she turned toward her husband with a questioning, appealing look.
“I fear he is indeed not well,” returned the captain, moving toward the open door. “We will see what can be done for him.”
Violet followed. The captain lighted the gas and both went to the bedside. Ned was rolling and tumbling about the bed, muttering and occasionally calling out a few words in regard to the game he imagined himself playing.
“Ned, my son,” the captain said in soothing tones, “you are not at play now, but at home in your bed. Try to lie still and sleep quietly.”
The captain took the little hot hand in his as he spoke. He was surprised and alarmed at its heat, and that the little fellow did not seem to know where he was or who it was that spoke to him.
“Oh, Levis, the child is certainly very ill,” said Violet in low, trembling tones. “Would it not be well to ’phone for one of my doctor brothers? I am sure either of them would come promptly and cheerfully if he knew our boy was ill and we wanting advice for him.”
“I haven’t a doubt of it, dearest, and I will go at once to the ’phone,” replied the captain, leaving the room, while Violet leaned overher little son, smoothing the bedclothes and doing all she could to make him more comfortable.
At Ion most of the family had retired to rest, but Harold had lingered over some correspondence in the library, and was going quietly up the stairway when he heard the telephone bell. He went directly to the instrument, saying to himself a trifle regretfully:
“Somebody wanting the doctor, I suppose. Hello!” he called, and was instantly answered in Captain Raymond’s unmistakable voice:
“I am glad it is you, Harold, for we want you badly, as soon as you can come to us. Ned is, I fear, very ill; has a high fever and is quite delirious.”
“I will come at once,” returned Harold. “Poor, dear little chap! His uncle loves him too well to let him suffer a moment’s illness that he may possibly be able to relieve.”
As Harold turned from the instrument his mother’s bedroom door opened and she stoodthere arrayed in a dressing-gown thrown hastily over her night-dress.
“What is it, Harold, my son?” she asked. “I heard the telephone. Are any of our dear ones taken sick?”
“Don’t be troubled, mother dear,” he returned in tenderly respectful tones. “It was only a call from Woodburn to say that little Ned is not well and they would like me to come and do what I can for him.”
“And you are going?”
“Yes, mother, with all haste.”
“I should like to go with you, to do what I can for the child and to comfort poor Vi.”
“Oh, don’t, mother! Please go back to your bed, take all the rest and sleep that you can and go to them to-morrow. That is your eldest doctor son’s prescription for you. Won’t you take it?” putting an arm about her and kissing her tenderly.
“Yes,” she said, returning the caress with a rather sad sort of smile, “for I think he is a good doctor, as well as one of the best ofsons.” And with that she went back to her bed, while he hurried away to his patient.
It was an anxious night to both him and Ned’s parents, and the morning brought little, if any, relief to them or the young sufferer.
Chester and his wife were breakfasting cozily together that morning, when Captain Raymond walked in upon them unannounced.
“Father!” cried Lucilla, springing up and running to him. “Good morning. I’m so glad to see you. But—oh, father, what is the matter? You look real ill.”
As she spoke she held up her face for the usual morning kiss.
He gave it with affection, then said in moved tones:
“Your little brother is very, very ill. Harold and we have been up with him all night. He is no better yet, but we do not give up hope.”
“Oh, I am so, so sorry!” she sighed, tears filling her eyes. “He is such a dear little fellow,and has always been so healthy that I have hardly thought of sickness in connection with him.”
Chester had left his seat at the table and was standing with them now.
“Do not despair, captain,” he said with feeling; “all is not lost that is in danger, and we will all pray for his recovery, if consistent with the Lord’s will.”
“Yes, the effectual, fervent prayer of the righteous man availeth much, and the Lord will spare our dear one if He sees best,” returned the captain feelingly.
“Father dear, you look so weary,” Lucilla said with emotion. “Let me do something for you. Won’t you sit down to the table and have a cup of coffee, if nothing else?”
“Thank you, daughter. Perhaps it would help to strengthen me for the day’s trials and duties,” he replied, accepting the offered seat.
They were about leaving the table when Max came in.
“Good-morning, father, sister and brother,”he said, looking about upon them with a grave, concerned air. “I have just heard bad news from one of the servants—that my little brother is very ill. Father, I hope it is not true?”
“I am sorry, Max, my son, to have to say that it is only too true,” groaned the captain. “We have been up with him all night, and he is a very sick child.”
“Oh, that is sad indeed! Can I help with the nursing, father, or be of service in any way?”
“I don’t know, indeed; but come over all of you, as usual, to cheer us with your presence, and perhaps make yourselves useful in some other way.”
“Thank you, sir. I shall be glad to do anything I can to help or comfort; but—if our baby should cry, might it not disturb poor little Ned?”
“I think not; we have him in the old nursery. Her cry, if she should indulge in one, would hardly reach there, and if it did he is not in a state to notice it. So comeover as usual; the very sight of you will do us all good.”
“I was going into town as usual,” said Chester, “but if I can be of any use—”
“Your help will not be needed, with so many others, and you can cheer us with your presence after you get home in the afternoon,” returned the captain in kindly, appreciative tones. “Are Eva and the baby well, Max?” he asked, turning to his son.
“Quite well, thank you, father, and you will probably see us all at Woodburn in an hour or so.”
With that Chester and the captain departed.
At Ion, Mrs. Elsie Travilla came down to breakfast evidently attired for a drive or walk. No one was surprised, for the news of Ned Raymond’s serious illness had already gone through the house, causing sorrow and anxiety to the whole family.
Herbert, too, was ready for a drive, and presently after leaving the table took his mother over to Woodburn in his gig. Dr.Conly also arrived about the same time, having been telephoned to in regard to the illness of his young relative.
Several days followed that were sad ones to not only the immediate Woodburn and Sunnyside families, to whom little Ned was so near and dear, but to the other more distant relatives and friends. All of them were ready and anxious to do anything and everything in their power for the relief of the young sufferer and to comfort and help the grieved and anxious parents.
But Harold’s skill and knowledge of the disease and the most potent and effectual remedies did more than all other human means to remove it and restore the young lad to health. Harold was at length able to pronounce his young patient free from disease and on a fair road to entire recovery of health. Violet embraced her brother and wept for joy, while the father and sisters—the older brother also—were scarcely less glad and thankful.
“Come into the library, Harold, and let ushave a little private chat,” the captain said, in tones husky with emotion.
For some moments they sat in silence, the captain evidently too much moved to command his voice in speech. But at length he spoke in low, trembling tones.
“Brother Harold, dear fellow, I can never thank you enough for saving the life of my little son;—you were the instrument in the hands of God our Heavenly Father. Money cannot pay the debt, but I should like to give a liberal fee as an expression of the gratitude felt by us all, especially your Sister Violet and myself.”
There was emotion in Harold’s voice also as he answered:
“My dear brother, don’t forget that it was not so much your son as my own dear little nephew I was working to save. Thank you heartily for your desire to reward me with a liberal fee, but I feel that I can well afford to use all the knowledge, strength and skill I possess for the benefit of my dear ones without any payment in ‘filthy lucre;’ but, mydear brother, there is one reward you could give me which I should be far from despising—which I should value more than a mint of money, or any amount of stocks, bonds or estate.”
He paused, and after a moment’s silence the captain spoke:
“You mean my daughter Grace? Surely, you forget that I long ago consented to the match.”
“If I would serve for her as Jacob did for Rachel; but I want her now, and if you will give her to me directly I will watch over her with all the care and solicitude of both a devoted husband and physician; and I think you will find that marriage will not break down her health. Has not that improved under my care? and may we not hope to see still greater improvement when she is my dear devoted wife?—for she does love me, unworthy as I am.”
The captain sat for a moment apparently in deep thought. Then he said:
“Being of the medical profession, youought to know better than I what will be likely or unlikely to injure her health. I believe you to be thoroughly honest and true, Harold, and if such is your opinion, and you are willing to live here in this house for at least the first year, and afterward in one that I shall build for you and her on this estate, you may have her in a few months. You know, she will want a little time for the preparation of her trousseau,” he added with a smile.
“Thank you, captain, thank you with all my heart!” exclaimed Harold, his face aglow with happiness.
At that moment Grace’s voice was heard speaking to some one in the hall without.
The captain stepped to the door and opened it.
“Grace, daughter,” he said, “come here for a moment. Harold and I have something to say to you.”
She came immediately, blushing, smiling, a look half of inquiry, half of pleased expectation on her sweet and lovely face.
Her father, still standing by the door, closed it after her, took her hand, drew her into his arms and kissed her tenderly, fondly.
“My child, my own dear child,” he said, “I have given you away, or promised to do so as soon as you can make your preparations and—want me to give up my right in you to another.”
“Oh, no, papa, not that,” she returned, her eyes filling with tears; “am I not your very own daughter? and shall I not always be, as long as we both live?”
“Yes, yes, indeed, my own precious darling, and this is to be your home still for at least a year after—you drop my name for Harold’s.”
“I shall never drop it, father, only add to it,” she returned, with both tears and smiles.
Harold stood close beside them now.
“And you are willing to share mine, dearest, are you not?” he asked, taking her hand in his.
“Yes, indeed, since I have your dear love,” she answered low and feelingly.
“And I think he has been the means of saving your dear life, and now your little brother’s also,” her father said with feeling, “so I cannot refuse you to him any longer, my darling, sorrowful thing as it is to me to give you up.”
“Oh, don’t give me up, dear father, don’t!” she entreated with pleading look and tone. “Surely, I shall not be less yours because I become his also.”
“No, my dear child, I shall surely be as much your father as ever. Shall I not, Harold?”
“Surely, sir; and mine also, if you will accept me as your son.”
Violet came to the door at that moment.
“May I come in?” she asked; “or would that be intruding upon a private interview?”
“Come in, my dear; we will be glad to have you,” replied her husband.
She stepped in and was a little surprised to find the three already there standing in a group together.
It was Harold who explained.
“Congratulate me, sister; I have got leave to claim my bride as soon as she can make ready for the important step.”
“Ah? Oh, I am glad, for you richly deserve it for what you have done for our precious little Ned.”
“Thank you, sister,” Harold said with emotion, “but give God the praise. I could have done nothing had He not blessed the means used.”
“True; and my heart is full of gratitude to Him.” Then, turning to Grace: “I am very, very glad for Harold to be, and feel that he is, rewarded, but, oh, how shall I ever do without you—the dearest of dear girls?”
“I have not yet consented to her departure from her father’s house,” said the captain, turning a proud, fond look upon his daughter, “but have stipulated that we are to have them here in this house for at least a year;then in another to be built upon this estate—if they wish to leave us.”
“Oh, I like that!” exclaimed Violet. “It removes all objections—except with regard to the mixture of relationships,” she added with a slight laugh. “But I am forgetting my errand. Ned is awake and asking hungrily for his father and his doctor.”
“Then we must go to him at once,” said both gentlemen, Grace adding:
“And I, too, if I may, for surely he would not object to seeing his sister also.”
“No, indeed,” said Violet, “and the sight of your dear, sweet face, Gracie, could not, I am sure, do anything but good to any one who sees it.”
“Ah, mamma, I fear you are becoming a flatterer,” laughed Grace. “But it must be for father or the doctor to decide my course of conduct on this occasion.”
“You may come, if you will promise not to say more than a dozen unexciting words to my patient,” Harold said in a tone between jest and earnest.
“I promise,” laughed Grace. “It seems I have to begin to obey you now.”
“I think you began a year or two ago,” he returned laughingly. “You have been a very satisfactory patient.”
“I am glad to hear it,” she said. “Father, have I your permission to go with you to take a peep at my little sick brother?”
“Yes, daughter, if you will be careful to follow the doctor’s directions.”
“I will, father, first following in his and your footsteps,” she said, doing so along with Violet as the two gentlemen, having passed into the hall, now began mounting the broad stairway.
They found the young patient lying among his pillows, looking pale and weak. His eyes shone with pleasure at sight of them.
“I’m glad you’ve all come,” he said feebly. “I want a kiss, mamma.”
She gave it and bent over him, softly smoothing his hair. “Mother’s darling, mother’s dear little man,” she said in tremblingtones, pressing kisses on his forehead, cheek and lips.
“There, Vi dear, that will do,” the doctor said gently. “Let the rest of us have our turn. Are you quite easy and comfortable, Ned, my boy?” laying a finger on his pulse as he spoke.
“Yes, uncle. Give me a kiss, and then let papa and Grace do it.”
“Be very quiet and good, my son; do just as uncle tells you, and you will soon be well, I think,” the captain said in cheery tones when he had given the asked-for caress.
Then Grace took her turn, saying:
“My dear little brother, get well now as fast as you can.”
Then the doctor banished them all from the room, bidding them leave him to his care and that of the old mammy who had again and again proved herself a capital nurse in the family connection.