Walter was one of the first to greet them, having reached home that morning and been ever since much excited over the situation of affairs—the prospect of losing Rosie, his youngest and only single sister out of the home nest, as a permanent resident there.
"Glad to see you, Vi!" he exclaimed, seizing his sister, Mrs. Raymond, in a warm embrace. "Glad to see you all—Brother Levis, Lu, Gracie, and you little folks. Of course you haven't forgotten Uncle Walter in the long months since we parted in Paradise Valley?"
"No, indeed!" answered several voices.
"And we are all very glad to see you at home among us again—I must not say little brother, according to former custom, I suppose?" added Violet in merry accents; "for you have grown into a fine young gentleman."
"Thank you," he returned with a slightly embarrassed laugh. "Well, I mean to try to be, as well as to seem."
But others were crowding about, and in the exchange of greetings, questions, and answers, there were time and opportunity for no more.
There was a pleasant bustle, a good deal of mirth and laughter, the young folks going about from room to room to examine the tasteful arrangements for the grand affair of the morrow—then, the last one of those selected to takepart in the ceremony having arrived, they went through their rehearsal; so that even the little flower girls might be perfect in their parts, knowing just how and when to enter the room, where to stand and what to do.
They were greatly interested and very anxious to do all in the best possible manner, that no one might be mortified by their failure and led to regret that they had been chosen to perform that particular part. They succeeded admirably, and were delighted with the praise freely bestowed upon them by one and another of the onlookers, including the guests and the members of the different families present.
When all seemed perfect in their parts, which no one found very difficult, some simple refreshments were served, and presently after Captain Raymond and his family departed for Woodburn, Captain Donald Keith and Dr. Dick Percival accompanying them.
It was something of a disappointment to both these gentlemen that, very shortly after arriving there, Captain Raymond advised his daughters to retire, in order that they might feel entirely rested and refreshed before entering upon the exciting pleasures and fatigues of the coming day.
"I know it is the best plan for me, papa," returned Grace in cheerful tones, and began her good-nights at once.
"For me too, since I want all the beauty sleep I can get in preparation for to-morrow," laughed Lucilla, "though of course it is by no means so necessary for the bride's attendants as for herself."
"Ah! is that because they are so much handsomer to begin with?"
"Oh, papa! please refrain from asking such hard questions!" was the response in tones of mock entreaty; "hard because they seem to imply a good deal of vanity in me. I was only meaning that, of course, the bride's appearance will attract the most attention."
"Ah! was that it? Well, my child, say good-night and go; get to bed quickly, put aside thoughts of to-morrow's gaieties, and indulge in sleep so sound and refreshing that you will be ready to give your father his usual companionship in his early stroll about the grounds."
"I'll do my best to follow all those directions, sir," she said with a bright, pleased look. "Good-night, gentlemen," turning toward the guests. "I hope you will both sleep well and find to-morrow's festivities very enjoyable." And with that she hastened away, leaving the three gentlemen alone upon the veranda, for Violet was seeing her little ones to bed.
"What a rich man you are, Raymond!" remarked Keith, half unconsciously sighing slightly as he spoke.
"You are right," returned the captain cheerily, "my wife and children being by far the most valuable of my possessions. I only wish that you and your friend here," glancing at Dr. Percival as he spoke, "were equally wealthy. But you are younger men, and may hope to become as rich as I am by the time you are my age."
"Hardly; so far as I am concerned, at least," returned Keith drily; "seeing I am already some ten or a dozen years older than you were at the time of your first marriage, Raymond."
"Yet by no means too old to hope yet to become in the near future a happy husband andfather. I am at a loss to understand why you have not found a mate before this."
"Ah, none so blind as those that won't see!" returned Keith with a slight laugh; then changed the subject of conversation by asking a question in regard to the plans of the young couple expecting to be united on the morrow.
Captain Raymond answered the query. A moment's silence followed; then Keith, turning to Dick, said: "I presume you and I are of about the same age, doctor?"
"Quite likely; and confirmed bachelors, both of us, it would seem," was the nonchalant rejoinder. "I am some years older than Cousin Vi."
"Not too old for reformation, however," remarked Captain Raymond pleasantly. "And let me assure you that a wife—such as mine, for instance—is a very great blessing; doubling the happiness of life."
"I don't doubt it, sir," said Dick; "but such an one is not to be picked up every day."
"No, certainly not. I have always felt myself strangely fortunate in securing so great a treasure."
"As you well may," remarked Keith pleasantly; "yet your good fortune has been largely owing to your undoubted worthiness of it, Raymond."
"In which opinion I agree with you heartily, Cousin Donald," responded Violet's sweet voice close at hand, taking them by surprise, for, in the earnestness of their talk they had not perceived the sound of her light approaching footsteps. "I think there is nothing good which is beyond my husband's deserts," she added as all three rose hastily to hand her to a seat, Donald saying:
"So you overheard me, Coz! Well, please remember that it was I who brought you two together. An act which seems to have born abundance of good fruit in the happiness of all concerned."
"I think it has," she said, her husband adding, "And for which I, at least, owe you a deep debt of gratitude."
"And not you alone, my dear," said Violet; "and in return I can wish him nothing better than wedded happiness equal to our own."
"A wish in which I heartily unite with you," said Captain Raymond.
Captain Raymond and his eldest daughter were out in the Woodburn grounds the next morning at their usual early hour, wandering here and there along the shaded paths and among the shrubs and flowers, noting their growth in size and beauty, gathering blossoms, and chatting together in their usual familiar and affectionate manner; Lucilla expressing her thoughts and feelings as freely and openly as though her companion had been one of her own age and sex.
"I am glad for Rosie," she said when the talk turned upon the subject of what was expected to be the great event of the day, "she seems so happy; though how she can be in the prospect of leaving the dear home of her childhood and the mother who loves her so fondly, I cannot understand. Oh, father! I do think I can never, never bear to go away from you! It seems impossible that anyone else can ever behalf so dear to me, and I am so glad that you want to keep me your own little girl for years longer."
"For all our life on earth, daughter, if you are satisfied to have it so," he returned, bestowing upon her a look and smile of tenderest fatherly affection. "You are still one of my chief treasures, which I should be very loath to bestow upon anyone else; dearer to me—as all my children are—than tongue can tell."
"Yes, papa," she said, looking up into his eyes with a joyous smile, "so you have told me many, many times; but I love to hear it just as if you had never said it before."
"As I do your expressions of ardent love for me, daughter," he returned. "Very glad I am that I am not the one who must to-day resign to another the ownership of a daughter."
"I am sorry for Grandma Elsie," said Lucilla; "but then I suppose she must feel rather used to it—having given away two daughters before."
"And having none left to be a care and trouble, eh?" laughed her father.
"No, sir; having both near enough to be seenand enjoyed every day if she chooses. Don't you hope that will be the way with you if you have to give any of yours up to somebody else?"
"I certainly do," he said. "I should be very loath to consent to having any one of them carried off to a distance. But let us not trouble ourselves with anxious thought of what may lie in the future. Remember the dear Master's word, 'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.'"
"Yes, papa; and I remember your teaching me that his 'Take no thought,' means no anxiety, and that it tends greatly to one's happiness to live one day at a time, just leaving all the future in his hands."
"Yes, daughter; just as a little child leaves its future and the supply of its daily wants in the care of its parents."
"Such kind teaching, and easy to understand when one has such a father as mine," she said, with a look of grateful love.
"I am thankful, indeed, daughter, if anything in my treatment and teaching helps you to a clearer understanding of how the Masterwould have you to act and feel," he said in tones that spoke full appreciation of her filial affection.
"Ah! there is our mail," he added, as a servant was seen carrying it toward the house; "so we will go in now and see if it contains anything important for you or me."
"And if there is anything you want answered on the typewriter you will let me do it at once, won't you, papa?" she asked, as they quickened their footsteps, taking the direction toward the house.
"If you have time, and wish to do so, daughter."
"Yes, sir; I have hardly anything to do till it is time for the drive to Ion."
"Unless you should find a letter, or more than one, of your own, calling for a reply," he returned, smiling down into her bright, animated face.
"That is not very likely, considering how few correspondents I have," she laughed.
They reached the veranda from one direction as the servant entered it from another, and the captain, taking the mail bag from him, walkedon into the library, Lucilla following. He emptied the contents of the bag upon the table, and going rapidly over them, said: "Several letters for our guests" (laying them aside as he spoke), "one for your mamma; none for any of my children, and only two business letters for me. Well, daughter," glancing at the clock on the mantel, "you may sit down to your typewriter and answer these at my dictation; as I see there will be time to do so before the ringing of the breakfast bell. Ah, good-morning, Keith!" as at that moment that gentleman entered the room. "Here are letters which I was just about to send up to you."
"Thank you," said Keith, taking them from his host's outstretched hand. "I am glad to have saved you the trouble. I hope you and Miss Lucilla are both quite well?" giving her a bow and smile as he spoke.
"Entirely, thank you, and have just come in from our usual early stroll together about the grounds. I hope you rested well. Take that easy-chair and don't let our presence interfere with your enjoyment of your letters."
Keith declined that invitation, saying he felta strong inclination for a breath of the sweet morning air before the summons to the breakfast table should come; so would read his letters upon the veranda, and, with them in his hand, passed out of the room.
"I strongly suspect that was from a polite disinclination to hinder us in our work, papa," remarked Lucilla in a sprightly tone, as her father uncovered the machine and made all things ready for her work.
"Quite likely," he responded, "for I never met anyone more truly polite and thoughtful for others. He is a Christian man and acts from Christian principles in all that he does."
"As his friend, my father, does," she said with a look of filial reverence up into his face as he stood by her side.
"And as I trust my daughter does and will ever do," he returned with grave earnestness, then began his dictation.
They made rapid work and had finished and joined Keith upon the veranda before the ringing of the breakfast bell summoned all to their morning meal.
"Rosie has an ideal wedding day, I think," remarked Violet as she poured the coffee; "that shower in the night having laid the dust in the roads and made the air deliciously cool."
"Also refreshed vegetation," added her husband, "so that trees and shrubs and flowers are as fresh and fragrant as possible."
"The sun shines brightly, too," added Grace, "reminding one of the old saying I have so often heard quoted: 'Happy is the bride on whom the sun shines.'"
"It is pleasant to see it shining, yet I do not believe Rosie would hesitate a moment, or feel the least anxiety about its effect upon her future happiness, if the rain were pouring down," said Lucilla; "because she has great confidence in her bridegroom that is to be, and not a particle of superstition in her nature."
"That is giving her high praise," said Keith, "for there are few who are entirely free from it, though very many are hardly aware of its hold upon them."
"You are quite correct, I think, sir," remarked Dr. Percival; "we are all apt to be blind to our own feelings, and hardly consciousthat our prejudices and superstitions are such, blind to our weakness—even more to the mental than to the physical."
"Then how well it is that there is no occasion for their exercise, or for battling with them to-day," observed Violet in a sprightly tone; "and though, of course, mamma and all of us must, when Rosie is gone, miss our constant sweet companionship with her, we ought not to mourn, but rather rejoice that she is going into a Christian family and gaining a devoted Christian for a life companion."
"Yes; that is indeed a cause for joy and gratitude," said Keith.
"Father, will Mr. Croly be any relation to us after he gets married to Aunt Rosie?" queried Ned.
"Yes, my son; brother to your mamma and me, and uncle to the rest of you."
"Meaning Neddie himself and Elsie, papa?" Grace said half interrogatively and with an amused little laugh.
"Ah, yes! he is certainly too young to be, or wish to be, that to my older daughters," returned her father with a look of amusement.
"No danger that he will want to claim that relationship, Gracie," laughed Lucilla. "Even Walter does not, though I know you are a particular favourite with him; but he, to be sure, is still younger than Mr. Croly by some years."
"It is at two o'clock Aunt Rosie is to be married, then there will be the wedding feast, and after that the bride and groom will go on a journey," said Neddie, as if bestowing a piece of valuable information upon his hearers.
"Yes," said Elsie, "but, as everybody knows it, what's the use of telling it?"
"I thought perhaps Cousin Donald and Cousin Dick didn't know it—at least, not all of it," said Ned.
Then his father told him he had talked quite enough, and must be quiet during the rest of the meal.
"We who are to be the bride's attendants should go over early, I think," remarked Lucilla. "At least we, the older ones," she added with a smiling glance at Elsie; "the little flower girls will not be needed until somewhat later."
"You may set your own time," her father said. "I will send you and Grace over in the family carriage, and it can return in full season for the use of anyone else who desires it. We have a variety of horses and conveyances, gentlemen, any or all of them at your service at whatever hour you may appoint," he added, turning to his guests. "There will be abundance of time for a ride or drive for mere exercise or enjoyment, before donning your attire for the grand occasion, if you wish to take it."
Both gentlemen accepted the offer with thanks, and they proceeded to lay their plans for a gallop together over some of the roads with which Dick had been familiar in his childhood, but which would be new to Captain Keith. They set out within an hour after leaving the breakfast table, and not very long afterward the young girls were on their way to Ion.
They found the house beautifully decorated with flowers from garden and conservatories, especially the room in which the ceremony was to take place.
Everybody seemed in a state of subdued excitement, Rosie half gay, half sad, her eyes filling whenever she turned them upon her mother—the dear mother who had so loved and cherished her all the days of her life with such unselfish devotion as no other earthly creature could know; how could she endure the thought of the impending separation? She could not; she could only strive to forget it, and keep her mind filled with the important step now just about to be taken, for she had already gone too far to retreat even were she sure that she wished to do so. The mother was scarcely less affected, but with her greater experience of life was better able to control and conceal her feelings. And so were the others who, though pleased with the match, still felt that this was the breaking up of some very tender ties; they would not allow their thoughts to dwell upon that, but would occupy them with the mirth and gaiety of the present.
But to Mrs. Croly, who had so far recovered under Dr. Conly's skilful treatment that she was able to be present, it was all joy: she had always wanted a daughter, and now was gaining one after her own heart; for Rosieseemed to her all that was good, beautiful, and in every way attractive. And then, in respect to family, fortune, everything that could be thought of, she was all that could be desired. The elder Mr. Croly, too, was entirely satisfied with the match, and already felt a paternal interest in the young girl just entering his family. In fact upon both sides there was perfect satisfaction with the match.
Everything went well; there was no bustle or confusion; minister and guests were all there in due season; bride, groom, and attendants, including the little flower girls, performed their parts without mistake or discomposure. Kisses, congratulations, and good wishes followed; then the wedding feast was partaken of leisurely and with mirth and jollity, the bridal dress was exchanged for a beautiful travelling suit, the farewells were spoken, with cheery reminders that the separation was to be but temporary, the bride expecting soon to rejoin the dear home circle. That thought was a very comforting one to her, and, though tears had fallen at the parting from her loved ones,—especially her mother,—they soon ceased their flow underthe tenderly affectionate caresses and endearments of him who was henceforward to be to her the nearest and dearest of all earthly loved ones, and her face grew radiant with happiness as he had hoped to see it on their bridal day.
Nearly all the guests—relatives and dear friends—remained for some hours after the departure of the bride and groom, some conversing together upon the veranda, some wandering in couples or little companies about the grounds or sitting in the shade of the beautiful trees on the lawn.
Most of the young people, especially those of them who had been attendants of the bride and groom, gathered about Grandma Elsie—for they all loved her, and everyone felt that she had particular need of some pleasant distraction of thought just at that time, to prevent her from dwelling upon the partial loss of her youngest daughter.
Walter was, of course, one of the group, and he presently plunged into lively accounts of his college-boy experiences, very interesting and amusing to him and presumably so to others, as, in fact, they were to most if not all ofhis auditors, his older brothers among the rest; for it seemed to carry them back, in at least a measure, to their own Freshman days, with all their trials and triumphs, their pleasures and annoyances.
"Did anybody do anything very bad to you, Walter?" asked Grace.
"No; not very," he replied; "hazing has been almost abolished, and what is still done is by no means unendurable.
"Oh! I must tell you of a bit of fun we had only the other day. On the porch of one of our boarding houses a countryman had set down a basket of eggs—about twenty dozen I was told—that he had brought in for customers; and there they stood, looking as tempting as possible, especially to wild young college boys, some of whom, coming there when recitations were over and the dinner hour approaching, saw them and were immediately smitten with a desire to handle, if not to taste them. One fellow snatched up an egg and threw it at another; it struck him, broke, and bespattered his clothes. He, naturally, retaliated in kind, and other fellows followed their example, the fungrowing fast and furious, till every egg the basket had contained was gone, and porch, students, and their clothing were a sight to behold."
"And what did the farmer say when he came back for his basket and found it empty?" asked Lucilla.
"He was very angry, but those who had broken the eggs paid him his full price, and he went off tolerably well satisfied, though he growled that he was compelled to disappoint his customers.
"The boarding house keeper was angry, too, but stopped scolding when told that the mischief should be repaired at the expense of those who had caused it."
"The clothes of those engaged in the row must have been in a pretty bad condition," remarked Harold.
"Yes, of course; and they had some fine tailors' bills to pay before they were again presentable."
"A shameful waste of good food provided by our Heavenly Father, that someone's hunger might be satisfied," remarked Grandma Elsiegravely. "Surely the young men engaged in it must have forgotten the teaching of our Saviour when he said, 'Gather up the fragments that remain, that nothing be lost.'"
"Mamma! I had forgotten that," exclaimed Walter, blushing vividly.
"A poor excuse, my son," she replied. "'Remember all the commandments of the Lord, and do them.' Those are his own words given to Moses to speak unto the Children of Israel. Jesus was and is God; therefore what he commanded is the command of God. And since he had just proved his ability to create abundance of food, his command to avoid waste must have been given for the benefit of his hearers; and can you think he would have approved of the waste of good, nourishing food of which you have just been telling?"
"No, mother; I am convinced that it was not right; that it was, in fact, wicked waste. I must own that I had a share in it; but I promise you I will never be guilty of the like again. It does seem very wrong when one thinks of the multitudes of people in different parts of the world who are actually starving."
"Yes, I hope you will be more thoughtful in future—will use your influence against such objectionable sport; surely bright young men and boys should be capable of finding or making better or less blameworthy fun. You may feel assured, however, that your mother is interested in all that interests you. So if you have anything more to tell of your college experiences we will be glad to hear it."
"You found the Sophs rather domineering, didn't you?" asked Herbert.
"About as much so as they dared to be, I should say," laughed Walter. "For instance, they won't let the Freshes wear white duck trousers till some time in May. Nor will they allow them to wear the colours gold and black till just at the close of their Freshman year."
"Well, that is tyranny!" exclaimed Lucilla, "and if I were a Freshman I wouldn't stand it."
"Ah! but if you didn't you might have something worse to stand," laughed Walter. Then he went on, "I must tell you about the cane spree. They have it at the time of the firstfull moon. The players are three men from each class—one light-weight, one middle, and one heavy-weight. The students of all classes gather in a circle around them to watch the sport. First the light-weights try a tussle for the cane; then the middles, and lastly the heavys. It is not so much strength as skill that wins, and the victors keep their canes as trophies, and are proud to show them for the rest of their lives."
"Well, really," laughed Maud Dinsmore, "it does not strike me as anything worth taking particular pride in."
"Mayhap that is because you are only a girl, Maud," remarked Chester teasingly.
"Yes," she returned sportively, "if I were only a boy I might be as silly as the others."
"Does it strike you as very silly, Gracie?" asked Walter.
"Well, no; not for boys," she returned doubtfully, "but rather so for a man. There are so many other things in which—at least it seems to me—it would be better worth while to excel."
"Yes; so there are," he agreed with athoughtful look. "And yet an occasional bit of sport is a good thing even for a man."
"That is very true," said Harold; "and certainly as true for brain-workers as for any who toil with their hands."
"Doesn't it seem pleasant to be at home again, Walter?" asked Grace.
"Yes, indeed!" he exclaimed. "There is no place like home—especially home with mother in it."
"Or with father in it," added Grace as, at that moment, Captain Raymond joined the circle.
"Such a father as ours," said Lucilla, looking up at him with a smile of proud, fond affection. He returned it, accepted an offered seat, and asked Walter if he had been entertaining the company with tales of college doings and experiences.
"Yes, sir," returned the lad. "I suppose it is the usual thing for a Freshman to do on coming home at the end of his year."
"Quite; his head being pretty full of them," was the playful rejoinder. "Well, little—no, young brother—I hope the old tutor has notbeen entirely forgotten, in admiration and affection for the new?"
"No, sir; no, indeed! and never will be," returned Walter, speaking with an energy and earnestness that brought a smile to the captain's lips and eyes. "I shall show myself strangely ungrateful if I ever forgot the patience and kindness with which my oldest brother instructed me; and all for no reward at all."
"Ah! there you are mistaken," said Captain Raymond pleasantly. "It was reward enough to know that I was helping to fit you for future usefulness. I hope, my boy, you will live to be an honour to your mother and a blessing to the world."
"I hope so, sir; it is my ardent wish," Walter said low and earnestly, giving his mother a most loving look as he spoke.
"And if you trust not in your own strength, but look constantly to God for help, you will succeed, my son," she responded in low, moved tones.
Just at that moment there were several additions to their group, among them Captain Keith and Dr. Percival, and the talk turnedupon plans for the next few days, and after that for the summer. Most of the relatives from a distance would linger in that neighbourhood for a week or more, and entertainments of one kind and another would be given by those residents there. The Oaks, The Laurels, Fairview, Woodburn, Roselands, and Beechwood would have their turns. After that must come the inevitable breaking up and scattering of guests to their own homes or some summer resort, while most of the dwellers in that region would go northward in search of a cooler climate in which to pass the heated term. But it was not deemed necessary to settle it all now; only to arrange on which day each estate would be the scene of entertainment. It took a good deal of consultation, mingled with merry jests and happy laughter, to settle all that. Then there was a general leave taking and scattering to their homes—temporary or settled.
The wedding had been on Wednesday. On Thursday all gathered, by invitation, at the Oaks, where Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore gave them a royal entertainment. On Friday the same thing was repeated at The Laurels, on Saturday at Fairview, and on the following Monday all were to assemble at Woodburn.
Being a Christian, Sabbath keeping connection, no one thought for a moment of profaning the Lord's day by frivolity and merry making. Those who were able attended church in the morning; in the afternoon the Ion and Woodburn people taught their Sunday-school classes as usual, and afterward held a Bible class among themselves at Woodburn, that being the point nearest to the schoolhouse on the Woodburn place, at which they had just concluded the exercises for the day.
Dr. and Mrs. Landreth and her brother, theRev. Cyril Keith were, just at that time, among the guests of Captain and Mrs. Raymond, and, by the request of the little company, the ministerledthe exercises.
Turning over the leaves of his Bible, "The thought strikes me," he said, "that perhaps godliness would be as good a subject for to-day's consideration as we could find. 'Godliness with contentment is great gain,' the apostle tells us. It is a duty and the part of wisdom to be contented with what God our heavenly Father has seen fit to give us of the good things of this life; for there is no happiness to be found in discontent, murmuring, and repining; envying those who seem to us to have a larger share than ours of the riches and pleasures of earth. 'We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. And, having food and raiment, let us be therewith content.' Happiness does not depend upon the amount of our earthly possessions. 'Trust in the Lord and do good, so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed.' That promise alone should be enough to make one contented and happy,even though possessed of but very little of this world's goods. Indeed, why should we care to have much of that which may at any moment fall from our grasp? Let us rather seek the true riches which endure unto eternal life. Let us follow after righteousness, godliness, faith, love, patience, meekness. May ours be 'the path of the just which is as the shining light that shineth more and more unto the perfect day.'
"But I consented, not to the preaching of a sermon, but only to the leading of the exercises in which all are privileged and desired to take a part. Let us have the reading or quoting of texts bearing upon the subject of godliness."
Then, from their open Bibles they read in turn, the older people selecting for themselves, the younger searching out references given them by their leader.
"Papa," asked Neddie, when there was a pause in the reading, "what is godliness? Does it mean the same as being a Christian?"
"Yes, my son."
"And to be a Christian is to love Jesus andtry to be like him and serve him everywhere and all the time?"
"Yes; a real, true Christian is one who follows Christ, striving to be like him in every way and to keep all his commands."
"I think I do want to, papa. Please tell me more about it."
"We must study the Bible to learn all about Christ Jesus—how he lived in this world, what he did, and what he did not do, what sort of spirit he showed—and strive to have the same spirit ourselves; for the Bible tells us 'If any man have not the spirit of Christ he is none of his.' Jesus said, 'I must be about my Father's business,' and if God is our Father we too will be about his business."
"But how, papa? I don't understand it."
"Jesus came to save souls; and we must try to save them by leading them to him; first by serving him ourselves, then by persuading others to do the same—telling them of all his great goodness and mercy, his loving kindness, and how he suffered and bled and died that sinners might be saved—even those who hated and persecuted him. How strange it is thatwe do not love him more and serve him better!"
"And how enduring is that love—the love of Christ," added Grandma Elsie. "His own word is, 'Yea, I have loved thee with an everlasting love: therefore with loving kindness have I drawn thee.'"
"And he laid down his life for us," said Mrs. Landreth. "And he himself said, 'Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. Ye are my friends if ye do whatsoever I command you.'"
"Yes, that is the test," said Mr. Dinsmore; "we have no right to consider ourselves his disciples unless we are striving earnestly to keep all his commandments. He himself said, 'Either make the tree good and his fruit good; or else make the tree corrupt, and his fruit corrupt: for a tree is known by his fruit.'"
"Yes; if we love our Father we will strive earnestly to keep his commandments and not feel them to be grievous. A loving child is an obedient one," said Mr. Keith. "'For this is the love of God, that we keep his commandments: and his commandments are not grievous.'"
"'God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us,'" quoted his son Donald. "In his love and in his pity he redeemed us."
Then there was a moment's pause, presently broken by Mr. Dinsmore starting the hymn "Love divine, all love excelling," in which the other voices promptly joined.
That closed the exercises for that time, and those who had come merely to take part in them bade good-bye for that day with the expectation of returning on the following one. And those who remained behind scattered to their rooms until the summons of the tea bell brought them together again about the table, to partake of their evening meal; after which they repaired to the veranda and spent in conversation and music, suited to its sacredness, the closing hours of that Lord's day.
Captain Raymond and his wife lingered for a little upon the veranda after their guests had gone to their rooms. They sat side by side—he with his arm about her waist, her hand fastclasped in his, while her head rested upon his shoulder and her eyes looked up lovingly into his face.
"My dear," she said softly and with a beautiful smile, "I am so happy. I love you so, so devotedly, and am so sure that your love for me is equally strong."
"I think it is, my darling—light of my eyes and core of my heart," he responded low and feelingly. "You are to me the dearest, sweetest, loveliest of earthly creatures. I can never cease wondering at my great good fortune in securing such a treasure for my own. I am rich, rich in love. My children are all very near and dear to me, and I know and feel that I am to them, but you—ah, I think you are dearer than all five of them put together!"
"Ah," she said with a joyous smile, "those are sweet, sweet words to me! And yet they make me feel almost as if I had robbed them—your children. They all love you so dearly, as you have said, and set so high a value upon your love to them."
"And it is very great: none the less because my love for you is still greater. You, my dearwife, are my second self—'bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh.' It is right that our mutual love should exceed all other earthly loves."
"Yes; and yet I fear it would make Lu—perhaps Gracie also—unhappy to know that you have greater love for anyone else than for them."
"I think they do know it, and also that it is right that it should be so. And I presume they will both some day love someone else better than their father. I cannot blame them if they do."
"Perhaps the love differs more in kind than degree," Violet said presently.
"Yes; there is something in that," he returned; "yet it is not altogether that which satisfies me. We are all bidden to love one another. 'Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the Church, and gave himself for it.... So ought men to love their wives as their own bodies. He that loveth his wife loveth himself.... Let every one of you in particular so love his wife even as himself.'"
He paused and Violet finished the quotation.
"'And the wife see that she reverence her husband.' Ah, it is easy for me to do that with such a husband as mine," she added. "Also, I remember that in Paul's epistle to Titus there is a passage, where the aged women are bidden to teach the younger ones to be sober, to love their husbands, to love their children. And in the next verse to be obedient to their husbands. I think I have kept that command as far as I could without getting any orders from mine," she concluded, smiling up into his eyes.
"Yes, indeed, dearest," he said, returning the smile and drawing her closer to his side with a fond gesture, "where one's slightest wish is promptly and eagerly complied with a command would be altogether superfluous. And though I consider it wise and right—yes, an unquestionable duty to exact prompt, cheerful obedience from my children, I do not think I should ask it of my wife. The women of the apostle's day were not the educated, self-reliant ones of the present time; therefore our wives are hardly to be expected to conform themselves strictly to the rules he lays down for them. But if husband and wife love each other as they ought,—as you and I do, for instance,—any friction between them will be a thing of rare occurrence."
"And when, if ever, there is any," said Violet, "I think the wife should be the one to give way—unless she feels that to yield to the wishes of her husband would be a breach of the moral law; but in that case she must remember the answer of Peter to the high priest, 'We ought to obey God rather than men.'"
"Yes," he said; "and when a parent commands something which is plainly contrary to God's command,—lying or stealing for instance,—it is the child's duty to refuse to obey. There are parents, alas! who do train their children to vice and crime, and when that is the case they, the children, must remember and act upon the teaching of the apostle, 'We ought to obey God rather than men.'"
"How I pity children who are placed in such circumstances," sighed Violet. "Oh, I often think what a cause for gratitude I have in the fact that my parents were earnest Christians, and brought me and all their children up in the fear of God; also that my childrenhave an earnest, devoted Christian for their father."
"And for their mother, my sweet wife," he added with emotion.
Neither spoke again for some moments. It was Violet who broke the silence.
"My dear," she said, "I wonder if you have noticed, as I have, that my cousin Donald greatly admires our Lu."
"Ah! has he told you so, my love?" queried the captain, a touch of regret and anxiety in his tone.
"Oh, no!" laughed Violet; "but he looks at her with evidently admiring eyes, listens eagerly to anything and everything she says, and especially to her playing and singing; which are certainly worth hearing. He greatly admires her drawings and paintings, too, some of which I was showing him the other day; also her evident devotion to her father, and readiness to assist and make herself useful to him in every possible way."
"Yes," sighed the captain, "her father would hardly know what to do without her. Yet, of course, I should be far from willing to stand inthe way of my child's happiness. However, I hope and believe that her father is still nearer and dearer to her than any other human creature. She has often assured me that such was the fact; not waiting to be questioned, but telling the story of her love as something in which we could both rejoice, and which she was sure was reciprocal. As it certainly is. I love her very dearly; though not more than I do each of the others. Indeed, it gives me a heartache to think I shall ever be called to part with any one of them."
"Not very soon, I hope," said Violet. "You have frequently told me you did not intend to let either of your daughters marry for years to come."
"No, I do not; and as I dread the pain, for both them and myself, which would be caused by the necessity for refusing to let them follow their inclinations in such a matter, I sincerely hope no one will succeed in winning their affections for years to come."
"Then if I am right about Donald and he asks your permission to make an offer to Lu, you will forbid him to do so?"
At first the captain's only reply was an amused sort of smile. Then he said: "I must tell you of a talk Donald and I had, some years ago, at West Point. You perhaps remember that I took Max and Lulu there, and found Donald already at the hotel, and we spent a few days together, the children with us nearly all the time. One night I sent them early to bed, and, afterward, spent an hour or more talking with my friend alone on the piazza. In that talk he expressed a great admiration for my little girl, and—half in jest, half in earnest—asked leave to try to win her when she should reach a proper age. I told him certainly not for at least six years. It is five now."
"Then he ought to wait at least another year," remarked Violet, who had listened with keen interest to her husband's little story.
"Yes; and I hope he will feel that obligation and refrain, for the present at least, from courting her. And, though I should be sorry for my friend's disappointment, I cannot help hoping that he has not won, and will not win, my daughter's heart. I want to becomeneither his father, nor my daughter's cousin," he added with a slight laugh.
"Why, yes, to be sure! I had not thought about those relationships," exclaimed Violet, joining in his mirth. "But," she added, "Donald is so distant a relative of mine that, if that were the only objection, it need not, I think, stand in the way."
"No, perhaps not. A greater objection to me, so far as I am concerned, would be the fact that, if married to an army officer, my daughter would be kept at a distance from me nearly all the time."
"And to me, as well as to you, that would be an almost insurmountable objection; for Lu and I are now the closest and dearest of friends—bosom companions. I should hardly know what to do without her—the dear, sweet girl!"
"Ah! it makes me very happy to hear and know that," he said with a glad smile, adding, "it is hardly news; for I have seen for a good while that you were very fond of each other."
"Yes; we are like sisters. I should miss Lu almost more than I shall Rosie, as we are together so much more constantly. Oh, I don'tlike to think of it! and I sincerely hope it may be years before she learns to love any other man well enough to be willing to leave her sweet home under her father's roof."
"A hope in which I join with all my heart," said her husband; "and one that I trust Donald is not going to ask me to resign."
"If he does, just remind him of the exact terms of the answer you gave him at West Point," returned Violet in playful tones. "But now I think it is time for us to retire; do not you?" releasing herself from his embrace and rising to her feet as she spoke.
"Yes," he said, "I would not have my wife miss her beauty sleep."
Lucilla was in bed but not asleep. She had retired to her room when the guests went to theirs, and without a formal good-night to her father, trusting to his coming to her there for a few moment's chat, as he almost always did. But he had not come, and she felt sorely disappointed. It was a beautiful, luxuriously furnished room, this bed chamber of hers—the view from its windows, a lovely one of carefully kept grounds, cultivated fields, woods, and streams; all looking their loveliest just now as seen by the silver light of the moon, which shone in upon her through rich lace curtains, gently wafted to and fro by the summer breeze as it came in laden with the sweet scent of flowers from the garden below.
"What a sweet, lovely home I have! Oh, how much to be thankful for! good health, kind friends, and such a dear father!" she said half aloud; "but I want a good-night kiss and aword or two of fatherly affection, and it does seem as if I can't go to sleep without it. Oh, dear! can it be that he is displeased with me about anything? I am not conscious of having done anything he would disapprove."
"Nor have you, so far as I know, daughter mine," said a pleasant voice close at her side, while a hand was laid tenderly on her head.
"Oh, papa!" she cried joyously, starting up to a sitting posture as she spoke. "I did not know you were there—did not hear you come in; but I am so glad you have come!"
"Are you?" he asked, seating himself on the side of the bed and drawing her into his arms. "Well, daughter, it is only for a moment, to bid you good-night, as usual, and see that you are in need of nothing. Tell me, are all your wants supplied?"
"Yes, sir; now that I have my father here to give me his good-night kiss and blessing. Ah! papa dear, I do not know how I could ever live away from you again. I am so glad you no longer have to go sailing away over the ocean, leaving your children behind."
"I am glad of it, too," he returned, "but Isometimes fear that the day may come when my dear eldest daughter will want to leave me for a home with someone else."
"Indeed, father dear, you need not have the slightest fear of that," she said, laying her head against his breast with a low, happy laugh. "I am sure there isn't in the wide world any other man whom I could love half so well as I do you. I am just as glad to belong to you now as ever I was."
"And don't want me to give you away?"
"No, no, indeed!" she cried with energy. "Oh, papa! you surely are not thinking of such a thing? You have said, over and over again, that you would not,—at least not for years yet,—even if I wanted you to."
"And I say the same now; so don't be wanting me to," he returned in jesting tone, and laying her down upon her pillow as he spoke. "Now go to sleep at once, that you may be ready to rise at your usual early hour and join your father in the morning stroll about the grounds. '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 countenanceupon thee, and give thee peace,'" he added in tender, solemn tones, his hand resting upon her head as he spoke.
Then, with a good-night kiss upon her lips, he left her, and contented and happy she speedily passed into the land of dreams.
The captain, passing through Grace's room to his own, paused for a moment at her bedside, bent over her, and kissed the sweet lips; but she slept on, unconscious of the caress.
He found Violet still awake, repeated to her his little talk with Lucilla, and added, with evident satisfaction, "I feel convinced that, as yet, no one has made any impression upon her heart, that I, her father, still hold the fort there."
"Yes; I have hardly a doubt of it," returned Violet; "and it may be many a long day before she is deluded into thinking there is any other man who begins to compare to him; something that I have known for years was not the case," she concluded with a happy laugh.
The sun was hardly above the horizon when Lucilla awoke; but she sprang up hastily, with the thought that her father would soon be outin the grounds, and she wanted to be with him. There would be a great deal to attend to in preparation for their expected guests, and perhaps she could be of some assistance; at all events she would like to see all that was going on, and give her opinion on any doubtful subject.
So she lost no time about attending to the duties of the hour and place, spending a little time upon her knees, asking for the watchful care of her Heavenly Father through all the day, that she might be kept from folly and sin, and have strength and wisdom to do every duty and meet every trial, and beseeching his blessing upon all her dear ones, not forgetting the dear brother so far away from home and kindred. Then she made a rapid but careful toilet, and hastened, with light, swift footsteps, down the broad stairway and out upon the veranda, where she found her father in consultation with Christine, the housekeeper.
Blithe good-mornings were exchanged, Christine went back into the house, and father and daughter walked out together into the grounds.
Preparations were going on for the entertainment of the expected guests, old and young, and Lucilla was not only permitted, but invited to give her opinion in regard to them all, and any suggestions that might occur to her; which she did frankly and fully, and with the result that more than one of them was adopted; for her father wished to please her and had great confidence in her opinion of such matters. There were croquet and tennis grounds, swings in the shade of the trees in the grove; inviting-looking seats there, and in other suitable places; there were shaded walks and winding paths through the woods; indeed, every sort of arrangement for recreation and pleasure that could be thought of and prepared for in the allotted space.
Captain Raymond and his daughter walked about inspecting everything, until they had gone over the whole place, giving all needed directions to the workmen who were busied here and there with some alterations the captain had decided upon the previous day, then returned to the house, for it was nearing breakfast time.
They found Violet, Grace, and the two younger children on the veranda. Morning greetings were exchanged, then Lucilla hurried to her rooms to make some changes in her dress and was coming down again when the breakfast bell rang.
It was a cheerful, even merry, party that gathered about the table to partake of the meal, an excellent one; for the captain and Violet were most hospitable entertainers.
The talk ran principally upon the sports that would enliven and entertain the company during the day; suggestions from any and every one being in order; and, by the time the meal was concluded, all felt that they had every prospect of a most enjoyable holiday.
"The weather could not be more propitious than it is," remarked Captain Keith. "You began your enjoyment of it early, Miss Lu," turning to Lucilla. "I happened to be at my window and saw you and your father out in the grounds."
"Yes," she said, "papa and I usually do take a stroll about them before breakfast. He is always an early riser. I inherit the taste forit from him and, being in excellent health, can indulge it without injury."
"Which is something to be thankful for," he said with a smile.
"Yes, indeed!" she returned heartily. "Health and strength are the greatest of earthly blessings. I would not part with them for any amount of money."
"No; money cannot buy health and strength, though they may give one the ability to earn money. You, however, have a father able and willing to furnish all you may need of it."
"Yes," said the captain in his pleasant way, "but that daughter of mine likes to make herself useful to me, and does so to such an extent that I really think she earns all she gets."
"Oh, no, papa, not half!" exclaimed Lucilla, blushing with pleasure nevertheless. "And that reminds me that I have not asked about your mail this morning. Are there some letters to be answered on the typewriter?"
"I have been as forgetful as yourself, daughter," her father answered with a slight laugh. "Scip" (to a servant in waiting), "is the mail bag on the library table?"
"I think so, sah. Shall I fotch it hyar?"
"Yes; bring it here to me."
It was brought, opened, and found to contain letters for family and guests, besides newspapers and magazines.
They were speedily distributed to the owners, read,—some of them aloud,—and their contents talked over.
Then all adjourned to the library for the morning service of prayer, praise, and reading of the Scriptures, after which they scattered about the house and grounds.
Captain Raymond's share of the mail had included some business letters, and he called upon Lucilla to use her typewriter in preparing his replies, which she did promptly and cheerfully.
"Thank you, daughter," he said when they had finished, "you and your typewriter make my correspondence far less burdensome than it would be otherwise."
"I am so glad, papa! so glad that I can be of at least a little help to you," she said joyously. "It is such a privilege, and such a pleasure!"
"Dear child!" he said in response. Then, as the sound of wheels on the drive without came to their ears, "Ah! our guests are beginning to arrive, and we must go out and bid them welcome."
Several carriage loads were already there, and others quickly followed till, in a very short time, all the expected relatives were present.
Then mirth and jollity ruled the hour, all—old and young—seeming in gayest spirits and ready to join in any amusement that might be proposed. Mr. and Mrs. Croly were among the guests. She had gained so materially in health and strength that she was able—resting in an easy-chair upon the veranda—to watch the sports of the younger and healthier ones with interest and enjoyment; and to converse with one and another as they came in turn to chat with her for a time. At length, finding herself alone with Grandma Elsie for a while, she turned to her, saying in a sprightly way:
"I am getting so much better under the skilful treatment of Dr. Conly that I ventured on quite a drive this morning, and we went to look at a little place, some ten or more acres in extent, about which your son Doctor Harold was telling us yesterday. It is on the river bank, the lawn sloping down to the water, and it is hardly farther from Ion than this place. It is for sale. The house is small, but pretty, and could easily be added to, and so made as large as one might wish."
"Riverside is the name of the estate?" Mrs. Travilla said inquiringly.
"Yes; a pretty one we both—Mr. Croly and I—think, and we have about decided to buy it and enlarge and beautify the dwelling for our children,—our son and your daughter,—if you think that would please dear Rosie."
"I think it could not fail to do so," Mrs. Travilla replied, her eyes sparkling with pleasure. "It will be a great pleasure to me to have our children so near, and I was thinking of making the purchase for them myself. It was only this morning I learned that the place was for sale."
"Ah!" laughed Mrs. Croly, "don't try to get ahead of us. We want the place ourselves, and it won't hurt the young folks to wait for it till we are gone; especially as we intend itto be as much a home for them immediately as if they were sole proprietors."
"And they will enjoy it all the more for having their kind parents with them," was Mrs. Travilla's pleased response.
Then they fell to talking of alterations and additions to the dwelling, and plans for furnishing and decorating it and the grounds.
"I am very glad indeed that you and your husband have decided to settle in this neighbourhood," said Mrs. Travilla; "glad that we are to have the pleasure of your society, and that Rosie's married home will not be at a distance from that of her childhood. I have been very fortunate in being able thus far to keep all my children near me."
"Yes, I think so; and I do not wonder that they and you wish to keep together. I feel just so in regard to my one. Ah! who are those two ladies approaching on the driveway?"
"One I call mamma," Mrs. Travilla said with a smile; "she is my father's second wife, and has been my dear mother since I was a little girl of ten. The other is Aunt Adelaide, ahalf sister of my father, who married a brother of Mamma Rose—Mr. Edward Allison of Philadelphia."
"Ah, yes! I recognize Mrs. Dinsmore, now that they have drawn nearer, and Mrs. Allison as someone to whom I have been introduced; but I have met so many strangers in the last few days that I suppose I may be excused for not remembering her name and connection with you and our Rosie," she concluded with a smile, adding, "You will excuse me, I know, for claiming Rosie as mine as well as yours, because it is so sweet to me to have a daughter at long last."
"I am very glad you feel it so," Mrs. Travilla returned with a sweet, sympathising look and smile, "and I hope my Rosie will prove to you the sweet and lovable daughter that she has always been to me."
Just at that moment the other ladies joined them, and the four entered into a lively conversation, talking of Riverside and the improvements needed there, what a lovely home it would make for the Crolys, how pleasant it would be to have them so near, and how delightful for Rosie that thus she would escape the dreaded separation from her mother.
"Yes," said Mrs. Croly, "I cannot tell you how glad I was to learn of this beautiful place, so near to Ion, for sale; for I felt badly over the thought that we were robbing Mrs. Travilla of the companionship of so sweet a daughter. Besides I am anxious to remain in this neighbourhood, that I may continue under the care of Dr. Conly; for he has helped me more than any other physician I ever tried."
That remark seemed gratifying to all three of her listeners, and Mrs. Dinsmore said: "We are glad to hear it; for Dr. Conly is dear to us all, as relative, friend, and physician."
"He has a lovely young wife," was Mrs. Croly's next remark; "and a darling baby boy of whom they are both very proud and fond."
"Yes," said Mrs. Travilla, "it does one good to see how happy they are in the possession of it and of each other. Arthur remained single for years; I think to provide, or assist in providing, for his mother, sisters, and younger brothers, but he seems to be reaping his rewardnow in having a wife who is a great comfort and blessing to him."
"She is that, indeed!" said Mrs. Allison emphatically. "Ah! speak of angels—here they come!" as Dr. Conly and his young wife were seen approaching, followed by a nurse carrying the infant.
In another minute they had joined the group on the veranda, where the doctor speedily ensconced his wife in an easy-chair, placed himself in another by her side, and taking the baby from the nurse, held it up with a look of fatherly pride, asking the older ladies, "Isn't this a pretty fine specimen of babyhood, considering that he is my son?"
"Yes, indeed!" laughed Mrs. Allison, "it is singular that so poor a specimen of manhood as my nephew, Arthur Conly, should have so fine a son. But he may have got his good looks from his mother; though I do not perceive that she has lost any."
"Now, Aunt Adelaide, after that you will do well to take care not to fall ill and get into the doctor's hands," laughed Marian.
"My dear," said the doctor, "can you suppose I object to having my wife praised? or my son, even at his father's expense?"
"No, I know you do not," she returned. "I verily believe you would sacrifice everything for him except his mother."
"Did he let you take part in any of the games?" asked Adelaide.
"Oh, I didn't ask to!" said Marian. "I have grown so lazy that I thought it more fun to watch the others."
"Captain Raymond and Violet seem to be enjoying tennis as much as any of the rest," remarked Mrs. Dinsmore, who was watching the game with keen interest.
"Yes," said Dr. Conly, "all—old and young—seem very happy and interested in their various sports; and I think are gaining health and strength from the vigorous exercise in this pure air."
Most of the company were engaged in games of one kind or another, but some few were wandering about in the alleys of the garden or wood, or sitting on the grass or some rustic bench, chatting sociably, as cousins and connections might be expected to do. Dr.Dick Percival and Maud Dinsmore were among the latter. They had had a game of tennis and were now refreshing themselves with a saunter through the wood.
"I admire this place—Woodburn," said Maud. "Captain Raymond has, I think, made a sort of earthly paradise of it; though for that matter one might say pretty much the same of The Oaks, Ion, and several of the other family estates."
"Yes; including those down in Louisiana," returned Dick—"Viamede, Magnolia Hall, and a few others. By the way, you have never been down there, have you?"
"No, never; but I am hoping that Cousin Elsie will invite me one of these days."
"Suppose you don't wait for that, but accept an invitation from me," suggested Dick, giving her a very lover-like look and smile.
"From you?" she exclaimed, her tone expressing surprise and a little bewilderment, "are you staying there?"
"At Viamede? No, not now. I have bought a plantation not very far from there, and am trying to make it equal in beauty toViamede. It will, of course, take some time to accomplish that; but, to me, Torriswood seems even now a very winsome place. And if I had my cousin Maud installed there, as mistress, I should be one of the happiest of men."
"Oh! you want me to become your housekeeper?"
"Yes; housekeeper, homekeeper, heartkeeper—everything! Oh, Maud darling! can't you understand that I love you and want you for my wife, my best, nearest, and dearest friend, my heart's idol? I love you in a way that I never loved anyone else. Can't you love me in the same way—as something nearer and dearer than a mere cousin?"
Maud was blushing, trembling—wholly taken by surprise and hardly knowing whether to be glad or sorry. "Oh, Dick! how can you?" she stammered. "We are cousins, you know, and—and cousins ought not to—to marry. I have often heard Cousin Arthur say so."
"Not first cousins, nor second, but we are neither; we are far enough removed to be entirely safe so far as that is concerned. Sodearest, you need not hesitate on that account, if you feel that you can love me well enough to be happy as my wife. Can you? If you cannot now, I may be able to teach you to by clever courting. But I need a wife—I do indeed; and I don't know how to wait. Don't make me wait. Can't you give me your love—at least a little of it?"
"Oh, Dick! do you really care so much for me and my love—really love me in that way?" she asked low and tremulously, her eyes full of happy tears. "I never thought of such a thing before; but—but I do believe I can—I do love you better than any other of my cousins; better than—than anybody else in the world."
"Ah! dearest, you have made me very, very happy," he said joyously; "happier than I ever was in my life before, and I shall go home far richer than I came."
As he spoke he drew her to a rustic seat in a nook so concealed by the trees and shrubbery and the winding of the path that they were entirely hidden from view, and, putting an arm about her he held her close with silent caresses that seemed very sweet to her; for she had beenan orphan for years, and often hungry for love greater than that of brother or sister.
"Maud, dear," he said presently, "we have given ourselves to each other, and why should we delay the final step? I do not want to go back to my home alone; will you not go with me? It would make me the happiest of men."
"But—but you are going very soon, I understood—in a few days."