Guestsand entertainers, old and young, went to church the next morning, riding, driving, or walking, as best suited the inclination of each.
In the afternoon there was the usual gathering of the house servants and field hands on the lawn, near the veranda, where the family and guests were seated, and Mr. Dinsmore, Dr. Landreth, and Captain Raymond each gave them a little talk suited to their capacities, and the sacredness of the day, and their needs as members of the fallen race of man.
The captain, standing before them with an open Bible in his hand, said, "My friends, I want to talk with you a little, about some of the words spoken by the Apostle Paul when he was taking leave of the elders of the Church at Ephesus. He told them that he had been testifying both to the Jews, and also to the Greeks, repentance toward God and faith toward our Lord Jesus Christ. Now, what is meant by repentance toward God? It is a feeling of true sorrow for our sins against him (and everything wrong we have done, or thought, or felt was a sin against God). And what is it to have faithtoward our Lord Jesus Christ? To believe in him as one abundantly able and willing to save us—to save us from sin, from the love of it, and the punishment due to us for it. We are all sinners; we have all come short of the glory of God, neglecting many things that we ought to have done, and doing very many things that we ought not to have done. We are all born with a sinful nature, and God only can change it, so that we will hate sin and love holiness: he only can give us true faith in his dear Son the Lord Christ.
"'By grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God.' We are saved by grace; it is only of God's undeserved goodness, not because we have done or can do anything pleasing in his sight. Paul speaks in this same chapter of the Gospel of the grace of God. Gospel means good news, and what could be better news than that? that God offers us salvation of his free, unmerited grace? What an offer that is! salvation as his free, undeserved gift, without money, and without price. His offer is, 'Come unto me and be ye saved all ye ends of the earth.' No one is left out; this wonderful offer is to each one of us, and to every other inhabitant of this world, so that if any one fails to be saved, the fault will be all his own. For God has said, 'I have no pleasure in the death of him that dieth: wherefore turnyourselves and live ye.' And oh, how plain he has made it that he does love us and would have us live! 'For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.'"
The service was not a long one, and when it was over the captain repaired to the school-room with Lulu and Grace to hear them recite their Bible verses and catechism.
When that duty had been attended to, "Now, daughters," he said, "if you have anything to say, or questions suitable to the sacredness of the day to ask, I am ready to listen and reply to the best of my ability; but even a child may ask a question that a grown person cannot answer," he added with a smile.
"Indeed, papa," said Grace, putting an arm round his neck and laying her cheek lovingly to his, "I think you do know 'most everything; and I'm oh! so glad God gave you to me for my own father."
"I know you are, Gracie, I'm sure of it; but you can't be gladder than I am that he is my father, too," said Lulu, lifting to his eyes full of filial love and reverence.
"Nor than I am that these two little girls are my very own," responded the captain, holding both in a close embrace. "But now for the questions."
"I have one to ask, papa," said Lulu. "It is, what does the Bible mean by growing in grace?"
"Growing in likeness to Jesus and in conformity to his will; having more and more of the love and fear of God in our hearts; more faith and patience, and more love to our fellow-creatures; for the more we love the Master, the more will we love those whom he died to redeem."
"And the more we love him, the more we will try to be like him?" Lulu said in a tone of mingled assertion and inquiry.
"Yes, my child; and it is the dearest wish of my heart that I may see my children thus growing in grace, and in likeness to the dear Master."
"Papa, I want to," said Grace softly; "oh, I want to, very much!"
"Then ask God to help you, my darling, remembering that he is the hearer and answerer of prayer."
"And you will ask him for both of us, won't you, papa?"
"I will, I do, my darling; there is never a day when I do not pray earnestly for each one of my dear children, that God will make them his own true followers and keep them in every time of trial and temptation, taking them safely to heaven at last. Life in this world is exceedingly short compared with the eternal existence which awaits us all in another—that life of infinitejoy and blessedness at God's right hand, or of everlasting, untold misery, unending, inconceivable anguish, in the blackness of darkness, shut out forever from his presence," he added in moved tones. "God in his infinite goodness and mercy grant that the first and not the last may be the portion of each one of my beloved children!"
"Oh, papa," said Grace softly, "how can any one help loving the dear Saviour who died that we might go to heaven and not to that other awful place!"
"Oh," said Lulu, "I do want to love him more and serve him better! When I think of his wonderful goodness and love to us poor sinners, I'm just as ashamed as I can be that I don't love him at all as I ought, and am so often ill-tempered and selfish and bad. Papa, I do really think it is kind and good in you to punish me when I deserve it, and need it to make me a better girl."
"And I shall be very glad indeed if you never again make it necessary for me to do so," he responded.
"I do hope I won't," she returned. "Papa, I'm very much afraid I'll be thinking and talking to-day about the wedding and what everybody is going to wear at it, and I know I won't be in half so much danger of doing so if I keep close to you; so mayn't I?"
"Yes, daughter; I am always glad to have you near me," he said kindly; "and it pleases me that you are desirous to avoid temptation to do wrong."
"And you are just as willing to let me keep near you, papa?" Grace said inquiringly, and with a wistful, pleading look up into his face.
"Certainly, my dear little daughter. I love you not a whit less than I do your sister," he said, drawing her into a closer embrace. "However, you may both stay here reading your Bibles and Sunday school books for a half hour longer. Then I will come for you and you may spend the rest of the day as close to your father's side as you choose." With that he left them.
"Such a dear, good father as ours is!" exclaimed Lulu, gazing after him with loving, admiring eyes.
"Yes, indeed! I am sure there couldn't be a better or dearer one. Oh, I do love him so!" said Grace, turning over the leaves of her Bible. "Let's read verse about, Lu."
"I'm agreed; and let it be the Book of Esther. I do think that is such a lovely story."
"So it is; and so is Ruth, and that's shorter. I don't believe we'll have time to read all of Esther before papa comes for us."
"Maybe not," assented Lulu; "so we will read Ruth."
They had finished the story and were talkingit over together when their father came. It was then nearly tea time.
Sacred music filled up most of the evening, and all the young girls and boys retired early to bed that they might be ready for the pleasures and employments of the coming day. The older people sat somewhat longer upon the veranda, conversing upon topics suited to the sacredness of the day. They were Christians, and loved to speak of the Master and the things concerning his kingdom.
"Then they that feared the Lord spake often one to another: and the Lord hearkened and heard it, and a book of remembrance was written before him for them that feared the Lord and that thought upon his name. And they shall be mine, saith the Lord of hosts, in that day when I make up my jewels; and I will spare them as a man spareth his own son that serveth him."
As usual, Lulu was up early the next morning, and joined her father in a walk under the trees along the bank of the bayou.
"Well, daughter, has the rest of the Sabbath made you ready for work in the school-room again?" he asked, smiling down affectionately into her face, rosy, bright, and happy with health and gay spirits.
"Yes, papa, I feel more like it than I did on Saturday," she answered, lifting to his sparkling eyes, full of affection.
"I rejoice to hear it," he said; "for it is by no means a pleasant task to me when I have to compel a pupil—whether one of my own children or the child of someone else—against his or her inclination; though I enjoy teaching when all are happy and interested."
"As we all ought to be when we have such a good, kind, wise teacher, dear papa," she returned. "It will be difficult, very difficult, I'm afraid, to give my mind to lessons when we are all so much taken up with the preparations for the wedding, but I'm determined to try my very best to do so to please my dearest, kindest, best of fathers," lifting his hand to her lips.
"A father who would far rather be obeyed from love than fear," he said, with a tender, loving look down into her face.
"Yes, I know you would, papa, and my love for you is, oh! ever so much stronger than my fear; though I own I am afraid of your displeasure and punishments, for I know you can punish severely when you think it your duty and for my good; but I respect and love you too a great deal more than I would or could if you indulged me in bad behavior."
"I don't doubt it," he said; "and I, as I have often told you, punish you when I deem it needful, because I know you will be the happier in the end for being compelled to try to conqueryour faults; happier than you ever could be if allowed to indulge them."
"Yes, papa, I know that is so; I am never at all happy when indulging wrong tempers and feelings," she acknowledged, with another loving look up into his face.
At that moment they were joined by Evelyn and Rosie.
"Brother Levis," said Rosie, "you surely are not going to be so unreasonable and tyrannical as to require lessons of us to-day?"
"I'm afraid I am, little sister," he replied, with a smile, "and I hope you are not going to be so naughty and rebellious as to require any kind of discipline?"
"I don't know," she said, with a pretended pout; "I feel no inclination at all toward lessons, but a very strong one in favor of a ride or drive over to Magnolia Hall."
"Which can be gratified when study and recitations have been duly attended to," returned the captain; "and if in need of an escort you may call upon me for that service."
"Oh, a thousand thanks! that will do very well indeed!" she exclaimed in a tone of relief and pleasure.
"And all the good and industrious little girls may go along," added the captain, with a smiling look into Lulu's eagerly inquiring face.
"Thank you, papa; thank you very much!"she exclaimed joyously. "I do want to go, and intend to be as industrious as possible, and as good and obedient, so that you can take me. And you'll take Gracie too if she wants to go, won't you?"
"Certainly," he said; "Gracie deserves all the indulgences and pleasures I can give her."
"You are very kind indeed, Captain, to spend so much of your time in teaching us to-day; for I feel very sure you would enjoy going to Magnolia Hall with the other gentlemen and the ladies this morning," remarked Evelyn, with a grateful, affectionate look up into his face.
"Thank you, my dear," he replied. "It would be pleasant to me to go, but it is also a pleasure to help my own children, and other appreciative pupils, to climb the hill of science."
Just then Grace and little Elsie came running to meet them, and the next minute the breakfast bell summoned them all to the house.
After breakfast followed family worship, school, play-time, then dinner, and, late in the afternoon, the pleasant drive through the woods to Magnolia Hall. It was only for a call, however, and at tea-time the Viamede family and all their guests gathered about the table there.
From then until the wedding day the young folks were in a state of pleasurable excitement, though the captain kept his pupils steadily at their work, and they found it not impossible tofix their minds upon their studies for a portion of each day. The other relatives invited had arrived, and in a few days the marriage was to take place.
It was Saturday morning. Scarcely two hours had been spent in the school-room when the captain dismissed his pupils, telling them, with his pleasant smile, that they had done very well indeed, and would be allowed a holiday until the wedding festivities were over, an announcement no one was sorry to hear, although he had made the lessons interesting and enjoyable to them as ever since undertaking the work of teaching them. All returned warm thanks, and Rosie, Evelyn, and Walter hastened from the room, which Captain Raymond had already left; but his two little girls lingered there a while longer, putting their desks in perfect order.
"Gracie," said Lulu, "how much money have you left?"
"Not a single cent," was the reply in a rather rueful tone; "and I suppose yours is all gone too?"
"Yes; every cent of it. I feel as poor as a church mouse."
"But we are not wanting to buy anything just now, and papa will be giving us some pocket-money again pretty soon," returned Grace in a determinedly cheerful tone.
"Yes, so he will! Oh, what a dear, good,kind father he is! I really don't believe there are very many girls of our ages that get so much pocket-money every week. And papa gave us so much extra money too, to use in buying our gifts for Cousin Betty."
"Oh, yes, and now I think of it, I don't believe we ought to expect any more pocket-money for a good while. Do you, Lu?"
"No, I don't; for this wedding's costing a good deal—to papa as well as other folks; and the journey home will cost ever so much, besides all that papa paid to bring us here. Then, too, he's going to see Max again after we get home, and will maybe take one or both of us along—if we're good."
"Oh, do you think so?" exclaimed Grace. "Oh, I'd love to see Maxie! but if only one of us can go it ought to be you, because you're the oldest, and so well that it wouldn't give papa half so much trouble to take care of you as of me."
"I'm just sure papa doesn't think it any trouble to take care of you, Gracie," returned Lulu in her quick, earnest way. "And you are a better girl than I, therefore more deserving of such indulgences."
"That's a mistake of yours, Lu," said Grace; "you've been good as gold ever since we came to Viamede—as well as before—and helped papa with your typewriter, while I haven't doneanything but wait on him a little, and try to learn my lessons well, and amuse the little ones sometimes."
Lulu's face had grown very red while Grace was speaking, and she hung her head in a shamefaced, remorseful way.
"No, Gracie," she said in a low, mortified tone, "I haven't been half so good as you think; I displeased papa very much that day when you all went to Magnolia Hall, and I had to stay at home and learn my lessons over. I was very angry and cross with dear little Ned because he meddled with my herbarium, which I had carelessly left lying out on my desk. If papa had punished me very severely it would have been no more than I deserved, but all he did was to send me to my room for a while till I told him how sorry I was and asked forgiveness of him, and Neddie, too."
Grace looked surprised. "No, I never heard a word of it before," she said; "but I'm sure you did all you could when you asked forgiveness of both of them—papa and Neddie."
The little girls had no idea that their father was within hearing, yet such was the case, and their little talk pleased him greatly.
"The darlings!" he said to himself, "they shall not be long penniless, for their father thinks them very worthy to be trusted with pocket-money.Two more unselfish children I am sure it would be hard to find."
With that he rose and went to the library, to which they presently followed him, asking if there were anything he wanted them to do.
"Why, it is your play-time, daughters," he returned, with a loving smile into the bright young faces.
"But we'd like to do something to help you, dear papa," Grace said, laying her small, white hand on his arm, and looking lovingly up into his face.
"Yes, indeed we would, papa," said Lulu, standing on his other side, and putting her arm round his neck. "Please, if you have letters to answer, mayn't I write them for you on my typewriter?"
"Does my dear eldest daughter deem that a privilege?" he asked, smiling down into her beseeching eyes, while he put one arm round her, the other about Grace's waist, and drew both in between his knees, kissing first one and then the other.
"Indeed I do, papa," Lulu answered in an earnest tone; "it's very sweet to me to feel that I am of even a little use to my dear, dear father, who does so much for me, taking so much trouble to teach me, and gives me so many, many nice things to eat, to wear, to read, and to amusemyself with—so many that it would take quite a long while to count them all up."
"Ah, that reminds me," he said, taking out his pocket-book, "I shouldn't wonder if my little girls had about emptied their purses in buying gifts for the bride that is to be, and so forth. Get them out and let me see what can be done toward replenishing them."
He noted with pleasure that as he spoke each young face grew very bright.
"We've left them upstairs, papa," said Lulu, "and though you're ever so kind," hugging and kissing him again, "we don't want to take any more now when you have to spend so very much on the wedding, and to take us all home to Woodburn."
"No, indeed we don't, you dear, dear papa," chimed in Grace, nestling closer to him and patting his cheek lovingly.
"My precious darlings!" he said, holding them close, "your father can spare it without denying himself or anybody else anything at all needful; and he feels very sure that he could not get more enjoyment out of it in any other way. So get your purses and bring them here to me," he concluded, releasing them from his embrace.
They ran joyfully to do his bidding, and on their return each found a little pile of money waiting for her—two clean, fresh one dollarbills, two silver half dollars, four quarters, and ten dimes; all looking as if just issued from the mint.
"Oh! oh! oh!" they cried, "how much! and all so bright and new!" Lulu adding, "Papa, are you quite, quite sure you can really spare all this without being—embarrassed?"
"Yes, quite sure," he returned, regarding her with a twinkle of fun in his eyes; "I really think I should not be greatly embarrassed if called upon for twice as much."
At that Lulu drew a long breath of relief, while Grace threw her arms about his neck, saying, "You dear, dear papa! I don't believe any other children ever had such a good, kind father as ours."
"Well, now, I really hope there are a great many other fathers quite as good and kind as yours," he said, with a smile, pinching the round, rosy cheek, kissing the ruby lips, and fondly stroking the soft, shining curls of her pretty head.
"I hope so," said Lulu, "but I'm just sure there's not another one I could love so, so dearly as ours. I do think God was very good to me in making me yours, papa. Your very own little daughter."
"And me too," said Grace.
"Yes; good to me as well as to you," responded the captain, "for my darlings seem tome the dearest, most lovable children in the world. Well, Lulu daughter, you may help me with your machine for a half hour, if you wish."
"Oh, yes, papa; yes, indeed! I'll be glad to!" she exclaimed, hastening to uncover it, put in the paper, and seat herself before it, while her father took up a letter, glanced over the contents, then began his dictation.
It was a business note and had no interest for Grace, who presently wandered out upon the veranda with her well filled purse in her hand.
Grandma Elsie sat there alone, reading. "What a bright, happy face, my little Gracie," she said, glancing up from her book as the child drew near. "Has some special good come to you, dear?"
"Yes, ma'am; see!" exclaimed the little girl, displaying her well filled purse; "it was empty, and my dear papa has just filled it. You see, Grandma Elsie," drawing near and lowering her voice, "I was wanting to buy a few things for good-by presents to some of the poor old colored folks, but I'd spent every cent of my money and thought I'd have to give it up; and I'm oh, so glad that I won't have to now. And—Oh, Grandma Elsie, you and mamma will help me to think what will be best to get for them, won't you?"
"I will be very glad to do anything I can tohelp you, dear child," replied Grandma Elsie in her low, sweet tones, and softly stroking the golden curls as the little girl stood close at her side. "Suppose you get a pencil and paper from the school-room and make out a list of those to whom you wish to give, and opposite to each name the gift that seems most suitable."
Grace's reply was a joyful assent, and she hurried away in search of the required articles.
She was not gone more than a very few minutes, but on her return found that her Mamma Vi, Rosie, and Evelyn had joined Grandma Elsie on the veranda, had been told by her what was the business in hand, and were desirous to have a share in it.
They had a pleasant time over their lists, each making out one for herself, while Lulu finished the work she had undertaken for her father. They decided to write to the city for what was wanted, and that anyone else who wished could send at the same time; so that matter was satisfactorily disposed of.
"Oh!" exclaimed Grace, struck by a sudden thought, "suppose I run to the library and tell papa and Lu about it, and get him to tell her what to say, and let her write on the typewriter for the things?"
Everyone thought it an excellent idea, and Grace immediately carried it out.
"I quite approve," her father said, when she had told her story and made her request.
"I too," said Lulu, "and I'll join you if papa will help me to decide what to buy. I'll write the letter too, if he will tell me what to say."
"I am entirely willing to do both, daughter," he said. "Let us set to work at once, as it will soon be dinner-time, and I want to take my little girls out for a drive this afternoon."
"Oh, thank you, papa, thank you very much!" they cried in joyous tones.
"Is anybody else going, papa?" asked Lulu.
"Your Grandma Elsie, Mamma Vi, and our little ones, in our carriage; as many more as may wish to go either in other carriages or on horseback. Perhaps you would prefer to ride your pony?"
"No, sir; not if you are to be in the carriage I may ride in."
"Ah, you are very fond of being with your father," he said, with a pleased smile.
"Yes, sir; yes, indeed! just as close as I can get," stroking and patting his cheek, then pressing her lips to it in an ardent kiss.
"And it's exactly the same with me, you dear, darling papa!" exclaimed Grace, putting an arm round his neck. "And it's exactly the same with every one of your children from big Maxie down to baby Ned."
"I believe it is, and it makes me very happy to think so," he replied. "But now, my dears, we must to work on our list of articles."
Itwas a large party that set out from Viamede shortly after leaving the dinner-table. Most of the young people—among them Chester, Frank, Maud, and Sydney Dinsmore, Evelyn Leland, Rosie and Walter Travilla—preferred riding.
These, having swifter steeds, presently distanced the rest of the riders, as well as those who were driving, and in passing a plantation, which was the home of Nettie Vance, an old school-mate of the Viamede young folks at the time, several years before, of their attendance at Oakdale Academy, they were joined by her and a young man whom she introduced as her brother, both well mounted and looking merry and happy.
"Bob and I were just starting out for a ride," she said, "and consider ourselves fortunate in meeting with such good company. May I take my place alongside of you, Miss Leland? I have a bit of news to tell which I think will interest you and Miss Travilla. It is that Signor Foresti, who, as you will doubtless remember, was a teacher of music—anything but an agreeableone, by the way—at Oakdale Academy when we were there together, is quite ill, partly from an accident, partly from drink, and extremely poor. I must say I hardly pity him very much for that last, but I do feel sorry for his wife and children."
"I too," said Evelyn. "I wish it were in my power to relieve them, but my purse is about empty just at present. However, I will report the matter at Viamede, and I am sure the kind friends there will see that something is done toward supplying their pressing needs."
"Yes," returned Nettie, "I have heard a great deal of the kindness and benevolence of Mrs. Travilla and her father; of Captain Raymond's also; though I for one could hardly blame him if he utterly refused to give any assistance to a man who had abused his daughter as Foresti did Lulu."
"Nor I," said Evelyn; "yet I feel almost certain that he will assist Foresti. He would not let the wife and children suffer for the man's ill deeds, nor indeed the man himself, unless I am greatly mistaken; for the captain is a truly Christian gentleman."
"Indeed he is," said Rosie, "and very benevolent; exceedingly kind to the poor; to anyone who is in distress of any kind. I am very proud of that brother-in-law of mine, Nettie, and don't care who knows it."
"I do not wonder at that," returned Nettie. "I certainly should be if he were mine; it is very plain from the way in which Lulu and Gracie look at him that they are both fond and proud of their father."
"Nor do I wonder at it," said Robert Vance, joining in the conversation. "Nettie pointed him out to me at church last Sunday, and I remarked then that he was as fine looking a man as ever I saw; tall, straight, handsome in feature, and of most noble countenance."
"Thank you," Rosie said, with a smile and a bow. "I think him all that, and as noble in character as in looks. It is my opinion that my sister Violet drew a prize in the matrimonial lottery; and the captain also, for Vi is in every way worthy of him."
"Surely," returned the young man, "one glance at her is sufficient to assure one of that."
Rosie and Evelyn then asked where the Forestis were to be found, and what were their most pressing needs, and having learned those particulars, promised that someone from Viamede would call to see and relieve them, Rosie adding, with a smile, "We, as you probably know, are busy with preparations for a wedding in the family, yet I have no doubt some one or more among us could find time to attend to this call for help."
"Yes," said Walter, who had been quietlylistening to the talk, "mamma will be sure to find time for such an act of kindness; she always does."
"I am sure of it," responded Nettie heartily, "from her sweet looks and all I have heard of her. And so your cousin, Miss Johnson, is going to be married?" she added, looking at Rosie. "We received our invitations yesterday, and are busy with our preparations. It must be delightful to have such a thing coming off in the family; particularly to be the bride; for I hear it is to be quite a grand affair and the match an excellent one."
"Yes," returned Rosie, "we are all much pleased with what we have heard of the gentleman, and I hope they are going to be very happy together."
"I hope so, indeed," responded Nettie. "I am but slightly acquainted with Miss Johnson, but have always liked her looks."
It was near tea-time when the Viamede party reached home again; the ladies and little girls had barely time to dress for the evening before the summons to the table.
It was while all where seated about it that Rosie and Evelyn told of the news learned from Nettie Vance in regard to Signor Foresti and his family.
"Ah, poor things! we must do something for them," Grandma Elsie said, when the story wasfinished. "Papa, shall we stop there to-morrow on our way to or from church? It would be a work of mercy suited to the day, I think. Do not you?"
"Yes," replied Mr. Dinsmore; "and it might be well to carry a basket of provisions with us."
Lulu had listened in silence while the others were talking, and all through the evening she had but little to say, seeming much of the time lost in thought, though usually she was quite talkative, unless, as occasionally happened, checked by a slight reminder from her father that it would be more becoming in a child of her age to show herself a quiet listener to older people.
The captain noticed her abstraction, but, guessing at the cause, said nothing about it till they were alone together in her bedroom; then, drawing her to his knee, "My little girl has been unusually silent this evening," he said. "Is anything wrong with her?"
She drew a long sigh. "I have been trying to decide a question of duty, papa," she said, "and, please—I'd like you to tell me what to do."
"In regard to what, daughter?"
"Giving a part of my money—the money you put into my purse this morning—to—to the Forestis."
"I think it would be right and kind for you to do so. Do not you?"
"Yes, sir; and I will do it," she said with sudden determination. "It will be returning good for evil, as the Bible bids us; won't it, papa?"
"Yes; and I think will help you to forgive the man for his ill treatment of my dear little daughter," drawing her closer and kissing her fondly.
"Yes, sir; even the resolve has made me feel more kindly toward him. How much ought I to give, papa? I hardly think I'll have very much left after I've paid for the presents I've sent for, for the servants here."
"No, not a very great deal, I presume; but you are not likely to need much before there will be more pocket-money coming to you."
"Oh, no, sir, I'll not, of course, because my dear, dear father provides everything I need to eat or wear, and pays my travelling expenses too, so that I'm not really obliged to spend anything on myself," she said, putting an arm about his neck and laying her cheek lovingly to his. "Papa, do you think a dollar will be enough for me to give the Forestis?"
"You may decide that question for yourself, my darling," he said, patting her cheek and stroking her hair; "I leave it entirely to you to give much, little, or nothing, as conscience and inclination dictate."
"Thank you, papa; you are very kind to saythat; but please tell me if you think a dollar will be enough for me?"
"Yes, I do," was his reply, and Lulu looked satisfied and relieved.
"I'm glad, papa," she said, "for I really do not know that I shall have more than that left after paying for the presents for the servants; and of course I can't give more than I have."
"Quite true," he returned, with a slight smile. "I would have you make it a rule never to go into debt for your own gratification or for any other object. 'Out of debt, out of danger,' is an old and wise saying. Now, daughter, it is time to say good-night; but first let me remind you that to-morrow is the Lord's day, and to be kept holy. Try not to think of the exciting events expected in the coming week, but to spend the time in the worship of God and the study of his word, that you may grow in grace and conformity to his will, thus becoming 'meet for the inheritance of the saints in light,' and ready, when he shall call you away from earth, to dwell forever with him in that holy, happy land where sin and sorrow are unknown. We will kneel down together now for a moment and ask him to help us both to do so, 'running with patience the race set before us, ever looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith.'"
Sunday was passed by the Viamede family in the usual quiet way, most of its hours filled upwith divine service in the sanctuary or at home, and all retired to rest at an early hour, to rise the next morning in renewed health and strength, the children rejoicing in their holiday and the near approach of the wedding festivities.
Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore had the day before, on their way to church, called upon the Italian music teacher, taking with them delicacies for the sick man, and other articles of food for the rest of the family; some money also, in which was included Lulu's dollar; and finding the services of a physician were needed, had engaged to send one.
Dr. Dick Percival undertook the errand, made a professional call, and on his return reported the man quite ill, but likely to recover with good and competent nursing. He went over again on Monday morning, but called first at Viamede to report to his uncle Dinsmore and the captain.
Lulu was present at the interview and heard with interest all that Cousin Dick had to tell about the signor and his family.
"There are three children," said Dick—"forlorn looking little creatures, with apparently no playthings except a few broken bits of china, and for doll babies, some corn cobs wrapped in rags."
"Oh, papa," exclaimed little Elsie, seatedupon her father's knee, "mayn't I send dem some of my dollies?"
"Yes, if you want to do so," he replied, smiling upon her, and smoothing her curls caressingly with his hand.
"And I will hunt up some playthings for them too, if I may, papa," said Lulu.
"Certainly," he said; "you may do so at once, and we three and Gracie will drive over there in the carriage, which I will order immediately; that is, if Cousin Dick does not object to our company?"
"Not by any means, Captain; I shall be delighted to have it," said Dr. Percival. "And will you drive over with me, Art?" turning to Dr. Conley.
"With pleasure, Dick," was the reply, and in a short time all were on their way, the children well laden with toys and sweets for the little Forestis.
Violet had been invited to accompany her husband, but declined because of some preparations still to be made for the wedding. Little Ned, however, had no such excuse, and gladly made one of the merry little party in his father's carriage.
Dr. Percival, having other patients needing his attention, said he intended to make but a short call upon the Italian, and the captain did not think it worth while for his children toalight; but from the carriage they witnessed with delight the pleasure conferred upon the little Forestis by their gifts.
Captain Raymond left them for a few moments while he went in to see the sick man, to whom he spoke with the utmost kindness, condoling with him on his sufferings, and inquiring if they were very great.
"De bains ish ver bad, sare," replied the man, with a heavy sigh. Then, with an earnest look into the captain's face, his own flushing hotly, "You, sare, ish de fader off Mees Lu Raymond?" he said inquiringly.
"I am, sir," replied the captain with some sternness of look and tone.
"Mees Lu, she bees one goot leetle girl for send me that monish yesterday," continued Foresti; "dot make me ver sorry I haf so leetle batience mit her dat time she sthrike me mit de music book."
"Yes," said Captain Raymond, "and I trust that when you are again able to teach you will try to be more patient and forbearing with your pupils. It will be better for both you and them."
"Yes, sare, I vill try dat blan; but mine batience bees sorely dried mit de mishtakes off dose careless bupils I haf to teach."
"I dare say that is true," said the captain, "but one who finds it impossible to have patiencewith pupils, should try some other way of making a livelihood than by teaching."
In another minute or two the captain left—not waiting for the doctors, who were, as he knew, going in another direction—re-entered his carriage, and started on the return trip to Viamede.
"Papa," asked Lulu, "can't we take a little different route going home?"
"Yes," he replied in an indulgent tone, and gave the necessary directions to the driver.
It was a pleasant, shady road into which they presently turned, and the children chatted and laughed right merrily, receiving no rebuke from their father and fearing none.
They had not gone far on that road when they espied two horsemen approaching from the opposite direction.
"Oh," cried little Elsie, "here come Cousin Ronald and Uncle Horace."
"An unexpected meeting, Captain," Mr. Dinsmore remarked, with a bow and smile as they drew near.
"But none the less pleasant," returned Captain Raymond.
"Very true, sir," said Mr. Lilburn, bowing and smiling in his turn.
"For the captain and you young folks, no doubt, but a trifle less delightful for us who have the load to carry," seemed to come fromthe mouth of one of the horses as he tossed his head to shake off a fly.
"True enough, Selim. You doubtless envy me with only this gentleman to carry; and I pity you from the bottom of my heart; only that it must be good fun to hear those little folks chatting and laughing," was the answering remark apparently made by the horse ridden by Mr. Lilburn, speaking as they passed the captain's carriage.
Lulu and Grace clapped their hands, laughing merrily, while baby Ned exclaimed, with a look of astonishment, "Me didn't fink horsey could talk like udder folks!"
"Oh, yes! but why did they never do it before?" cried little Elsie. "Papa, did you know they could talk?"
"I never heard them do so before, daughter," the captain said, with an amused smile down into the earnest, surprised little face, "and I suspect that it is only when Cousin Ronald is about that they can."
Rides, drives, sports of various kinds, and preparations for the wedding, made the time pass very rapidly and pleasantly to the young folks at Viamede, Magnolia Hall, and the Parsonage, until at length all was in readiness for the expected festivities.
The ceremony was to be performed at the church, the Rev. Cyril Keith officiating, and to be immediately succeeded by a wedding breakfast on the lawn at Magnolia Hall. That was to be about noon, so did not interfere with the usual morning meal and family devotions at Viamede.
When these had been attended to, the ladies and young girls scattered to their rooms to dress for the important occasion.
It had been arranged that Grace Raymond and Rose Lacy were to act as flower girls, dressed in white tarlatan, and white hats trimmed with white ribbon, and each carrying a basket filled with white roses, white japonicas, and smilax. Rose Travilla, Evelyn Leland, and Lulu Raymond, dressed as had been planned at the first, were to act as bridesmaids, while Lora Howard,Maud and Sydney Dinsmore, were to be maids of honor, dressed in white, and carrying bouquets of white flowers.
Betty's own dress was a rich white silk, trimmed with elegant and costly lace—the gift of her brother-in-law, Mr. Embury—and a tulle veil, fastened to her head with a wreath of orange blossoms. Her bouquet was of bride roses and smilax. The Dinsmore and Howard cousins were to act as ushers and groomsmen.
All this had been satisfactorily arranged, and rehearsals gone through with several times at Magnolia Hall and Viamede, that each one might be perfect in his or her part; otherwise timid little Gracie could not have been induced to undertake her share in the ceremony.
When she and Lulu were dressed for the occasion they went in search of their father to ask his opinion of their appearance and attire. He scanned each daintily attired, graceful little figure with a look of proud, fond affection, clasped them in his arms and kissed them tenderly.
"My darlings look very sweet in their father's eyes," he said; "but do not be too proud of your appearance, for fathers are apt to see their own children through rose-colored glasses; and it is not very likely that you will attract particular attention among so many attendants upon the bride, who will doubtless be gazed upon more admiringly and critically than anyone else."
"I'm ever so glad of that, papa," Gracie said, with a sigh of relief; "because I don't like to be viewed with a critic's eye," she concluded with a merry, though slightly disturbed little laugh.
"Well, dear child, just try to forget yourself, and I have no doubt everything will go right," he said, drawing both her and Lulu closer into his arms for a little more petting and caressing.
That was interrupted by the entrance of their mamma Vi, coming upon the same errand that had brought them.
"Will I do, my dear?" she asked, with a bright, winsome smile.
"Ah, my Violet, my sweet and beautiful flower," he returned, regarding her with ardently admiring eyes, "I fear you will outshine the bride. You look very like one yourself, except a most becoming air of maturity; scarcely older and certainly not less beautiful than when you gave yourself to me."
"And accepted you in return; deeds which I have never yet for a moment regretted," she said, with a coquettish smile up into his face; for he had put his little girls gently aside and risen to take a critical survey of his young and beautiful wife.
"And never shall if in my power to prevent it, my love, my darling," he said low and tenderly,laying a hand upon her shoulder, and bending down to press a fond kiss upon her lips.
They were in the library, whither the captain had gone, after arraying himself for the wedding festival, to wait for the ladies and damsels who were to go under his care.
"Ah, Brother Levis, I have caught you in the very act," laughed Rosie, dancing into the room, already in bridesmaid's attire, and looking but little less attractive than Violet herself.
"Ah! and what of that, little sister?" he asked. "Who has a better right than her husband to bestow caresses upon a beautiful and attractive woman?"
"Captain Raymond, being my teacher, has an undoubted right to question me in the school-room," laughed Rosie, with an arch look up into his face, "but—I don't know that he has here and now. Now please let me have your candid opinion of my dress and appearance."
"You will do very well, little sister; there is no fault to be found with your appearance, so far as I can see," he answered in a non-committal tone, and with a mischievous twinkle of fun in his eye.
At that Rosie pretended to pout. "You keep all your compliments for Vi," she said. "But—ah, here comes Eva, and I wonder if you can afford one to her. She is certainly worthy of it."
Evelyn did indeed look sweet and fair in abecoming white chip hat and her pretty dress of pale blue silk trimmed with lovely lace.
Rosie's own dress was a delicate pink; Lulu's canary color; all of the same material.
"That she is, in my opinion," returned the captain, bestowing a fatherly caress upon the young orphan girl, then offering the same to Rosie.
"Well, now, you are a nice brother—my big, big brother, you remember," she laughed, "so I won't repulse you; help yourself and let us have it over."
Just at that moment her mother came in, dressed for the wedding in a beautiful pearl-colored silk and point lace, a knot of white roses at her throat and in her belt, her lovely and abundant golden brown hair simply and tastefully arranged.
"Mamma!" exclaimed Violet, "you are the most beautiful and tastefully attired one among us!"
"In the partial eyes of my daughter Violet," was the smiling rejoinder. "But to me her youthful beauty far exceeds her mother's fading charms."
"I incline to the opinion that the fading is perceptible to no eyes but your own, mother," remarked the captain gallantly.
"I also," said Violet; "a richer, riper bloom is all that I can see."
"Or that anybody else can," added Walter, who, ready dressed for the wedding, had entered the room just in time to catch Violet's first exclamation.
Then the other members of the family and the guests came flocking in, the carriages were announced as waiting for their living freight, and presently all were seated in them and on their way to the church, which they found crowded with invited guests and other spectators.
The ceremony was short, but impressive. Bride, bridesmaids, flower girls, and maids of honor were all looking their best, and behaved admirably; groom, groomsmen, and ushers also, among whom were a brother and an intimate friend of the bridegroom, the young cousins Arthur and Walter Howard, Chester and Frank Dinsmore, and little Walter Travilla.
Old Mr. Dinsmore, the uncle and guardian of the bride, gave her away, and was the first to salute, and call her by her new name on the completion of the ceremony, the first to congratulate the groom, and wish them a great deal of happiness.
Other affectionate greetings and best wishes followed in quick succession; then the carriages were re-entered, and all drove to Magnolia Hall to partake of the wedding breakfast.
The place was looking its very loveliest: thegrass on the lawn like a velvet carpet of emerald green, spangled with many flowers of varied hues, which filled the air with delicious perfume, and there, scattered about underneath the magnolia, orange, and other beautiful shade trees, were many small tables resplendent with the finest napery, shining silver, cut glass, and delicate china, and loaded with delicate and delicious viands.
Presently every table was surrounded by a merry group quite disposed to do justice to the tempting fare, and the air filled with the pleasant hum of happy voices and low, gleeful laughter.
The bride and groom, with their attendants, were seated about two tables not many feet apart, while the older members of the Viamede family and Cousin Ronald occupied another, quite near to both; and Mr. Embury and his Molly, with the Parsonage family, Virginia and the older Embury children, filled a third, not far from either of the others, when presently Nero, a great big Newfoundland dog belonging to Mr. Embury, showed himself at his master's side, looking up wistfully into his face.
"I'm hungry, good master," were the words that seemed to come from his lips, "and surely your faithful dog might have a taste of this feast."
At that some of the guests looked startled andastounded, too much surprised to speak, but Mr. Embury, who was not ignorant of Cousin Ronald's talents, though a little startled at first, recovered his wits instantly, and replying, "Certainly, certainly, Nero; that's only fair," handed the dog a generous bit of chicken, and bade him carry it to a distance and eat it. An order which was promptly obeyed.
"Ah ha, ah ha, um h'm! that's a bright and capable dog, Mr. Embury," remarked Cousin Ronald, elevating his eyebrows in mock surprise. "What would you take for him, sir?"
"He is not for sale, Mr. Lilburn," was Mr. Embury's grave rejoinder. "You must surely see for yourself, sir, that he is no ordinary dog, but an uncommonly valuable animal. There are not many of his race who can speak so plainly."
"Ah ha, ah ha, um h'm! that is very true, sir. I don't wonder you are not inclined to part with him, for it is no easy matter to find a dog that can speak such good English, nor for that matter any other language."
"No, sir, they are scarce indeed," said Mr. Embury, "and I had no idea Nero was one of them until he spoke just now."
"Ah, I'm afraid the power of speech will be lost by him as suddenly as it was found," remarked Mrs. Embury with a low, gleeful laugh.
"There must certainly be a ventriloquist among us," remarked the groom, with a searching look at Cousin Ronald.
"Ah, do you really think so, sir?" inquired Mr. Lilburn gravely, "and would you do me the favor to point him out?"
"Well, sir, I cannot say that I am absolutely certain, but strongly incline to the opinion that he sits in the chair occupied by yourself."
"Indeed, sir, I didna think I filled the place so ill that room could be found in it for another mon!" exclaimed Mr. Lilburn, again raising his eyebrows like one astonished, then sending a downward glance over his own portly person, and assuming so comical an expression of countenance that no one could see it without smiling or laughing outright.
So fully was he absorbing the attention of all that no one noticed the return of Nero until words were again heard apparently issuing from his lips.
"That was a nice morsel, master, but not enough to satisfy the appetite of a dog of my size; so another bit, sir, if you please."
"Yes, sir, you shall have it, since you ask so politely," returned Mr. Embury, handing him another and larger piece of the chicken, "but carry it off where there will be no danger of contact with wedding finery."
Nero obeyed, and as he trotted away, a voicethat seemed to come from behind Mr. Embury, said whiningly:
"I'm hungry too, sir, and surely a human creature should be treated at least as well as a dog."
At that Mr. Embury turned suddenly round as if to see the speaker, nearly everyone else doing likewise, but no beggar was in sight.
"Well, sir," he said, "I cannot give to an invisible suppliant; show yourself if you want anything."
"Sir," replied the voice, now seeming to come from a clump of bushes near at hand, "I'm not used to begging, and don't want to be seen. Can you not send a servant here with a plateful of your most toothsome viands?"
"Quite a modest request, sir," returned Mr. Embury, laughing. "But I think you will have to wait till the servants have more leisure; at present they are all fully occupied in waiting upon my guests."
"But then you'll let him have something to eat, won't you, papa?" pleaded little Mary Embury. "You never do turn anybody away hungry."
"Certainly not, little daughter; if he could be found he should be fed."
"But shan't I drive him out, sir?" queried a servant man; "we doan' want no beggahs 'boutyar. Dey mout help deirselfs to some o' de silvah when nobody aint lookin'."
"Well, Bill, you might drive him out; he's perhaps a tramp watching his opportunity to help himself."
Bill, well pleased with the errand, set down with alacrity the dish he carried, and hurried toward the clump of bushes that apparently concealed the tramp. "Ki, you ole tief you!" he cried, "git long out ob dis; nobody doan' want yo' hyar! I'se break yo' skull fo' yo' ef ye doan be gone putty quick!"
He pulled apart the bushes as he spoke, but instantly started back in astonishment and terror as he perceived that no one was concealed there.
"Whar dat fellah dun gone?" he exclaimed. "Dis chile doan' see nobody dar nohow 'tall!"
"Ha, ha! you don't look in the right place," cried the same voice that had begged for food a moment before, the speaker seeming to be directly behind him; and Bill wheeled about with unusual alacrity with the intention of seizing his tormentor, but turned almost white with terror on perceiving that no one was there.
"Wha—wha—wha dat raskil done gone?" he exclaimed, "t'ot he right dar, an' he aint nowhar 'bout."
"Never mind, Bill; it seems he has saved you the trouble of driving him off," said Mr. Embury,"and you may come back to your duties. More coffee is wanted here."
Bill obeyed, but on his return with the coffee kept glancing apprehensively in the direction of the bushes.
"I wonder where the man did go!" exclaimed little Mary presently. "I've been watching, and don't know how he could get away without being seen."
"Beggars are sometimes very quick at hiding, little lassie," remarked Mr. Lilburn.
"Ha, ha! so they are!" cried the voice of the beggar, sounding as though he stood just behind her chair.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, with a start and a backward glance. "Why, where is he? I don't see him at all."
"Don't be frightened, daughter," Mr. Embury said in an encouraging tone.
"No, bit lassie, he's not dangerous," remarked Mr. Lilburn, with a reassuring smile.
"Oh, do you know him, sir?" she asked, looking up inquiringly into his face.
"I didna see him," replied the old gentleman laughingly, "but judging by his voice I think I know who he is—a quiet, inoffensive countrymon o' me ain."
"Ah, yes, a rather intimate acquaintance of yours, sir, is he not?" queried Norton, with asearching look into the face of the old gentleman and a half mocking smile.
"I think I may have heard the voice before, sir," Mr. Lilburn replied with unmoved countenance. "It is not unusual for beggars to accost one who is by no means o' the same class as themselves. In fact, as ony body can see, it would be useless to ask alms o' those no richer than themselves."
"Ah, true enough, sir!" was the reply.
Meanwhile, many mirthful glances had been exchanged by those—particularly the young folks—acquainted with the secret of Cousin Ronald's peculiar talent, and the guests at more distant tables were looking on with a good deal of curiosity. Bill was presently questioned as he passed them on his way to and from the kitchen. "What was it you saw yonder in that bush, Bill?"
"Nothin' 'tall, sah."
"But you seemed frightened; you looked scared."
"Dat's de reason, sah; somebody talkin' an' nobody dare."
"Why, how was that, Bill?" queried another voice.
"Dunno, sah; maybe witches roun'; 'spect dat de splanation ob de mattah."
"Oh, of course," laughed the gentleman; "but one hardly expects such company at a wedding."
Questions were put to Mr. and Mrs. Embury and others as the guests drew together again upon the conclusion of the meal, but no satisfactory answers were elicited.
A reception occupied some hours after that, then all returned to their homes, to meet again at Viamede in the evening, where a beautiful and bountiful entertainment awaited them.
The next evening a smaller party was given at the Parsonage, and on the following afternoon the bride and groom took their departure for a little trip northward, expecting to settle down in their own home upon their return.
Itwas only the next day after the departure of Betty and her husband that a letter was received by Mrs. Cyril Keith, informing her of the death of her aunt Delaford, leaving the bulk of her large fortune to her, and a fat legacy to each of the Conley brothers—Calhoun, Arthur, Walter, and Ralph—and the sisters Virginia and Ella.
Isadore was well satisfied with the provisions of the will, as were the others also, with the exception of Virginia, who frowned and grumbled audibly that she herself might have been made to share equally with Isadore, who had a good home and husband already, therefore really needed less than herself, "lone and lorn, and poor as a church mouse."
"But you have no children, Virgie," said her cousin Elsie, in whose presence the remark was made, "no one to support but yourself; and the interest of this money will be sufficient for your comfortable maintenance."
"Possibly, if I had a home, as Isa has; but not without," returned Virginia in a pettish tone, while her eyes flashed angrily.
Elsie bore patiently with the rebuff, and said no more at that time, but considered the matter earnestly, carefully, and prayerfully, in the privacy of her own room, then had a talk about it with her father, without whose approval she seldom took a step of any great importance.
Finding him alone on the veranda, "Papa," she said, taking a seat by his side, "I want a few minutes' chat with you before we are joined by anyone else. You heard Virginia's complaint of yesterday—that she had no home of her own. I have been thinking it over, also of the fact that Dick and Bob are in the same condition, and it has occurred to me that I might invite them to take possession here while we are absent at our more northern home, giving employment to the servants, keeping the house in repair, and the grounds in order; that is, merely overseeing the work and looking to me for the means necessary to cover the expense, I to retain my present satisfactory overseer, and pay his wages out of the returns from the crops; also those of the laborers."
"You mean that you would simply give a home here to your cousins?" returned Mr. Dinsmore interrogatively.
"Yes, sir; a home without expense—except, perhaps, some small increase of the wages of the servants in consideration of the additional work made for them, and a share of the fruits,vegetables, fowls, and so forth, raised upon the plantation."
"A share? meaning all they might want to use? the 'and so forth' I suppose, meaning milk, cream, butter, and eggs?"
"Yes, sir."
"I should call it a very generous offer, and I have no objection to bring it forward, seeing that you are well able to afford it, if it is your pleasure so to do."
"I am glad my project meets with your approval," she said, with a smile, "for otherwise, as I think you know, papa, it would never be carried out. Ah, how thankful I should be, and I hope I am, that I have been given the financial ability to do such kindness to others!"
"Yes," he said, with an affectionate smile into the soft brown eyes looking into his; "I know of no one who enjoys doing kindness more than my dear eldest daughter.
"What a delightful winter and early spring we have had here," he continued after a pause; "but it is now growing so warm that I think we must soon be moving northward."
"Yes, sir; when the last arrivals have had a week or more of the enjoyment to be found in this lovely region of country."
"Yes; they are enjoying it," he said, with a pleased smile; "the younger ones especially, the children of your brother and sister not less thanthe others. And by the way, daughter, I think you will be doing no little kindness to your cousins Cyril and Isadore by giving Virginia a home here."
"Yes, I think their home life will be more peaceful," she said in assent. "Poor Virgie seems to be not of—the happiest or most contented disposition."
"No, she never was," said Mr. Dinsmore; "a discontented, fretful, complaining creature she has always been since I have known her, and she was a very little child when our acquaintance began."
In the course of that day Elsie's plans were made known to the Keiths, Virginia, and her cousins Dick Percival and his half-brother Bob Johnson, joyfully accepted by the two gentlemen, and half ungraciously by Virginia, who said complainingly, that "Viamede was a pretty enough place, to be sure, but would be dreadfully lonesome for her when the boys were away."
"Then you can amuse yourself with a book from the library, a ride or drive, as the horses and carriages will be left here for your use and that of Dick and Bob," Elsie answered pleasantly, while Isadore, blushing vividly for her sister, exclaimed, "O Virgie, you could not have a lovelier, sweeter home, and I think Cousin Elsie is wonderfully kind to offer it!"
"Of course, I'm greatly obliged to her," Virginia said, coloring slightly as though a trifle ashamed of her want of appreciation of the kind offer "and I'll not damage anything, so that the house will be none the worse for my occupancy, but possibly a little better."
"Yes, perhaps it may," Elsie said pleasantly, "though the servants usually left in charge are careful about airing it and keeping everything neat and clean. I really think you will have no trouble with your housekeeping, Virgie."
"That seems a pleasant prospect, for I never liked housekeeping," returned Virginia, "and I really am much obliged to you, Cousin Elsie."
"You are very welcome, and I hope will be happy here," was the kindly reply.
Another fortnight of constant intercourse between the three places—Viamede, Magnolia Hall, and the Parsonage—of rides, drives, walks, sailing or rowing about on the lagoon, and every other pleasure and entertainment that could be devised, then the party began to break up, those from the north returning to their homes, most of them by rail, as the speediest and the most convenient mode of travel. However, Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore, Evelyn, Grandma Elsie and her youngest two, Cousin Ronald and the Woodburn family, returned together by sea, making use of the captain's yacht, which he hadordered to be sent to him in season for the trip by the Gulf and ocean.
There was no urgent need of haste, and the captain did not deny that he was conscious of a longing to be, for a time, again in command of a vessel sailing over the briny deep; besides, it would be less fatiguing for the little ones, to say nothing of their elders.
The little girls were full of delight at the prospect of both the voyage and the return to their lovely homes, yet could not leave beautiful Viamede without deep regret.
It was the last evening but one of their stay; all were gathered upon the veranda looking out upon the lagoon sparkling in the moonlight, and the velvety flower-bespangled lawn, with its many grand and beautiful old trees. The little ones had already gone to their nests, but Evelyn, Lulu, and Grace were sitting with the older people, Grace on her father's knee, the other two together close at hand.
There had been some cheerful chat, followed by a silence of several minutes. It was broken by a slight scuffling sound, as of a negro's footstep, in the rear of Elsie's chair, then a voice said in mournful accents, "Scuse de in'truption, missus, but dis chile want to 'spress to you uns dat we uns all a'most heart-broke t'inkin' how you's gwine 'way an' p'r'arps won't be comin'heah no mo' till de ol'est ob us done gone foreber out dis wicked worl'."
Before the sentence was completed every eye had turned in the direction of the sounds; but nothing was to be seen of the speaker.
"Oh, that was you, Cousin Ronald," laughed Rosie, recovering from the momentary start given her by the seemingly mysterious disappearance of the speaker.
"Ah, Rosie, my bonnie lassie, how can you treat your auld kinsman so ill as to suspect him of murdering the king's English in that style?" queried the old gentleman in hurt, indignant tones.
"Because, my poor abused cousin, I am utterly unable to account in any other way for the phenomenon of an invisible speaker so close at hand."
Cousin Ronald made no reply, for at that instant there came a sound of bitter sobbing, apparently from behind a tree a few feet from the veranda's edge, then a wailing cry, "Oh, Miss Elsie, Massa Dinsmore, and de res' ob you dar, doan' go for to leab dis po' chile! She cayn't stan' it nohow 'tall! her ole heart like to break! Doan' go way, massa an' missus; stay hyah wid de niggahs dat lubs you so!"