Transcriber’s Note

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

A LIST OF THE ELSIE BOOKS AND
OTHER POPULAR BOOKS

BY

MARTHA FINLEY

ELSIE DINSMORE.

ELSIE’S HOLIDAYS AT ROSELANDS.

ELSIE’S GIRLHOOD.

ELSIE’S WOMANHOOD.

ELSIE’S MOTHERHOOD.

ELSIE’S CHILDREN.

ELSIE’S WIDOWHOOD.

GRANDMOTHER ELSIE.

ELSIE’S NEW RELATIONS.

ELSIE AT NANTUCKET.

THE TWO ELSIES.

ELSIE’S KITH AND KIN.

ELSIE’S FRIENDS AT WOODBURN.

CHRISTMAS WITH GRANDMA ELSIE.

ELSIE AND THE RAYMONDS.

ELSIE YACHTING WITH THE RAYMONDS.

ELSIE’S VACATION.

ELSIE AT VIAMEDE.

ELSIE AT ION.

ELSIE AT THE WORLD’S FAIR.

ELSIE’S JOURNEY ON INLAND WATERS.

ELSIE AT HOME.

ELSIE ON THE HUDSON.

ELSIE IN THE SOUTH.

ELSIE’S YOUNG FOLKS.

ELSIE’S WINTER TRIP.

ELSIE AND HER LOVED ONES.

—————

MILDRED KEITH.

MILDRED AT ROSELANDS.

MILDRED’S MARRIED LIFE.

MILDRED AND ELSIE.

MILDRED AT HOME.

MILDRED’S BOYS AND GIRLS.

MILDRED’S NEW DAUGHTER.

—————

CASELLA.

SIGNING THE CONTRACT AND WHAT IT COST.

THE TRAGEDY OF WILD RIVER VALLEY.

OUR FRED.

AN OLD-FASHIONED BOY.

WANTED, A PEDIGREE.

THE THORN IN THE NEST.

Elsie and the Raymonds

BY

MARTHA FINLEY

AUTHOR OF “ELSIE DINSMORE,” “ELSIE’S WOMANHOOD,”
“ELSIES’S KITH AND KIN,” “THE MILDRED BOOKS,”
“WANTED—A PEDIGREE,” ETC., ETC.

NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
Publishers

Copyright, 1889,
BY
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY.

ELSIE AND THE RAYMONDS.

CHAPTER I.

“Excuse me, Miss, but do you know of any lady who wants a seamstress?” asked a timid, hesitating voice.

Lulu Raymond was the person addressed. She and Max had just alighted from the Woodburn family carriage—having been given permission to do a little shopping together—and she had paused upon the pavement for a moment to look after it as it rolled away down the street with her father, who had some business matters to attend to in the city that afternoon, and had appointed a time and place for picking the children up again to carry them home.

Tastefully attired, rosy, and bright with health and happiness, Lulu’s appearance was in strange contrast to that of the shabbily dressed girl, with pale, pinched features that wore an expression of patient suffering, who stood by her side.

“Were you speaking to me?” Lulu asked, turning quickly at the sound of the voice, and regarding the shrinking figure with pitying eyes.

“Yes, Miss, if you’ll excuse the liberty. I thought you looked kind, and that maybe your mother might want some one to do plain sewing.”

“I hardly think she does, but I’ll ask her when I go home,” replied Lulu. “Are you the person who wants the work?”

“Yes, Miss; and I’d try to give satisfaction. I’ve been brought up to the use of my needle, and the sewing machine too. And—and”—in a choking voice—“I need work badly; mother’s sick, and we’ve only what I can earn to depend on for food and clothes, and doctor, and medicine, and to pay the rent.”

“Oh, how dreadful!” cried Lulu, hastily taking out her purse.

“You are very kind, Miss; but I’m not asking charity,” the girl said, shrinking back, blushing and shamefaced.

“Of course not, you don’t look like a beggar,” returned Lulu with warmth. “But I’d be glad to help you in some suitable way. Where do you live?”

At this instant Max, whose attention had been drawn for a moment to some article in the show-window of a store near at hand, joined his sister, and with her listened to the girl’s reply.

“Just down that alley yonder, Number five,” she said. “It’s but a poor place we have; a little bare attic room, but—but we try to be content with it, because it’s the best we can do.”

“What is it she wants?” Max asked, in a low aside to Lulu.

“Sewing. I’m going to ask Mamma Vi and Grandma Elsie if they can find some for her. But we’ll have to know where she can be found. Shall we go with her to her home?”

“No; papa would not approve, I think. But I’ll write down the address, and I’m sure papa will see that they’re relieved, if they need help.”

Turning to the girl again, as he took notebook and pencil from his pocket, “What is the name of the alley?” he asked.

“Rose,” she answered, adding, with a melancholy smile, “though there’s nothing rosy about it except the name; it’s narrow and dirty, and the people are poor, many of them beggars, drunken, and quarrelsome.”

“How dreadful to have to live in such a place!” exclaimed Lulu, looking compassionately at the speaker.

“Rose Alley,” murmured Max, jotting it down in his book, “just out of State Street. What number?”

“Number five, sir; and it’s between Fourth and Fifth.”

“Oh, yes; I’ll put that down, too, and I’m sure the place can be found without any difficulty. But what is your name? We will need to know whom to inquire for.”

“Susan Allen, sir.”

The girl was turning away, but Lulu stopped her.

“Wait a moment. You said your mother was sick, and I’d like to send her something good to eat. I dare say she needs delicacies to tempt her appetite. Come with me to that fruit-stand on the corner,” hurrying toward it as she spoke, the girl following at a respectful distance.

“That was a good and kind thought, Lu,” Max remarked, stepping close to his sister’s side as she paused before the fruit-stand, eagerly scanning its tempting display of fruits and confections.

“You don’t doubt papa’s approval of this?” she returned interrogatively, giving him an arch look and smile.

“No; not a bit of it; he always likes to see us generous and ready to relieve distress. I must have a share in the good work.”

“Then they’ll have all the more, for I shan’t give any less because you’re going to give, too. Oh, what delicious looking strawberries!”

“And every bit as good as they look, Miss,” said the keeper of the stand.

“What’s the price?”

“Dollar a box, Miss. They always come high the first o’ the season, you know; they were a dollar-ten only yesterday.”

“Do you think your sick mother would enjoy them?” Lulu asked, turning to Susan, who was looking aghast at the price named.

“Oh, yes, indeed, Miss; but—but it’s too much for you to give; we have hardly so much as that to spend on a week’s victuals.”

“Then I’m sure you ought to have a few luxuries for once,” said Lulu. “I’ll take a box for her,” addressing the man, and taking out her purse as she spoke.

“A dozen of those oranges, too, a pound of your nicest crackers, and one of sugar to eat with the berries,” said Max, producing his porte-monnaie.

They saw the articles put up, paid for them, put them into Susan’s hands, and hurried on their way, followed by her grateful looks.

In trembling, tearful tones she had tried to thank them, but they would not stay to listen.

“How glad she was,” said Lulu. “And no wonder, for she looks half starved. And, O Max, just think, if we hadn’t a father to take care of and provide for us we might be as poor and distressed as she is!”

“That’s so,” returned Max; “we’ve hardly a thing worth having that hasn’t come to us through my father.”

“My father, sir,” asserted Lulu, giving him a laughing glance.

“Yes, our father; but he was mine before he was yours,” laughed her brother. “Well, here we are at Blake’s, where you have an errand; at least, so you said, I think.”

They passed into the store, finding so many customers there that all the clerks were engaged; and while waiting till some one could attend to their wants, they amused themselves in scrutinizing the contents of shelves, counters, and show-cases. Some picture-frames, brackets, and other articles of carved wood attracted their attention.

“Some of those are quite pretty, Max,” Lulu remarked in an undertone; “but I think you have made prettier ones.”

“So have you; and see,” pointing to the prices attached, “they pay quite well for them. No, I’m not so sure of that, but they ask good prices from their customers. Perhaps we could make a tolerable support at the business, if we had to take care of ourselves,” he added in a half-jesting tone.

“Earn enough to buy bread and butter maybe, but not half the good things papa buys for us,” said Lulu.

“Is no one waiting upon you?” asked the proprietor of the store, drawing near.

“No, sir; they all seem to be busy,” answered Lulu.

“Yes. What can I show you? Some of this carved work? We have sold a good deal of it, and I’m sorry to say that the young lady who supplied it has decided to give up the business—and go into matrimony,” he added, with a laugh.

A thought seemed to strike Lulu, and she asked, coloring slightly as she spoke, “Does it pay well?”

The merchant named the prices he had given for several of the articles, and asked in his turn if she knew of any one who would like to earn money in that way.

“I—I’m not quite sure,” she answered. “I know a boy, and a girl too, who are fond of doing such work, and I think can do a little better than this, but—”

“You doubt if they would care to make a business of it, eh?” he said inquiringly, as she paused, leaving her sentence unfinished.

“Yes, sir; I’m not sure they would want to, or that their parents would be willing to have them do so. If you please, I should like to look at materials for fancy work.”

“Yes, Miss. This way, if you please. We have them in great variety, and of the best quality.”

Captain Raymond expected a friend on an incoming train, and had directed the children to be at the depot a few minutes before it was due. Punctuality was one of the minor virtues he insisted upon, and while interested in their shopping, they were not forgetful of the necessity for keeping their appointment with him. Their watches were consulted frequently, and ample time allowed for their walk from the last store visited to the depot.

“We are here first; our carriage isn’t in sight yet,” remarked Lulu with satisfaction, as they reached the outer door of the building.

“Yes,” said Max, “but papa will be along presently, for it wants but ten minutes of the time when the train is due.”

“And he’s never a minute late,” added Lulu.

Max led the way to the ladies’ room, seated his sister comfortably in an arm-chair, and asked if there was anything he could get, or do for her; treating her with as much gallantry as if she had been the sister of somebody else.

“Thank you, Maxie, I’m really comfortable, and in want of nothing,” she replied. “I’ll be glad if that gentleman doesn’t come,” she went on, “for it’s so much nicer to have papa all to ourselves driving home.”

“Yes; and afterward too. But we mustn’t be selfish, and perhaps he would be disappointed if his friend shouldn’t come.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that! And if papa would rather have him come, I hope he will.”

“Of course you do. Ah, here comes papa now,” as a tall, remarkably fine-looking man, of decidedly military bearing, entered the room and came smilingly toward them.

“Good, punctual children,” he said. “I hope you have been enjoying yourselves since we parted?”

“Oh, yes, papa,” they answered, speaking both at once; “we did all our errands, and are ready to go home.”

“The train is just due,” he said, consulting his watch. “Ah, here it comes,” as its rush and roar smote upon their ears.

Lulu sprang up hastily.

“Wait a little, daughter,” the captain said, laying a gently detaining hand on her shoulder; “we need not be in haste, as we are not going on the train.”

“Everybody else seems to be hurrying out, papa,” she said.

“Yes; they are probably passengers. Ah, the train has arrived and come to a standstill, so we will go now. Max, you may help your sister into the carriage, while I look about for our expected guest.”

The captain scanned narrowly the living stream pouring from the cars, but without finding him of whom he was in quest. He turned away in some disappointment, and was about to step into his carriage, when a not unfamiliar voice hailed him.

“Good-evening, Captain Raymond. Will you aid a fellow-creature in distress? It seems that by some mistake my carriage has failed to meet me, though I thought they understood that I would return home by this train. If you will give me a lift as far as your own gate I can easily walk the rest of the way to Briarwood.”

“It will afford me pleasure to do so, Mr. Clark, or to take you quite to Briarwood,” responded the captain heartily. “We have abundance of room. Step in, and I will follow.”

This unexpected addition to their party gave Lulu some slight feeling of vexation and disappointment, but her father’s proud look and smile, as he said, “My son Max and daughter Lulu, Mr. Clark,” and the affectionate manner in which, on taking his seat at her side, he put his arm about her waist and drew her close to him, went far to restore her to her wonted good-humor.

Mr. Clark said, “How do you do, my dears?” then engaged the captain in conversation, taking no further notice of the children.

But they were intelligent, well-instructed children, and when the talk presently turned upon one of the political questions of the day they were interested; for their father had taken pains to give them no little information on that and kindred topics. He did not encourage their reading of the daily secular papers—indeed forbade it, because he would not have their pure minds sullied by the sickening details of crime, or love of the horrible cultivated by minute descriptions of its punishment in the execution of murderers; but he examined the papers himself and culled from them such articles, to be read aloud in the family, as he deemed suitable and instructive or entertaining; or he would relate incidents and give instruction and explanations in his own words, which the children generally preferred to the reading.

The gentlemen were in the midst of their conversation, and the great gates leading into the avenue at Woodburn almost reached, when Mr. Clark caught sight of his own carriage approaching from the opposite direction.

He called and beckoned to his coachman, and with a hasty good-by and hearty thanks to Captain Raymond, transferred himself to his own conveyance, which at once faced about and whirled away toward Briarwood, while the Woodburn family carriage turned into the avenue and drove up to the house.

Violet and the three younger children were on the veranda, waiting for its coming, and ready with a joyful welcome to its occupants.

“Papa, papa!” shouted little Elsie, as they alighted, “Max and Lu, too! Oh, I’se so glad you all tum back adain!”

“Are you, papa’s sweet pet?” returned the captain, bending down to take her in his arms with a tender caress.

Then he kissed his wife and the lovely babe crowing in her arms and reaching out his chubby ones to be taken by his father, evidently as much rejoiced as Elsie at his return.

“In a moment, Ned,” laughed the captain, stooping to give a hug and kiss to Gracie waiting at his side; then taking possession of an easy-chair, with a pleasant “Thank you, my dears,” to Max and Lulu, who had hastened to draw it forward for him, he took a baby on each knee, while the three older children clustered about him, and Violet, sitting near, watched with laughing eyes the merry scene that followed.

“Gracie and Elsie may search papa’s pockets now and see what they can find,” said the captain.

Promptly and with eager delight they availed themselves of the permission.

Grace drew forth a small, gilt-edged, handsomely bound volume.

“That is for your mamma,” her father said; “you may hand it to her; and perhaps, if you look farther, you may find something for yourself.”

Violet received the gift with a pleased smile and a hearty “Thank you, Gracie. Thank you, my dear. I shall be sure to prize it for the sake of the giver, whatever the contents may be.”

But the words were half drowned in Elsie’s shouts of delight over a pretty toy and a box of bon-bons.

“Hand the candy round, pet; to mamma first,” her father said.

“May Elsie eat some too, papa?” she asked coaxingly, as she got down from his knee to obey his order.

“Yes; a little to-night, and some more to-morrow.”

Grace had dived into another pocket. “Oh! is this for me, papa?” she asked, drawing out a small paper parcel.

“Open it and see,” was his smiling rejoinder.

With eager fingers she untied the string and opened the paper.

“Three lovely silver fruit-knives!” she exclaimed. “Names on ’em, too. Lu, this is yours, for it has your name on it; and this is mine, and the other Maxie’s,” handing them to the owners as she spoke. “Thank you, papa, oh, thank you very much, for mine!” holding up her face for a kiss.

Bestowing it very heartily, “You are all very welcome, my darlings,” he said, for Max and Lulu were saying thank you too.

And now they hastened to display their purchases of the afternoon and present some little gifts to Grace and Elsie.

These were received with thanks and many expressions of pleasure, and Lulu was in the midst of an animated account of her shopping experiences when her father, glancing at his watch, reminded her that she would have barely time to make herself neat for the tea-table if she repaired to her room at once.

“Max and I, too, must pay some attention to our toilets,” he added, giving the babe to its nurse, who had just appeared upon the scene.

“Now, papa, let’s run a race, and see who’ll be down first,”—proposed Lulu laughingly, as she went skipping and dancing along the hall just ahead of him.

“Very well, and I’ll give you a dollar if you are first,—and there are no signs of haste or negligence in your appearance.”

“And is the offer open to me too, papa?” asked Max, coming up behind.

“Yes; I shall not be partial,” answered the captain, suddenly lifting Lulu off her feet and starting up the stairs with her in his arms.

“O papa, you’ll tire yourself all out!” she exclaimed with a merry laugh; “I’m so big and heavy.”

“Not a bit,” he said. “I’m so big and strong. There, now for our race,” as he set her down in the upper hall.

“It’s nice, nice, to have such a big, strong papa!” she said, lifting a flushed, happy face to his and reaching up to give him a hug and kiss.

“I’m glad my little daughter thinks so,” he returned, smiling down on her and laying his hand tenderly on her head for an instant.

The captain and Lulu met in the upper hall just as the tea-bell rang, and at the same instant Max came down the stairs from the third story almost at a bound.

A merry peal of laughter from all three, and the captain said, “So nobody is first; we shall all reach the tea-room together.”

“And you won’t have any dollar to pay, papa,” said Lulu, her face very bright and no disappointment in her tone. She was clinging to her father’s hand as they went down the stairs, Max close behind them.

“But I don’t care to save it,” was the reply, “so what shall be done with it? Suppose I divide it between you and Max.”

“And yourself, papa,” added Max laughingly.

His father smiled. “Perhaps a better plan would be to put it into our missionary box,” he said.

“Oh, yes, sir!” exclaimed both the children, “that would be the best thing that could be done with it.”

They had taken their seats at the table, and all were quiet while the captain asked a blessing on their food.

CHAPTER II

“I have something to tell you, my dear,” Violet began, giving her husband a bright smile from behind the coffee urn as she filled his cup.

“Ah?” he said, returning the smile. “I am all attention. I have no doubt it is something worth hearing.”

“Perhaps you remember that mamma’s fiftieth birthday will come early next month,” Violet resumed.

“No, not the fiftieth surely!” exclaimed the captain. “Really I think that, judging from her looks alone, no one would take her to be over forty.”

“So we all think, and everybody says she has a remarkably young face. But it will be her fiftieth birthday, and we, her children, want to do her unusual honor. Of course, as you know, my dear, we always remember the day, and each of us has some little gift for her, but this, being her semi-centennial, we think should be observed in some special manner.”

“I agree with you, and what do you propose doing in order to celebrate it appropriately?”

“We have not fully decided that question, and would be glad of suggestions and advice from you, if you will kindly give them.”

“I am sensible of the honor you do me, but must take a little time to reflect,” was his pleasant rejoinder.

“Papa, how old are you?” asked Grace with sudden animation, as if the question had just occurred to her.

“About twenty-four years older than Max,” replied the captain, turning upon his first-born a look of fatherly pride and affection.

“And I’m almost fifteen,” added Max.

“That makes papa thirty-nine,” remarked Lulu. “You’ll be forty next birthday, won’t you, papa?”

“Yes, daughter.”

“Then Grandma Elsie is only about ten years older than you, not nearly enough older to be your real mother.”

“Quite true,” he said, with a humorous look, “but I find it not at all unpleasant to have so young and beautiful a mother; a lady so lovely in character, as well as in form and feature, that I should greatly rejoice to know that my daughters would grow up to resemble her in all respects.”

“I’d like to be exactly like her, except—” But there Grace paused, leaving her sentence unfinished.

“Except in being fifty years old?” her father asked, regarding her with laughing eyes.

“Yes, sir; I’d rather be a little girl for a good while yet; your little girl, papa, who can sit on your knee whenever she wants to.”

“That’s right,” he said heartily. “I am by no means ready to part with my little Gracie yet.”

“I feel just as Gracie does about it,” said Lulu. “I want to be a little girl for a while longer, then a young lady; but when I get to be fifty years old I’d like to be as nearly like Grandma Elsie as possible.”

“I hope not to be,” remarked Max facetiously; “but I know a gentleman I would like to resemble so much when I’m forty, that people would say of me, ‘He’s just a chip off the old block,’” and with the last words the lad turned a proud, admiring, affectionate look upon his father.

The captain’s countenance expressed pleasure, and Violet, looking pleased also, said, “I hope you will have your wish, Max, and I think there is every prospect of it.”

“What plans are thought of for the coming celebration, my dear?” asked the captain.

“We talk of a garden or lawn party, if the weather is fine; all the relatives to be invited, and perhaps a few intimate friends beside. Certainly our minister and his wife.”

“I don’t think I could suggest anything better,” the captain said.

“But you may be able to give some useful hints in regard to plans for the entertainment of the guests, and suitable gifts for mamma.”

“Possibly; and you must help me to decide upon mine.”

“I shall be only too glad,” she answered with a bright, pleased look.

“And we children may give something nice to Grandma Elsie too, mayn’t we, papa?” they asked, all three speaking at once.

“Most assuredly,” he replied, “the very nicest thing, or things, you can think of that will come within the limits of your financial ability.”

“Papa,” remarked Grace doubtfully, “I don’t believe I know exactly what that means.”

“You understand the meaning of ability, surely?” returned her father.

“Yes, sir; but that other word—fi—”

“Financial? as I used it then, it means the amount of money you children may have at your disposal at the time of making your purchases.”

“Oh, I’m glad I have some money saved up!” she remarked with satisfaction.

“How much?” he asked.

“A good deal, papa; about five dollars, I think.”

“Ah, so much as that? quite a fortune,” he said, with a look of amusement.

“I suppose, wife, your mother is to be consulted in regard to the manner of the proposed celebration? about the party, the guests to be invited, and so forth?”

“Oh, yes, sir; about everything but the gifts she is to receive.”

The babies had had their evening romp with papa and been carried off to the nursery, Gracie going along at Elsie’s urgent request, and all the more willingly because she had heard her father say he must write a letter immediately, that it might be in time to go by the next mail, so she knew that for the present she and Max and Lulu must do without their usual bit of chat with him.

Lulu was particularly desirous for an opportunity for a talk with him, for she had a scheme in her head about which she wished to ask his advice and permission. She would not have minded broaching the subject before Max and Gracie, but thought it would be still more enjoyable to talk it over with papa alone.

“I’ll not go far away,” she said to herself, “and when papa has finished his writing maybe I’ll get a chance to talk a little with him before anybody else comes.”

She took a book and seated herself in the veranda; but she did not read. The captain, stepping to the door presently, saw her sitting with the book lying unopened in her lap, her attitude and expression denoting profound thought. She did not seem aware even of his approach as he drew near her side, but started and looked up in surprise as he laid his hand gently on her head, saying, “A penny for my little girl’s thoughts! She looks as if she had the affairs of the nation on her shoulders.”

“I’m sure they’re not worth a penny, papa, but you are welcome to them for nothing,” she returned laughingly, “if you have time to let me talk to you.”

She rose as she spoke, and taking the chair, he drew her to his knee.

“Plenty of time, now that that letter has been dispatched,” he said. “But are you to do all the talking?”

“Oh no, indeed, papa; I hope you’ll do the most of it, but I suppose I must begin by telling you my thoughts.”

“Yes.”

“I was thinking about a poor girl that spoke to me in the street to-day and asked for sewing to do to earn money to support herself and her sick mother.

“I told her I would try to get some work for her. Afterward Max and I went into a store where we saw brackets and picture frames, and other things, carved out of wood as we do it, only they were not so pretty as some we have made; at least we both thought so, and we wondered how much was paid for such work. The price they were asking for them was on them, and Max thought it a good one. We were talking together about it when the merchant came up and asked if we wanted to buy any of those things.

“He said he had sold a good many, and was sorry the lady who had carved them for him was going to give up doing it. I asked if it paid well, and he told me how much he gave, and asked if I knew anybody who would like to earn money in that way.”

“And what answer did you make to that?”

“I said I wasn’t sure; I knew a boy and girl who were fond of that kind of work, and I thought could do it a little better than those were done, but I didn’t know whether they would want to do it for pay, or whether their parents would be willing to let them.”

“And the boy and girl you referred to were Max and yourself?”

“Yes, sir; would you let us do it if we wanted to?”

“That would depend upon circumstances; it is a question to be considered.”

“Well, papa, this is what I was thinking of when you spoke to me. You know I spend some of my spare time sewing for the poor, and you know I don’t like to sew—I mean I don’t enjoy doing it—and I do enjoy carving; and that poor girl wants sewing to do, because she needs to earn her living, and that’s her way of doing it; and I was trying to decide whether or not it would be right for me to give her the sewing to do and pay her for doing it with money I could earn by carving. Would it be right, papa? and will you let me do it?”

“I say yes to both questions; I think it a good idea; for you will be doing good in two ways—helping the poor to whom the garments go, and the poor girl who wants employment; and that without indulging yourself in laziness.”

“Oh, I am so glad you approve, papa!” Lulu exclaimed in delight. “I was afraid you would not; I was afraid that perhaps I ought to do the sewing myself if only because I dislike it so.”

“No, my child, there is nothing praise-worthy in doing a thing merely because it is unpleasant to us. If another is needing help which we can give in that way and no other, duty bids us to perform the unpleasant task; but in this case it seems you can do more good by allowing the young sewing-girl to act as your substitute, helping her at the same time that you help those to whom the garments will go.

“But the sewing you can give will not be really enough to keep even one seamstress busy.”

“Oh, no, sir; but I am going to tell Mamma Vi and Grandma Elsie about her, and I think they will find her work and recommend her to other ladies who want sewing done, if they find that she does it well.”

“Did you learn her name and where she lives?”

“Yes, sir; and I wanted to go and see the place, but Max said you would not approve; so I didn’t go.”

“Max was quite right. You must never venture into strange places about the city without my knowledge and consent, unless with Grandma Elsie or some other equally wise and trustworthy person.”

“I will not, papa,” she answered, smiling lovingly into his eyes. “I do hope I shall never again disobey you in anything.”

“I hope not, indeed,” he said, smoothing her hair caressingly. “So far as I know, you have been very good and obedient for the last six months or more.”

Just then Violet and Grace joined them, followed almost immediately by Max, and as he stepped from the doorway the Ion family carriage was seen coming up the drive.

It brought Violet’s grandparents, mother, and young brother and sister—Rosie and Walter. They spent the evening. The proposed birthday celebration was under discussion for some time, several questions in regard to it were settled, then Lulu found an opportunity to tell of Susan Allen and her needs.

Grandma Elsie—always ready for every good work—said: “If you will accompany me, Captain, I will hunt them up to-morrow and inquire into their needs, should nothing unforeseen happen to prevent.”

“I shall be at your service, mother, then, or at any other time,” returned the captain gallantly. “And we will take Lulu with us, if you have no objection,” he added, as he caught an entreating look from her.

“Not the slightest,” replied Mrs. Travilla, smiling kindly upon the little girl.

“Oh, thank you, Grandma Elsie! Thank you, papa; I should like to go very much indeed”, exclaimed Lulu joyously.

While Lulu talked with Susan Allen in the city street that afternoon, the girl’s mother lay on a bed of straw in the small attic room they called home; a very forlorn specimen of a home it was, though everything in and about it was scrupulously neat and clean; the floor was bare, save a strip of carpet beside the bed; there were three unpainted wooden chairs, a little table to match, and a tiny stove; their few changes of raiment hung on hooks along the wall back of the bed, and a few cheap dishes and cooking utensils were ranged in an orderly manner on some shelves in one corner.

The one window was shaded by a paper blind and short white curtain, both bearing evidence of careful mending, as did the night-dress worn by the invalid, the sheets and pillowcases of her bed.

She was not an old woman; Susan was but sixteen, and her mother, who had married very young, little more than twice that age. But toil and privation had broken down her health, and aged her before her time, so that she looked full forty; there were very perceptible lines in her forehead, and the dark hair was streaked with gray; yet it was a pleasant face to look upon—so full of sweet patience and resignation.

A well-worn Bible lay beside her, and one hand rested upon the open page; but her eyes were closed and tears trickled down her wasted cheek, while her lips moved as if in prayer.

One standing very near might have heard the low, murmured words, but they reached only the ear of Him who has said: “Call upon me in the day of trouble; I will deliver thee and thou shalt glorify me.”

It was that promise she was pleading.

“Lord,” her pale lips whispered, “I believe thy word and obey thy kind command; it is the day of trouble with me and my beloved child. We are in sore straits; the last cent is gone, the last crust eaten; we have neither barn nor storehouse, yet I know thou wilt feed us as thou dost the sparrows; for thou hast said, ‘Are not ye much better than they?’ and, ‘Your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things.’ Lord, increase my faith and let me never for one moment doubt thy word—thy promise to deliver those who call upon thee in the day of trouble, and never to leave or forsake any who put their trust in thee. Oh, blessed be thy holy name, for all the great and precious promises thou hast given thy people, and upon which thou hast taught me to lean in every time of trouble!”

She was still pouring out her soul in prayer and praise when Susan’s light step came up the stairs, the door was hastily thrown open, and she entered with flushed, beaming face, and arms full of bundles, half breathless with excitement and exertion.

“Mother, dear mother!” she cried, as she hastened to deposit her burdens on the table, “I know you have been praying for help, and God has sent it. See here! the very luxury I have been longing to get you, but without the least hope of being able to do so; great, lovely, luscious strawberries!” gently pouring them from the paper bag in which she had carried them, on to a plate. “I’ll put some of the finest on a saucer for you. Here is sugar for them, too, and delicate crackers to eat with them. And here are oranges; the finest in the market! O mother, eat and grow strong!” she added, tears springing to her eyes, as she put a saucer of berries into her mother’s hand and laid a fine orange by her side. “I won’t keep you waiting till I can stem the berries, but just give you some sugar on another saucer to dip them into. Oh, if I only had some of the rich cream for you that we used to have before we left the farm!”

“Oh, child, our Father has sent us so much, so much, don’t let us fret after anything more!” cried the mother at length, recovering the power of speech, of which surprise and joy had robbed her ever since her daughter’s entrance so richly laden.

“No, mother, no indeed! only I should so love to give you every comfort and luxury to make you well. You are so thin and weak! There, do lie back on your pillows and let me feed you. Isn’t that delicious?” putting a berry into her mouth.

“Oh, very, very! But let me thank God, and then do you eat with me.”

They were very hungry, having scarcely tasted food that day, but when the edge of their appetites had been taken off, Mrs. Allen remarked, with an inquiring look at her daughter, “But you haven’t told me yet where you got all these good things?”

“No, mother, but I’ll do it now. You know I went out in search of work. I can’t beg, but I am willing to ask for employment. I asked at some private houses, and two or three stores, but no one seemed to care to risk trying me.

“Then I saw a carriage (a very handsome one it was, with match horses) stop at a street crossing, and a boy and girl step out on the pavement. A tall, fine-looking gentleman handed the little girl out, then stepped back into the carriage, and it drove off.

“You can’t think how pretty and beautifully dressed the little girl was; she had bright dark eyes, rosy cheeks, and a smiling mouth, and as the gentleman set her down they gave each other such a loving look! I felt sure she had a kind heart, so I stepped up to her, as she stood looking after the carriage as it drove away down the street, and asked her if she knew of anybody wanting a seamstress.

“She turned round quickly and answered in a very pleasant tone. She promised to tell her mother about me when she went home, and see if she could get me work to do. She opened her purse—such a lovely one with gold clasps—as if she meant to give me money, and I felt my face grow hot at being taken for a beggar. I said it wasn’t charity I was asking for, but work.

“Then she said, in the kindest tone, ‘Of course not, you don’t look like a beggar. But I’d be glad to help you in some suitable way’; and asked where I lived.

“While I was telling her a boy came up and stood beside her listening. He asked me questions, too, and took out a note-book and wrote down my name and address. He was as nice and kind-looking as his sister—as I suppose she is, for they resemble each other strongly; the gentleman, too, that helped her out of the carriage; I think he must be their father.

“They called each other Max and Lu, and talked between themselves about what would please or displease papa.

“I had told her that you were sick, and we’d nothing to depend on but what I could earn, and as I was turning to go, after her brother had taken my address, and promised that somebody would hunt us up soon, she told me to wait a moment and go with her to a fruit-stand; she wanted to get something nice for my sick mother to eat.

“And there they bought all these things; she the berries—at a dollar a box, mother! only think of it!—and he the oranges and crackers and sugar.

“Oh, I remember I saw her slip something into the bag with the oranges, I wonder what it was, I must look!” she exclaimed, turning hastily to the table, where she had deposited the bag.

She took the oranges out one by one till the bag was nearly empty, then catching sight of something shining at the bottom, made a dive for it and drew it out with a little cry of joy.

“Oh, it’s half a dollar! Now mother, you shall have some tea and a bit of broiled steak, or a lamb chop. I’ll run out to the nearest provision store now and get them.”

She began putting on her hat as she spoke.

“Child, you must buy for yourself too,” her mother said, with tears shining in her eyes.

“O mother, no! I shall do nicely without meat, but you are so weak you must have it to strengthen you.”

She stepped to the side of the bed again, bent over her mother, and kissed her tenderly.

“Dear child, I cannot enjoy it unless you share it with me; you need nourishing food quite as much as I,” returned the mother, gazing fondly into the eyes looking so lovingly into hers. “The Lord has sent us money enough to buy what we need for to-day, and we will trust him for to-morrow. A text—a precious promise—has been running in my mind ever since you came in laden with so many good things: ‘Before they call I will answer, and while they are yet speaking I will hear.’ I had been asking him very earnestly to send us help in our sore extremity, and while I was yet speaking it came.

“O daughter, let us ever stay our hearts on him, never for a moment doubting his loving-kindness and faithfulness to his promises, no matter how dark and threatening the cloud may be.”

“I’ll try, mother. Ah, I wish I had your faith. Now I must go; but I’ll be back again in five or ten minutes. But I’ll put some more berries in your saucer, first, and I don’t want to find a single one in it when I come back,” she added with playful gayety. “Aren’t they making you feel a little better already, you dear, patient mother?”

“Yes, dear, they are very refreshing. But you are giving me more than my fair share.”

“No, indeed, mamma, they were all given to you, and I have eaten a good many. I want you to finish the rest, for I do hope they will do more for you than any medicine could. Now I’m off. Don’t be lonesome while I’m gone,” and she hurried away with a light, free step, tears of joy and thankfulness shining in her eyes.

Not many minutes had passed ere she returned with the materials for what was to them a feast indeed.

“See mother,” she said, displaying her purchases, “just see how extravagant I have been! two nice lamb chops, two fresh eggs, a loaf of bread, half a dozen potatoes, a quarter of a pound of tea, and five cents’ worth of butter. Oh, but we shall have a feast! I’ll broil the chops, bake the potatoes, toast a few slices of the bread, and make you a cup of tea. I’d have bought a few cents’ worth of milk, but I remembered that you like your tea quite as well without.”

“But you don’t drink tea, dear, and should have bought some milk for yourself.”

“No, no, mother. I’m very fond of cold water and fortunately a very good article in that line can be had for the going after, no farther than to the hydrant in front of the street door,” she answered with a merry look and smile.

As she talked she was moving about with light, quick step between table and stove, performing her tasks with the ease and dexterity of a practiced hand, and without noise or bustle, her mother’s eyes following her with loving glances.

“You are very bright and cheery to-night, dear child,” she said.

“Yes, mother, I haven’t been in such spirits for weeks. I do believe better days are dawning for us, mother dear, and all in answer to your prayers.”

She paused at the bedside to bend lovingly over the dear parent and touch her lips to the pale cheek.

“Yes, my Susie, and yours too. The Bible tells us that God is the hearer and answerer of prayer, and many times I have proved it in my own experience; but he is no respecter of persons, but ready to hear and help any, however humble and unworthy, who come in the name of Jesus and pleading his merits.”

“Yes, mother, I know it. I have been praying for help, and I’m sure he sent it; and while I feel very grateful to that dear little girl and boy, I’m thanking God with all my heart for all these good things; for they were only his messengers, and the gifts were more from him than from them even—the dear, kind children!”

CHAPTER III.

The sun was half an hour high when Susan Allen opened her eyes the next morning.

Her mother greeted her with a smile and a cheery “Good-morning, my child. You have slept sweetly ever since I have been awake to watch you, and I have had the best night’s rest I have known for weeks.”

“Oh, I am so glad to hear that, mother!” Susan exclaimed, raising herself on her elbow to give the invalid a searching look, “and you feel better and stronger, don’t you?”

“Yes, indeed! almost as if I could sit up and sew a little, if we had any work on hand.”

“Oh, no, I should not think of letting you do that yet!” the girl answered; “not if we had any quantity; and as we have none at all, you can surely lie still quite contentedly. I’ll get up now and have breakfast ready in a few minutes.

“It is only to make a few slices of toast, boil the eggs, and draw the tea. Then I’ll tidy the room and my mother and myself, and we’ll be all ready to receive our hoped-for visitors.”

“Yes; we need not expect them for two or three hours, at the very earliest,” Mrs. Allen said in reply. “Even if they lived in town they wouldn’t be likely to come before the middle of the forenoon, and probably their home is in the country, as you saw them getting out of a carriage.”

Events proved her conjectures correct; it was near the middle of the afternoon when in answer to a rap on the door Susan opened it, to find a lady and gentleman there, accompanied by her little girl acquaintance of the day before.

“Oh, yes, papa, it’s the right place!” exclaimed Lulu, in a very pleased tone. “Susan, I’ve brought my grandma and father to see you.”

“You are all very kind to come,” said Susan, blushing vividly. “Will you please walk in and take some seats?”

She made haste to bring forward the chairs as she spoke, but with a word of thanks Mrs. Travilla and the captain turned toward the invalid, asking: “Is this the sick mother Lulu has been telling about?”

“Yes, ma’am; yes, sir,” said Susan. Mrs. Allen adding, with a grateful look from them to Lulu, “But better already for the kind gifts of the little girl and boy. I thank them from the bottom of my heart. I am very sure God sent them to our relief in answer to prayer. But, dear lady, won’t you be seated? and you, too, sir?” addressing the captain. “It is extremely kind in you to call on us—strangers and living in this poor and unpleasant locality.”

“It is nothing—it is a privilege, if in so doing we bring succor to one of God’s dear children,” Grandma Elsie replied, taking the wasted hand in hers and seating herself close by the bedside. “How glad I am to learn that you are one of his. I had heard only that you were ill and in want.”

“And you, too, are his, dear lady? Ah, one look into your face would tell us that.”

“It is the joy of my heart to be numbered among his followers, and to own him as my Lord and Master,” returned Mrs. Travilla, the light of joy and love shining in her eyes.

“As it is mine,” added the captain. “We belong to one family, we own one Lord and King, and it is his command that we love one another, and that we do good to all men as we have opportunity, ‘especially to them who are of the household of faith!’”

A conversation of some length followed, in which, by questions put with delicacy and kindness, Grandma Elsie and her son-in-law contrived to draw from Mrs. Allen the story of the trials and struggles with poverty and privation which had reduced her to her present state of feebleness and distress.

Her husband had been an intelligent, industrious farmer, and working and saving together, they were looking forward with hope to getting their land clear of encumbrance and finding themselves in comfortable circumstances by the time they should reach middle life; but sickness entered the house, child after child was taken away, till Susan was the only one left; then Mr. Allen sickened and died, and the foreclosure of a mortgage robbed the widow and her daughter of their home.

They came to the city seeking employment by which to earn their daily bread, but found it scarce and ill-paid, and had been growing poorer and poorer, till, but for the precious promises of God’s Word, they would have been in utter despair.

Her listeners seemed deeply interested; tears rolled down the cheeks of Grandma Elsie and Lulu more than once during the course of the narrative, and Captain Raymond was evidently deeply moved.

It was he who broke the momentary silence that fell upon the little company at the conclusion of the tale.

“This close, filthy alley is no place for one brought up in the pure air of the country; I have not the least doubt that the tainted air you breathe here is largely responsible for your feeble condition; we must get you out of it as speedily as possible. I own a little cottage on the outskirts of Union,—a village some two or three miles from us; it is at present without a tenant, and you and your daughter may take possession to-day if you wish and feel strong enough for the necessary exertion.”

“O sir, how kind, how wonderfully kind you are!” exclaimed Mrs. Allen, as soon as astonishment would let her speak, tears of joy and thankfulness coursing freely down her cheeks. “Country air is what I have been longing for more than words can express.”

“But you are by far too generous in offering us a whole house; one room will hold us and our few belongings.”

“But will not hold all that we hope to see in your possession before very long,” he replied, with a benevolent smile; “your daughter—and you also when you are well enough to desire it—shall be provided with abundance of employment, at remunerative prices, and so will soon be able to gather about you many more comforts than I see here,”—sending a sweeping glance about the room.

“And it shall be my care, my great pleasure, to anticipate somewhat the time when you will be able to provide such things for yourselves,” Mrs. Travilla said, rising to go, taking the poor woman’s hand in hers and holding it for a moment in a kindly pressure. “You must be made as comfortable as possible without delay.”

Mrs. Allen tried to speak her thanks, but was too much overcome by emotion.

“I shall send a conveyance for you and your goods day after to-morrow,” the captain said, as he also rose to take his departure, “and I trust you will be well enough to bear the short journey; but if you are not, you must not hesitate to say so, and the opportunity shall be given you again, whenever you send me word that you are ready.”

“We brought you some work, Susan,” Lulu said, giving her hand to the girl in parting; “it is down in the carriage.”

“And shall be sent up at once,” added the captain.

“Oh, thank you, sir!” returned the girl. “But,”—looking from Lulu to Mrs. Travilla,—“will I not need some instruction in regard to how you want it done?”

“I think not,” said the lady; “the garments are all cut and basted, and written directions given with them. If you want more work when they are done you have only to ask for it. But do not over-work yourself in the effort to accomplish more than your strength is equal to.”

With kindly good-bys the visitors went, refusing to allow Susan to accompany them to the outer door of the house, saying that she had doubtless to climb those steep flights of stairs far too often for her good.

In a very few moments a rap called Susan to the door again, to find there a large covered basket. No one was with it, but she heard the retreating footsteps of its bearer hurrying down the stairs.

She lifted it inside and closed the door, then began with eager, trembling hands to unpack it and examine the contents.

There was the promised roll of work, a note pinned to it, on opening which she found, not only the promised directions, but liberal pay in advance.

She read the note aloud in tones faltering with emotion and eyes so dimmed with tears that she could scarcely see.

“Mother,” she cried, “did you ever hear of such kind, generous people?”

“It is because they are Christians; they do it for the dear Master’s sake,” responded Mrs. Allen, her own voice quivering with feeling.

“I’m sure of it, mother, and that he sent them to help us in our sore need. Just look! just look!” as she took out one article after another from the basket and laid it upon the table. “How we shall feast for the next few days! Here are tea, coffee, sugar, a cold chicken, delicious looking bread and rolls, fresh-laid eggs (I am sure they’re that from their appearance), and a pot of currant jelly. It’s wonderful how many things they have thought of! I shall try very hard to do the work to please them.

“What a lovely, beautiful lady Mrs. Travilla is! But I don’t know how to believe she’s really grandmother to Miss Lulu.”

“Perhaps a step-grandmother,” suggested Mrs. Allen. “She can’t be the captain’s mother, though I noticed he called her that.”

“What a noble-looking man he is! and the little girl! Weren’t you pleased with her, mother?”

“Yes; with both her looks and her behavior.”

The palatable, nourishing food, and the cheering prospect for the future opened up before her by these new and kind friends, had so beneficial an effect upon Mrs. Allen that when the captain’s promised conveyance came she was up, dressed, and ready for her journey.

Great were her surprise and gratitude when she learned that he had sent his own luxurious family carriage to take her and Susan to their destination, while a wagon was to convey their effects.

It was a lovely day, and their drive took them through a beautiful country, diversified by hill and valley, meadow and woodland, all clothed in the charming verdure of spring; now they crossed a dancing streamlet, now flew past a lordly dwelling, with its lawn of emerald green and avenue or grove of noble trees, its cultivated fields spreading far on either hand, now traversed pine woods or skirted the banks of a flowing river, and anon from some slight eminence caught a distant view of the ever-restless sea.

The easy motion of the smoothly running carriage, the soft, sweet air, bringing gratefully to the nostrils the mingled spicy odor of the pines and the refreshing saltness of the sea, the beautiful sights and sounds that greeted eye and ear, were all so intensely enjoyable to the mother and daughter, after their long sojourn in the stifling atmosphere of the close and filthy alley they were leaving behind, that even the invalid was scarcely sensible of fatigue until they had reached their destination and found themselves in the new home, which, though small and humble, seemed to them almost an earthly paradise.

It was a four-roomed cottage, with a trim little flower garden and grass plat in front and on each side, fruit trees, currant and gooseberry bushes, and space for raising vegetables at the back. Porches, richly festooned with flowering vines, and two giant oaks that cast their shadows from front gate to porch, made the house seem from the outside a bower of beauty, and gave promise of delightful shelter from the too fervid rays of the sun when the sultry summer heats should come.

“This surely cannot be the place!” exclaimed Mrs. Allen, as the carriage drew up at the gate.

“No, hardly,” said Susan. “Haven’t you made a mistake?” addressing the coachman.

“I reckon I habn’t, Miss; dis darkey gin’rally knows what he’s ’bout,” laughed the man. “Dar’s Miss Elsie a-settin’ in de poach, an’ hyar comes de cap’n fo’ to help you light.”

Captain Raymond was there, sure enough, hurrying down the path.

“Welcome to your new home,” he said, with a benevolent smile, as he threw open the carriage door. “Mrs. Allen, you must be very weary, though you are looking much brighter than when I saw you the other day. Let me help you into the house.”

“You are wonderfully kind, sir,” she returned with feeling, as he lifted her out. “And, oh, what a paradise you have provided for us here! I can hardly believe it is really to be our home; and I feel that it is far beyond our deserts. The flowers, the vines, the grand old trees, and the green grass,—how lovely they all are!”

“Yes,” he returned pleasantly; “as some one has said, ‘God made the country, and man made the town,’ and I for one have no desire to make my home in the man-made city.”

Max and Lulu had come racing down the path after their father, and were now bringing up the rear with Susan in tow.

“How do you like it?” Lulu was asking eagerly: “is it any improvement upon Rose Alley?”

“Oh, Miss Lulu, it’s too sweet and beautiful for anything!” exclaimed Susan, clasping her hands in an ecstasy of delight. “What lovely flowers, what a delicious perfume from them! Oh, I think myself the happiest girl alive, to be going to live here! I never dreamed of anything half so delightful!”

“And Grandma Elsie has made it nearly, if not quite, as inviting indoors as out,” remarked Max.

“What a kind, kind lady!” said Susan, in tones tremulous with grateful emotion; “the kindest and most generous I ever saw.”

Grandma Elsie was at that moment standing at the entrance to the porch, with hand outstretched in friendly greeting to Mrs. Allen, and to assist her up the steps.

“Welcome home,” she said, with her own rarely sweet smile. “I hope you will find it a happy home.”

“Dear madam, it seems to me a paradise upon earth,” returned the poor woman, tears of joy and gratitude coursing down her wasted cheeks.

Her strength seemed giving way, and the captain half-carried her in and laid her down on a lounge which was so placed that it commanded a partial view of each of the four rooms.

Parlor, living-room, bedroom were all simply and inexpensively, yet tastefully, furnished, every comfort, including a luxuriously easy chair, provided for the invalid. White curtains at the windows, and vases of flowers set here and there, lent an air of elegance to the otherwise unpretending, modest apartments.

In the neat little kitchen a tidy, pleasant-faced colored woman was moving briskly about, evidently preparing the evening meal, while in the living-room a table was laid for two.

It was a delight to Lulu to lead Susan from room to room, calling her attention to all the beauties and conveniences, and explaining that Grandma Elsie had provided this, papa or Mamma Vi that.

“Mamma Vi,” repeated Susan inquiringly; “is it your mother you mean?”

“No—yes, my second mother, but not old enough to be really my mamma; that’s why Max and I put the Vi to it.”

“Come, daughter,” the captain said to Lulu as she and Susan re-entered the parlor, where they had left the others, “put on your hat; we are going home now.”

“Yes, it is time,” Mrs. Travilla said, taking Mrs. Allen’s hand in farewell. “We will leave you to rest, my good woman, for you look sadly in need of it. Sally has your supper nearly ready. I hope you will both enjoy it, and she will stay to wash the dishes and set everything to rights; so that you will have no occasion for exertion till to-morrow.”

“I think they are very happy,” Lulu remarked, as the carriage rolled away toward Woodburn; “and how delightful it is to be able to make other folks happy!”

“Yes,” said her father; “‘it is more blessed to give than to receive.’ We should be very thankful that we are in circumstances to be givers—stewards of God’s bounty. He has given largely to us, in order that we may distribute to others. He never intended that we should spend all on ourselves.”

CHAPTER IV.

Grandma Elsie took tea at Woodburn, but drove home to Ion directly after. Edward, her eldest son, met her in the veranda with a face full of pleasurable excitement.

“It is over, mamma,” he said; “most happily over!”

“Ah, how thankful I am!” she exclaimed. “Can I see her?”

“Yes, oh yes! She is sleeping, though, the influence of the ether having not yet passed off.”

“It is a surprise,” she said. “I should have hastened home if I had had the least idea of what was going on.”

“It was sudden and unexpected; rather quickly over, too, or you should have been sent for. Fortunately Cousin Arthur happened in just as I was about to summon him.”

“Which is it?”

“Both,” he returned, with a joyous laugh.

“Indeed! that too is a surprise. But none the less delightful.”

He was leading the way to the suite of apartments occupied by himself and wife, his mother following.

They passed into the bedroom, where Zoe lay extended on her couch in placid slumber. They drew near and stood looking down at her, each face a trifle anxious.

She stirred and opened her eyes sleepily: “Mamma,” she murmured, “Edward—”

“Yes, love, we are both here,” he answered in tender tones. Then bending over her and pressing a tender kiss upon her cheek: “Do you know how rich you are, my darling?”

“Rich?” she repeated with a bewildered look up into his face, still only half awake.

“Yes; both you and I; we have more than doubled our wealth since you went to sleep two hours ago.”

“Oh!” rousing to full consciousness, “is it all over? Which is it? Show it to me, do, dear.”

“It’s both,” he said, with a low, gleeful laugh.

“Look! they are close beside you,” folding back the covers of the bed, and bringing into view a pair of tiny forms and faces. “Your son and daughter, young Mrs. Travilla.”

She raised herself slightly to get a better view. “Oh, the darlings, the lovely darlings! Indeed we are rich! You may have the girl, but the boy’s mine,” she added, with a silvery laugh. “But they’re like as two peas. If they were both boys, or both girls, I should never be able to tell them apart. So it’s a blessing they’re one of each.”

“There, lie down now,” he said. “They’re great treasures, but both together worth less to me than their mother; and I can’t have her running any risks. Mamma, dear, what do you think of your new grandchildren?”

“Just what the new-made parents do,” she answered, bending over them from the other side of the bed. “Welcome, welcome, little strangers! there is plenty of room in grandma’s heart for you both.”

“Our birthday gift to you, mamma,” said Zoe.

“What, giving them away already?” queried Edward playfully, “and that without consulting me!”

“Only as grandchildren,” she answered in the same tone. “You and I are papa and mamma. Ah, how delightfully odd it seems! Poor little dears, to have such a silly young thing for their mother,” she added sorrowfully, reaching out a hand and softly touching the tiny faces with the tips of her fingers. “But then they have a good papa, and such a dear, wise grandma. Are you pleased? Will you take them for your birthday gift from me, mamma?” lifting loving, entreating eyes to the sweet face of her mother-in-law.

“Indeed I will, dear child. You could have given me nothing more acceptable,” bending down to touch her lips softly to the velvet cheek of first the one and then the other. “Which is the boy and which the girl, Ned?”

“I really don’t know, mamma,” he said, laughing, “for, as their mother says, they are as like as two peas.”

“We’ll have to put some sort of mark on them,” said Zoe, gloating over her new treasures, “else one may often be blamed for the other’s faults. Ah, I wonder whether they will be wise and good like their father, or silly like their mother.”

“You are slandering their mother, and I can’t allow it,” Edward said, frowning in mock indignation. “But you weren’t to talk. You must be quiet, or I’ll have to run away.”

“We’ll have use for both our names, Ned,” remarked Zoe, smiling up into her husband’s face, the next time he came to her bedside.

“Yes,” he said, with a glance of pride and pleasure, from her to the little ones.

Then turning to his mother, “You must understand, mamma, that we had selected a suitable name for the expected little stranger, whether it should prove to belong to the one sex or the other. Of course we desired to name for you or my father; but there are already so many Elsies and Neds in the family connection that we decided to add another name, as you did in my case, to avoid confusion; that if a boy, it should be named Edward Lawrence, for both Zoe’s father and mine, and commonly called Laurie; but if a girl, should be Lily, for the dear little sister who went to heaven so many years ago.”

“I entirely approve your choice,” said his mother, her eyes shining through tears of mingled joy and sorrow, as her thoughts were carried back to the husband and child whose loved presence would cheer her earthly pilgrimage no more. “Laurie and Lily; the two names go nicely together. It will be sweet to have a Lily in the family again, and I trust she and her brother may be spared to their parents, even to be the stay and staff of their old age.”

“How cunningly you have managed to catch up with Elsie and me in the matter of providing mamma with grandchildren,” was Violet’s jesting remark to Zoe, when she came for the first time to look at the new arrivals.

“Yes, haven’t I?” laughed Zoe. “We have two apiece now, making six in all. Mamma says she is growing rich in grandchildren.”

“Six of her own, and four others who address her by that title, though it has always seemed ridiculous to me, considering how young my darling mother looks.”

“Yes, to me too. But these darlings are her very own and—Vi, don’t you think they’re the sweetest things that ever were made?”

“O Zoe, don’t ask quite so much as that of me!” returned Violet, with playful look and smile. “I do really think them as sweet as they can be, but my own two no less so!”

“Oh, of course!” laughed Zoe. “It was just like my silliness to ask such a question. I tell mamma they are Ned’s and my birthday gift to her; though they came three weeks before the time.”

“They’ll not be less worth having for being three weeks old,” remarked Violet.

“No; they develop new beauties every day. Mamma herself says so. And I am glad there is time for me to recover sufficiently to enjoy the festivities of the occasion.”

Zoe hovering over her babies made a pretty picture to look upon. She would scarcely let them out of her sight; rejoiced over them with singing and laughter, full of mirth and gladness, as though the veriest child herself. Yet at times her mood changed, her face wore a pensive expression akin to sadness, and caressing them with exceeding tenderness, she would murmur softly:

“My wee bit darlings, my precious treasures, what trials and sufferings may be yours before you reach the end of life’s long journey! Ah, if your mother might but bear all your pains and troubles for you, how gladly she would do it.”

“Dear daughter,” Grandma Elsie said on overhearing the words one day, “that is one of the cares we are privileged to cast on Jesus. He dearly loves the little ones, and he has all power in heaven and in earth. ‘I will be a God to thee, and to thy seed after thee,’ is one of the many great and precious promises of his Word. ‘Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it.’ Seek wisdom for that work by prayer and the study of God’s word.”

“I will, mamma,” Zoe answered thoughtfully. “I am quite sure Edward will make a good father, and I shall try very hard to be a good mother; I shall take you, dear mamma, for my pattern, for there couldn’t be a better mother than you are, and always have been.”

“I have tried to be—tried in the way I have recommended to you—but I sometimes made mistakes, and I would have you follow me only in so far as I have followed Christ, and the teachings of his Word,” Grandma Elsie answered, in sincere humility.

“Mamma,” said Zoe, “I do not believe it possible for any frail human creature to follow more closely in the Master’s footsteps than you do.”

The Ion twins were objects of great interest to all the children of the connection, and from the first news of their arrival they were eager to see them. It was not allowed, however, till the proud young mother was able to exhibit them herself.

Rosie and Walter had of course a look at them on the day of their birth, but they were nearly two weeks old before the others were admitted to Zoe’s room, where she insisted on keeping her precious treasures all the time.

The Woodburn children were anxious for their turn, and at last it came. Lulu and Grace rode over to Ion one pleasant afternoon, on their ponies, Fairy and Elf, the captain and Max accompanying them on their larger steeds.

The little girls did not know when they started that Ion was their destination, and on arriving were still in doubt whether they were to see the babies; but the greetings were scarcely over when they asked if they might.

“Yes; Zoe is feeling very well to-day, and I think it will do her no harm to see you all for a few moments,” replied Grandma Elsie, leading the way. “You may come, too, Captain; Zoe is always delighted with an opportunity to exhibit her treasures.”

“Thank you, mother, I accept your invitation with pleasure,” he answered, following with his children.

Zoe, lying on a couch with a dainty crib close beside her, greeted her visitors with smiles and words of welcome.

“It seems an age since I last saw your pleasant countenance, Captain,” she said, as he took her hand.

“You could hardly miss me with such companionship as you have here,” he returned playfully, as he bent over the crib and took a scrutinizing look at its tiny occupants. “They are really worth showing, little mother.”

“I should say they were,” she responded, laughing; a low, gleeful, silvery laugh.

Grandma Elsie had led Lulu and Grace to the other side of the crib. “O Aunt Zoe, what lovely little darlings!” they both exclaimed. “And it’s such a pretty sight, two babies just the same size and exactly alike!”

“So it is,” said the captain, but added playfully, “both together, though, would hardly make one of our Ned; so Aunt Zoe need not propose to swap.”

“Aunt Zoe has not the remotest idea of making such a proposition,” she returned gayly. “No, indeed, mother’s darlings,” raising herself on one elbow that she might have a good look at each tiny face, “you needn’t fret,”—for one stirred in its sleep and gave a faint little cry—“no one could persuade mamma to give even one of you for the biggest baby in the land.”

“Was that Laurie? or Lily, Aunt Zoe?” asked Lulu. “Such pretty names as you have given them!”

“Yes, I think so. It was Laurie that cried out then; he’s not so quiet as Lily; but one must expect a boy to make more noise in the world than a girl.”

“But how can you tell which is which, Aunt Zoe,” queried Grace; “they look exactly alike to me.”

“To me too; but see, we have put a gold chain round Lily’s neck, and Laurie has none.”

“Ah, no wonder he cries out at such favoritism,” remarked the captain sportively.

“Sure enough!” exclaimed Zoe; “strange I had not thought of it before. But he shall have that excuse no longer; he shall wear that lovely necklace of pink coral beads Ned gave me on my last birthday. Lu, if you will go to my jewel-case and get it, I’ll be much obliged.”

“I will, Aunt Zoe; I’m delighted with the errand,” exclaimed Lulu, hurrying into the adjoining dressing-room.

She had been there often enough to know where to find what she had been sent for, and was back again in a moment with it in her hand.

“Thank you, Lu. Hand it to mamma, please,” said Zoe. “She will put it on him; I’d like to do it myself, but presume I wouldn’t be allowed, they are all so exceedingly—I’d almost said absurdly—careful of me.”

“It would be better for you not to make the effort, my dear,” Grandma Elsie said, taking the necklace from Lulu’s hand.

All eyes were upon her as she gently raised the tiny head just enough to enable her to slip it under and around the child’s neck, then fastened the clasp in front.

“I don’t know,” she remarked in a doubtful tone, “that he will be quite as comfortable with as without it, and I’m positively certain he will not appreciate the honor.”

The babe was fast asleep, and did not rouse himself to give his opinion.

Rosie had come softly into the room, and was standing beside the crib with the others.

“Aren’t they the loveliest, darlingest wee pets that ever were seen?” she exclaimed. “I think it would be delightful to have one baby in the house—really belonging here—but to have two such pretty pets is doubly delightful.”

“Yes, but I think you’ll find it better still when they’re grown to be as large as ours, and can run about and talk,” said Lulu. “They do say such smart things sometimes.”

“Yes; what fun it will be when these two begin to talk!” Zoe exclaimed, with a low, gleeful, happy laugh, touching each tiny face caressingly.

CHAPTER V.

The celebration of Grandma Elsie’s approaching semi-centennial was now the most important event in the near future, the principal theme of conversation in the connection, and grand preparations for it were going forward.

By her express wish, all the poor of the neighborhood—white and black, in two distinct assemblies—were invited to spend a large part of the day on the plantation, amusing themselves with outdoor games and enjoying a bountiful feast spread for them in the shade of the wood in which Mr. Leland, the uncle of the present occupant of Fairview, had once concealed himself when attacked by the Ku Klux.

Another party, consisting of all the relatives, connections, and intimate friends residing in the vicinity, would be given the freedom of the house and grounds to enjoy themselves as they should please.

Circumstances were auspicious; all the preparations had been thoroughly well attended to; the day dawned bright and beautiful, and found every one in high health and spirits.

She whom all were seeking to honor and make the happiest of the happy, awoke with a heart full of love and gratitude for the unnumbered mercies and blessings of her lot in life. Her first act was to rise from her bed, and, kneeling beside it, pour out her thanksgivings and praises, mingled with confession of sins, petitions for herself and others, and a renewal of her oft-repeated consecration to His service.

She had scarce completed her morning toilet, singing the while in low, sweet strains, a song of praise, when a light tap at the door was followed by her father’s entrance.

He folded her in his arms, and holding her close to his heart, wished her, in moved tones, many happy returns of the day.

“I know not how to believe that you have seen fifty years,” he said, holding her off a little to gaze searchingly into her face,—still as sweet, and well-nigh as fair and smooth, as it had been thirty years before—“there are no silver threads in your hair, no lines on your forehead, or about your eyes or mouth; you are no less beautiful than you were in your early girlhood; my darling’s charms have only matured, not lessened.”

“Ah, papa,” she returned, shaking her head with an incredulous smile, “you always did see me through rose-colored glasses. I dare say any eyes but yours—so blinded by love—can readily perceive many traces left by the passing years.

“Yet, dear father, why should we regret it? Why care that we are both growing old, since each day as it passes brings us a step nearer to our heavenly home.”

“That is a delightful thought,” he responded, with a smile and a sigh; “a thought that more than reconciles me to the inevitable in my own case.”

“And surely in mine, too, papa, for you would not want to be in heaven without me,” she said, creeping closer into his embrace and half hiding her face on his breast.

“No,” he replied with emotion, tightening the clasp of his arm about her waist and pressing his lips again and again to her cheek and brow, “not for long; but in the course of nature I shall probably be called away first, and for your children’s sake I hope you may yet live many years, and that those years may be for you as free as possible from the infirmities of age.”

“And it is that I wish for you, dear father, for your children’s sake; my own especially,” she returned, gazing lovingly into his eyes.

Another tap at the door, and Edward and Zoe entered, each carrying a baby.

“Here we come, mamma, with your birthday gifts,” cried Zoe gayly, “and wishing you many, many happy returns of the day.”

“Thank you, my dears; but O Zoe, this is too much exertion for you! you should not have done it, my child!” Elsie answered, stepping hastily forward and taking little Laurie from his young mother’s arms, while Zoe sank into an easy-chair, panting a little, the color coming and going in her cheeks.

“The nurse carried him to the very door, mamma,” she said; “and I thought I was stronger than I am.”

“It is my fault,—I should not have allowed it,” said Edward, looking anxiously at Zoe.

“Don’t be alarmed, my dear; I am not injured in the least,” she responded, smiling up into his face as he stood over her, forgetting everything else in concern for her. “You haven’t presented your half of the gift to mamma; nor any good wishes either.”

“As if both halves didn’t belong to both of us,” he responded, with an amused smile. “Mamma, I wish you many, many happy returns of the day, and beg to present you with what I consider a priceless treasure—my little daughter, your youngest granddaughter,” laying the babe in the arms she held out to receive it, having already resigned the other to its great-grandsire.

“They are indeed priceless treasures, and very dear to their grandmamma’s heart,” she said, cuddling it close in her arms and pressing kisses on the tiny velvet cheek.

“Now, mamma, it’s Laurie’s turn,” remarked the young mother laughingly; “you didn’t take time to kiss him, in your concern for me, and it will never do to be partial.”

“No, certainly not,” Grandma Elsie said, exchanging babies with her father, “but they are so exactly alike in looks that one will have to be a little careful to make sure of avoiding such a mistake.”

But now came Mrs. Dinsmore, Rosie, and Walter with their congratulations and good wishes.

The scene was a lively one for a little while; then the old people, and Zoe and Edward with their babies, withdrew, leaving Grandma Elsie alone with the youngest two of her flock.

They spent a short time together in the usual way, then the breakfast bell rang, and at the same moment the family carriage drove up to the door bringing her college boys, who had arrived in the village by an early train which the carriage had been sent to meet.

Each in turn must hold his mother in a long, tender embrace; then greetings with the others were to be exchanged, questions asked and answered on both sides; so that it was some time before any attention was paid to the summons to the breakfast-table; and when they did gather about the board the flow of talk was such as to seriously interfere with the business of eating, so that the meal was prolonged to twice its ordinary length.

Zoe, down for the first time since the advent of the twins, was smiling, happy, eager to show her darlings to the young uncles.

They had already given congratulations by letter to her and Edward, and had not been many minutes in their company before renewing them.

“I am quite in haste to see my new niece and nephew,” said Harold. “I presume, Zoe, they are the prettiest, brightest, sweetest wee mortals that ever were seen. Isn’t it so?”

“Of course they are to their mother,” she answered laughingly, “but she doesn’t expect anybody else, except papa,”—with an arch look at Edward—“to see the darlings through the same rose-colored glasses. You and Herbert shall judge for yourselves presently though; they will be on exhibition as soon as prayers are over.”

“We may judge for ourselves, you say, Zoe, but dare we express our opinions freely, should they not coincide with that of the parents?” queried Herbert, in a bantering tone.

“At a safe distance I think you may venture,” returned Zoe demurely.

“But Zoe won’t be the only one to take part with Laurie and Lily should anybody have the bad taste to utter a word in depreciation of them,” remarked Rosie warningly.

“And yet this is called a free country!” exclaimed Harold, with an expressive shrug of his shoulders.

“Ion’s to be a monarchy to-day,” remarked Walter. “Mamma’s to be crowned queen of it in the arbor.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed his mother in surprise and amusement. “It is the first hint I have had that such doings were in contemplation.”

“Yes, mamma,” said Rosie, “we have been keeping it a secret from you, and Walter’s communication is a little premature. But it really doesn’t signify, for you would have had to know very soon.”

“Yes, I suppose so, for some of our guests—the nearest relations at least—will soon begin to arrive. But when is this important ceremony to take place?”

“I suppose as soon as the guests are all here, mamma.”

“The other ceremony—the presentation of the babies to their newly arrived uncles—will be gone through with first, doubtless?” Harold remarked, in an inquiring tone.

“Oh, yes; of course,” answered several voices, as they all rose from the table and withdrew to the library to unite in the usual morning worship.

The babies’ dainty crib had been brought down to an adjoining room for the day, and there they lay sweetly sleeping.

As soon as the short service had come to an end, Zoe, motioning to Harold and Herbert to follow, led the way to the side of the crib, and laying back the cover brought the two tiny forms to view lying side by side, the little plump faces turned toward each other, round, rosy, and dimpled.

“There, aren’t they beauties, boys?” exclaimed Zoe, bending over her treasures in a perfect rapture of mother-love and admiration. “Did you ever see anything half so sweet?”

“Well, really, they are quite passable, considering their extreme youth,” returned Harold sportively. “I say, Ned, what would you take for them?”

“They are not in the market, sir,” replied the young father, regarding them with pride and admiration. “Though you should offer every dollar you possess it would be utterly contemned.”

“Ah, ’tis just as well, Ned, for I should not know what to do with such tender, delicate little morsels of humanity if I had them.”

“You don’t half appreciate them,” said Zoe, half jestingly, half in earnest, “you don’t deserve the honor of being their uncle.”

“We’ll enjoy and appreciate them more a year or two hence, when they can be romped and played with,” remarked Herbert. “But, really, Zoe, they’re as pretty as any young baby I ever saw.”

Rosie looked in at the door with the announcement, “The Woodburn carriage is coming up the avenue,” and the three brothers hurried out to greet its occupants. They were the whole Raymond family, from the captain down to baby Ned, and scarcely had greetings been exchanged with them when the Lelands from Fairview arrived, and Grandma Elsie had all her children about her.

She was the centre of attraction; everybody had an embrace, good wishes, and a gift for her, and all were most graciously received.

But her daughters presently hurried her away to her private apartment, where they busied themselves in attiring her for the day in such manner as suited their own ideas of what would be most fitting and becoming, she smilingly submitting to their will.

“You must wear white, mamma,” said Violet; “nothing could be more suitable to the weather or more becoming to you. Do you not say so, Elsie?”

“Yes,” replied Mrs. Leland, opening her mother’s wardrobe and glancing over the dresses hanging there; “and it will please grandpa better than anything else. There,” taking down a nun’s veiling, “this is just the thing.”

“My dears, remember how many years have flown over your mother’s head, and don’t dress me too youthfully,” Grandma Elsie said, with an amused look and smile.

“Never fear, mamma,” returned Violet in her sprightly way, “how can you fear for a moment that your daughters would do such discredit to the training of so good and wise a mother as theirs?”

“What ornaments shall mamma wear?” asked Rosie.

“Only flowers—natural flowers,” returned her sisters, both speaking at once.

“Oh, yes; and they must be roses and lilies; a knot of them at her throat, and another at her waist. I’ll go and get them myself,” exclaimed Rosie, hurrying from the room.

In one of the lower apartments of the mansion she found Zoe, Edward, and his brothers, Mr. Leland and Evelyn, Captain Raymond and his children, all busy with flowers from conservatories, gardens, fields, and woods, which were piled in fragrant heaps upon tables and in baskets, making them into bouquets, wreaths, garlands, and arranging them in vases.

With deft fingers Zoe was weaving a beautiful wreath.

“Oh, Zoe, how lovely!” exclaimed Rosie. “It is to be mamma’s crown, isn’t it?”

“Yes; and everything in it has a meaning; these laurel leaves are to say to mamma, and everybody, that she is the glory of this house; this calla lily, that she is beautiful (though of course no one who looks at her can help seeing that without being told); this sweet alyssum, that she has worth beyond beauty; this white jessamine, that she is amiability itself; the yellow, that she has grace and elegance; this china rose means the same; this moss rose, superior merit; this myrtle, that we all love her dearly, dearly!”

“Oh, what a nice story they tell!” exclaimed Rosie; “the wreath has my entire approval,” she added, with a merry laugh.

“What a relief to my mind!” said Zoe, joining in the laugh. “We’re going to make a perfect bower of the dining-room, the only room in the house that will be much used by the company to-day.”

“That’s a nice idea; we must have flowers everywhere to-day in mamma’s honor. I have come to select some for the adornment of her person.”

“This is for that very purpose,” said Zoe, holding up her nearly completed wreath, and regarding it with satisfaction.

“Yes, I know; but I want a knot of flowers for her throat, and another for her belt. Roses, lilies, and heliotrope.”

“Grandma Elsie is versed in the language of flowers, isn’t she?” asked Evelyn.

“Yes, indeed!” answered Rosie.

“Oh, then, wouldn’t it be a nice idea for each of us to select a few flowers expressing our feelings of love, admiration, and so forth; then, after Grandpa Dinsmore has put the crown on her head, go one at a time, kneel before her on one knee, kiss her hand, and present the little floral offering?”

“Capital!” “Quite a bright thought, Eva!” “Just the thing!” exclaimed several voices, in response to the suggestion.

“Oh, let’s do it!” said Lulu. “I think it would be ever so nice!”

“All in favor say aye,” said Harold.

A chorus of “Ayes,” in response.

“Contrary, no!”

A dead silence.

“The ayes have it,” he announced; “but of course everybody is at liberty to do exactly as he or she pleases.”

“I don’t know anything about the language of flowers,” remarked Grace shyly.

“And my memory needs refreshing on the subject,” Herbert said, smiling pleasantly on the little girl. “So I’ll bring a book from the library that will tell us what we want to know.”

“Will it be objectionable if several of us choose the same flower?” asked Lulu.

“Oh no, not at all,” replied Harold. “I shall take some of these beautiful pinks. This one means pure affection; this clove pink, dignity; this double red, pure, ardent love; this white one, ‘You are fair.’ I should like to say all that to mamma.”

“So should I,” said Grace. “May I take some of the same flowers, Uncle Harold?”

“Surely, dear child,” he returned, selecting them for her.

“A bit of myrtle, too, please,” she said; “because I do love Grandma Elsie dearly.”

“I want a bit of that, too,” Lulu said, “and all the kinds of lilies and roses that mean something nice. I do think they are the loveliest flowers!”

“I’ll have heliotrope, ‘I love you,’ pansy, ‘Think of me,’ purple heartsease, some of the myrtle, and honeysuckle, ‘bond of love,’” Evelyn said, after consulting the book Herbert had brought, and culling them from the fragrant heaps as she spoke.

In the mean time Rosie had made up the two bouquets she had come for. “See!” she said, holding them up to view, “aren’t these roses and lilies just the perfection of beauty? They’ll put the finishing touch to mamma’s attire, and I’ll be back presently to select others as my offering to the queen of the day.”

So saying she tripped gayly away.

“There, the crown is done!” said Zoe, turning it about in her hands and viewing it with a satisfied smile.

The others pronounced it beautiful.

“Now I’ll help with the wreaths for the rooms.”

“No, no, my dear, you have exerted yourself quite enough for one day,” said her husband. “Just lie back in that easy-chair and give as many directions as you please.”

“Nonsense!” she exclaimed, laughing, “you are as careful of me as if I were made of the finest china or glass.”

“A great deal more so,” he returned, with a look that spoke volumes of loving appreciation, and bending over her to bring his lips close to her ear, “Your price is above rubies, my darling,” he added, in a low aside.

“Dear Ned, you are so good to me!” she responded, lifting to his eyes as full of love as his own.

“The queen of the day! the queen of all our hearts!” announced Rosie, preceding her mother and sisters into the room.

“We are all ready to do her homage,” said the captain, stepping forward and saluting his mother-in-law with much respect and affection.

The others were prompt to follow his example, all crowding about her with expressions of love and admiration.

“You are too good to me, my dear children and grandchildren,” she said, glad tears springing to her eyes. “I am quite sensible that I am by no means the beautiful and admirable person your affectionate appreciation leads you to imagine.”

“O mamma,” exclaimed Zoe, “there’s no imagination about it! Girls, you have shown great taste in arraying her for the occasion; it only needs the addition of my floral crown to make her dress quite perfect.”

But carriages were driving up the avenue, and near friends and relatives came pouring in with their congratulations and gifts, which last were received with grateful thanks and bestowed, for the present, in a small reception-room set apart for the purpose.

When the last of the guests had arrived all repaired to the grounds, wending their way toward the arbor where the heroine of the day was seated on an extemporized throne garlanded with flowers, while her father made a neat little speech and placed the floral crown on her head, then, dropping on one knee at her feet, kissed her hand and presented a bouquet of calla lilies, pinks, and roses.

It was altogether a surprise to her, and a vivid blush mantled her cheek.

“My dear father,” she said, low and tenderly, looking up into his face, with eyes half filled with tears, as he rose and stood by her side, “you should never have knelt to me—your own child.”

“Only in sport, dearest,” he said, bending down and imprinting a kiss upon her lips; “you know young lads like myself must be allowed to indulge in a trifle of that kind occasionally.”

He stepped aside, and amid much jesting and mirth, the others followed his example till the throne and its occupant were half hidden in the fragrant heaps of floral offerings.

But father and sons, coming to the rescue, extricated her without damage to person or attire, and she went about among her guests doing the honors of the place with a sweet and gentle dignity all her own.

There were no strangers among them, however, and everybody felt at home and free to follow his or her own inclinations, to sit and converse in the grateful shade of the fine old trees, wander about lawn, shrubbery, and gardens, or take part in the active sports with which the children and youth of the company were delighting themselves.

But it was not in the kind heart of Grandma Elsie to neglect her poorer guests. Her father, sons, and a few others accompanying her, she paid a short visit to each assembly, went about among them with kindly inquiries concerning their health and welfare (no air of condescension marring their enjoyment of her sweet looks and words), and distributing gifts—from a large basket carried by two men-servants—of such articles of food and clothing as she knew would be acceptable; for, ever, like her Master, going about doing good, she was a frequent visitor in their dwellings and well acquainted with their needs.

And they looked upon her as a kind, powerful friend, from whom they might ever expect with confidence, sympathy and help in their trials and struggles with life’s hard problems.

The birthday feast at the mansion was served somewhat later in the day; a banquet, not only of such things as appease the hunger of the physical man, but also “a feast of reason and a flow of soul.”

The celebration of Grandma Elsie’s semi-centennial was pronounced by every one so fortunate as to have a share in it to have been from beginning to end a most decided success.

CHAPTER VI.

Max and Lulu were on the veranda at Woodburn,—its only occupants. The western sky was all aglow with the gorgeous hues of a brilliant sunset; rich masses of purple, gold, amber, pale-green, and delicate rose color were piled from the horizon half way up to the zenith, while flecks, patches, and long streaks of flame, changing every moment—here spreading and deepening, there contracting and fading to paler tints—stretched above and beyond on every side.

It was a grand scene, and Max, who was whittling a bit of soft wood, paused for several minutes to gaze upon it with admiration and delight.

“What a splendid sunset!” he exclaimed, turning toward his sister.

But she was absorbed in a story-book, holding it in a way to catch the last beams of the fading light, and reading on with eager haste, utterly oblivious to the glories of the sunset sky, and the beauties of the grounds arrayed in all the verdure of June.

“Lu, you’re straining your eyes, reading by this fading light,” said Max. “If papa were here he would certainly tell you to stop at once.”

Lulu made no reply, but continued to read as if she had not heard the remark.

Max waited a moment, then began again, “Lu—”

“Oh, Max, do be quiet!” she exclaimed impatiently, without moving her eyes from the page.

Max gazed at her for another minute without speaking, an odd sort of smile in his eyes and playing about the corners of his mouth.

“Yes, I’ll do it,” he muttered under his breath; “now’s as good a time as any for the experiment.”

At that instant their father’s voice was heard in grave, slightly reproving accents, coming apparently from the hall. “Lulu!”

“Sir,” she answered promptly, dropping her book, while a vivid color suffused her cheek.

“Don’t read any longer; you will injure your eyes. Lay aside your book and come here to me.”

She obeyed at once, hurrying into the hall. Max looking after her with a gleam of mingled fun and triumph in his eyes.

“Why, papa, where are you?” he heard her ask the next moment; then she came rushing back with a face full of astonishment and perplexity. “Max, where can papa be? didn’t you hear him call me? I was sure he was in the hall, but he isn’t; and I can’t find him in any of the rooms. And oh, now I remember he drove away with Mamma Vi not half an hour ago, and they were going to the Oaks, and he couldn’t possibly be back by this time, even if they didn’t stop there long enough to get out of the carriage. Besides, we would have seen it drive up from the gate.”

“Couldn’t they have come back through the wood, as you and I do sometimes?”

“Yes, so they could; but even then we should have seen and heard them, and—no, they can’t have come back. Papa can’t be at home; and yet I heard him call me as plainly as ever I did in my life. Oh!—” and she dropped into a chair with a look of dread and alarm that half frightened her brother.

“Max,” she went on in low, half-tremulous tones, “I—I—do believe it means that I’m going to die.”

“Why, Lu!” he exclaimed, “I should never have thought you could be so silly! What on earth can have put that notion into your head?”

“I’ve heard stories of people hearing themselves called in that mysterious way and dying very soon afterward,” she answered, looking rather ashamed.

“Well, that’s all nonsense,” he returned with an air of superior wisdom. “I’m perfectly sure papa would tell you so.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t care if you thought it did mean that?” she said, half-interrogatively.

“Oh, of course not; you don’t suppose I care anything about you, do you?”

“Yes; I know you do. And if you didn’t, you know papa loves me, and would be grieved to lose me, and you love him well enough to be sorry on his account.”

“Well, maybe so; though I hadn’t thought it out. But you’re very healthy, and I’ve a notion are going to outlive all the rest of us.”

“Dear me, how awful that would be!” she cried; “to be left all alone, after seeing you all dead and buried. I believe I’d rather go first.”

“But not very soon?”

“No, I—think I’d like to live a little longer; we do have such good times nowadays—in our own home with papa. But—Max, who could have called me like that?” she queried, with a look of anxious perplexity. “You heard it, too, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“But why do you laugh, and look so pleased and amused? I should think you’d be troubled by the mysteriousness of it, same as I am.”

“No, I’m not,” he answered, “because it isn’t really very mysterious to me. Lu, to save you from worrying, I’ll explain.”

She looked at him in wide-eyed surprise.

“Then you know who it was?”

“Yes; it was I—myself.”

“You? why how—what do you mean, Max?”

“That I’ve found out that I’m a ventriloquist, like Cousin Ronald.”

“Oh, Maxie! is that so? Oh, how nice!”

“Yes; I wondered if I could do it, and I asked him to tell me exactly how he did it, and if people could learn how if they tried very hard. He said it depended upon practice and dexterity, and explained and showed me as nearly as he could; and I tried, and would go off into the wood yonder, when I could get a chance without anybody noticing, and practice. To-night I thought I’d try it on you, and I’m just delighted that I succeeded so well.”

“Indeed you did!” she exclaimed. “I don’t believe Cousin Ronald himself could have done it any better. Oh, Max, I think it’s ever so nice! what fun we shall have! Try it on papa when he comes home; do! He wouldn’t be vexed; papa enjoys fun just as much as we do, and is never angry, even if the joke is at his expense.”

“No, indeed! and I never had a boy friend that was better company, or even as good, going gunning or fishing, or in a game of base-ball, or anything else.”

“And I never enjoy our parlor games half so much when he doesn’t take part.”

“No; but he always does, unless he’s too busy or has company to entertain. I tell you, Lu, it’s just splendid to have a father you can talk to just as freely as if he was a boy like yourself—tell him all you think and feel, and see that he’s interested, and know that if your thoughts and feelings aren’t right he’ll show you it’s so without being angry or stern, or making you feel that he considers you a simpleton or a fool. I like to be reasoned with as if I had some sense; and that’s the way papa does with me; and sometimes he asks my opinion, as if he thought it was worth something.”

“Yes, I know he does; and mine too, and I’m younger than you, and not nearly so far along in my studies. But, oh, Max, let’s be thinking of the tricks you can play with your ventriloquism. What will you do to-night to astonish papa and Mamma Vi?”

“I don’t know; have you any suggestion to make?”

She had several, and was very eager to see one or more of her plans tried. Max had some of his own too, and they made themselves very merry talking them over.

The sunset glow had faded from the sky, but the moon had risen and was flooding the beautiful grounds with silvery light. Suddenly a mocking-bird in a tree close at hand began to pour forth a perfect flood of melody. The children ceased talking to listen to its song.

“Oh, isn’t that delicious music?” cried Lulu, as the bird paused for a moment. “Max, you couldn’t do that, could you?”

“No, indeed,” laughed Max. “I’d give a great deal if I could. But hark, he’s beginning again.”

“It sounds as if he’s praising God,” Lulu remarked, at the next pause; “he sings as if his little heart is so full of joy and thankfulness that he doesn’t know how to express it.”

“Yes,” said Gracie’s voice, close at her side. “I think he’s rejoicing in the beautiful moonlight, Lu; and isn’t it lovely? It makes a rainbow in the spray of the fountain, and I can see the dewdrops glitter in the grass. And look at the fireflies dancing in and out among the trees and bushes.”

“Some of them soaring away above the tree-tops,” put in Max.

“And maybe birdie is rejoicing in the sweet scent of the roses and honeysuckle, the mignonette, the moon-flowers, and others too numerous to mention,” said Lulu. “But where have you been all this time, Gracie?”

“With Elsie and baby Ned. Mamma put them to bed as usual before she and papa went, but she couldn’t stay till Elsie went to sleep, and I offered to stay beside Elsie and sing to her and tell her stories, and mamma said I might, and she would be very much obliged to me for it.”

“That was good in you, Gracie,” Lulu said, pulling Grace down into her lap, and putting her arm round her; “I suppose it was my place to do it, really, as I’m the oldest, but I never thought of it. But you are always such a dear, kind, unselfish girl.”

“And so you are,” said Max and Grace, speaking together, Max adding, “Who was it was so brave the night the burglars got into the strong room, and so unselfish as to prefer to risk her own life, locking them in there, rather than have papa risk his?”

“Lulu, of course,” said a voice that sounded like Evelyn Leland’s, speaking near at hand, on the other side of the little girls, “for who else would have done it?”

Even Lulu was startled enough to turn her head, half-expecting to see her friend standing there, while Grace sprang up and turned in the direction of the sound, exclaiming, “Why, Eva when did you come? I didn’t know you were here! Oh, she isn’t there! How quickly she got away—into the hall, I suppose,” running toward the door. “Eva, Eva,” she called, “where can you have gone to so fast?”

Max and Lulu looked after her with a low, gleeful laugh.

“Another success for you, Max,” Lulu said.

“Oh, I hope Gracie won’t be frightened!” he exclaimed, in sudden fear of the effect of his experiment upon his timid, nervous little sister, and just then Grace came hurrying back, looking a little alarmed and very much perplexed.

“Why,” she said, “where could Eva have gone to? I’ve looked all about and can’t find her.”

“Shall I tell her, Max?” asked Lulu.

“Yes,” he answered, and Lulu went on, “Max has learned to be a kind of Cousin Ronald, Gracie, and we shall have lots of fun because of it, don’t you think so?”

“A ventriloquist, do you mean?” asked Grace in astonishment. “Why, how can he?”

“Because he is so smart, I suppose,” laughed Lulu. “Aren’t you proud of being the sister of such a genius? I am.”

“Yes,” returned Grace promptly. “I always was proud of Maxie. But this astonishes me very much indeed. Oh, I’m ever so glad of it! I’m sure he can make a great deal of fun for himself and us. Does papa know?”

“No,” said Max, “and you mustn’t tell him. When he comes home we’ll see if we can’t have some fun out of him. He’ll enjoy it as much as we will.”

“Of course; and be as proud of you, Maxie, as Lu and I are.”

Just then they saw the carriage, bringing their parents, turn in at the great gates leading from the highway into the Woodburn grounds, and come rapidly up the drive.

It drew up before the entrance, and the captain alighted and handed out his wife.

The children, always delighted to see them return after even the shortest absence, sprang up and ran forward with eager, joyous greetings.

“I hope you have not been lonely, dears?” said Violet, bending down to receive and return an ardent kiss from Grace. “But I must hurry up to the nursery to see how the babies are doing.”

“Papa, sit down in this easy-chair, please,” said Lulu.

“And let me take your hat and hang it on the rack,” added Max.

“And may I get you a glass of ice-water?”

“And I a fan?” asked Lulu and Grace.

“Thank you, my darlings, I do not feel the need of either,” he answered, seating himself and drawing Grace to his knee, Lulu to his side, and putting an arm affectionately around each.

Max drew up a chair close to his father’s side. “Had you a pleasant time, papa?” he asked.

“Very; we happened upon quite a number of the relatives—Dr. Conly and his brother Calhoun, from Roselands, the Fairview family, Grandpa and Grandma Dinsmore, and Grandma Elsie. Some of them were spending the day, while others, like ourselves, had just dropped in for a call.”

At the sound of the carriage-wheels on the driveway, Prince, Max’s big Newfoundland dog, had come rushing round from the back of the house with a joyous welcoming bark. He was devotedly attached to every member of the family, to no one of them more than to the captain. He had followed Max into the hall and out again, and stood close beside him now, evidently considering himself entitled to make one of the little group; pushing himself a little farther in among them, he laid his head on Grace’s lap, wagging his tail in pleased expectancy, and looking up wistfully into the captain’s face.

“Good Prince! good dog!” the captain said kindly, stroking and patting the dog’s head. “How are you to-night, old fellow?”

“Wide awake, and glad to see you home, sir,” were the words that seemed to come from Prince’s own mouth in reply.

“What!” exclaimed the captain, hastily putting Grace off his knee to rise and turn round toward the open hall door, “Cousin Ronald here? Children, why didn’t you tell me he had come?”

He was moving quickly in the direction of the doorway as he spoke, the children exchanging amused glances and finding some difficulty in suppressing an inclination to laugh aloud.

The captain glanced within the hall, saw no one, though it was brilliantly lighted, then turning toward the little group, “Max,” he asked, “where is Mr. Lilburn?”

“I don’t know, papa; not here; at least, I have not seen or heard anything of him.”

“Strange!” said his father, with a look of perplexity. “Ah, I see you are all laughing. Come, if you can explain Prince’s sudden power of speech, do so at once.”

Captain Raymond’s tones were perfectly pleasant; evidently he was not at all angry at the liberty taken with him.

He sat down again, and they crowded round him, Max answering, “Yes, sir”; the little girls, “Max can tell you, papa,” generously resigning to him the pleasure of revealing the secret.

The captain began to have an inkling of the truth. “Out with it, Max,” he said, pretending to be very stern; “so you’ve been playing tricks on your father, have you? I never expected such disrespectful treatment from you.”

Max had dropped his eyes and did not see the twinkle of fun in his father’s.

Coloring deeply, “Papa,” he said in a remorseful tone, “I—I wouldn’t for anything have been disrespectful to you; I didn’t mean it; there’s nobody else I so sincerely respect as I do you. Please forgive me, and—”

“My boy, don’t you see that I am only in jest?” the captain asked, taking his hand and holding it in a kindly pressure. “But come,” he added sportively, “make a clear breast of it now, and let me judge whether you have sinned beyond forgiveness.”

Max answered with a full confession and explanation, making them as brief as possible; and his sisters gave a mirthful account of the exhibitions of his power that he had given them.

“Well, my son,” the captain said, “this newly discovered talent may be made a source of innocent amusement to yourself and others, but I trust you will never use it to injure or annoy—unless the victim of a slight annoyance is to be more than recompensed for it by the after results,” he added in a playful tone, laying his hand affectionately on the boy’s head.

Max heaved a sigh of relief. “I’ll try not to, papa,” he said, with an arch look and smile up into his father’s face, “and you’ll forgive me for tricking you, won’t you?”

“Yes; taking into consideration the extenuating circumstance of its being the first offense.”

“Thank you, sir. But I hope you don’t forbid me to try it on Mamma Vi, one of these times?” returned Max insinuatingly, and with another arch look and smile.

“No, I shall not, as I incline to the opinion that she would rather enjoy it,” laughed his father.

“Oh, Max, when will you do it?” cried Lulu. “Gracie and I will want to be there to see and hear it all, for you know it’s only once you can play the trick on any one person; at least if you try it again they’re very apt to think immediately that it’s you doing it.”

“I’ll take some time when you two girls are by,” said Max; “papa also. But perhaps,” with an inquiring glance at his father, “I’d better not try any more of it to-night.”

“No; it is time now for prayers,” the captain answered. “We will go in, and, Max, you may ring for the servants.”

They all repaired to the library, where Violet and the servants presently came also, and the short service was held.

At its conclusion, as the children were bidding good-night, Violet noticed a large doll sitting in state in its own tiny chair. She picked it up, saying, “Ah, Elsie has forgotten her favorite Fatima, and will probably be crying out for her before morning.”

Max’s eyes twinkled, and he sent a questioning, wishful glance in his father’s direction.

The captain smiled, and gave a nod of acquiescence.

“Where’s my little mamma?” asked a tiny voice, that seemed to issue from Fatima’s lips. “Please take me to my little mamma.”

Violet started and opened her eyes wide in astonishment, then glancing quickly around the room, “Cousin Ronald!” she exclaimed. “But where is he?”

No answer but a half-suppressed giggle from the little girls, and an exchange of amused glances between them, their father, and Max.

“Captain, is Cousin Ronald here? have you seen him? What does it all mean?” Violet asked, piling one question upon another.

“No, my dear, but it seems he has left a representative behind him,” returned her husband pleasantly, laying a hand on Max’s shoulder, and giving him a little playful shake.

“Max!” she cried in fresh astonishment; “is it possible that you can imitate his powers as a ventriloquist so well, Maxie?”

Max modestly repeated the explanation already made to his father and sisters; they gave a laughing account of his exploits witnessed by them, then the captain bade Lulu and Grace say good-night and seek their nests.

“But you, Max, my son,” he added, “may stay a little longer. I have something to say to you.”

CHAPTER VII.

The captain opened his secretary, took a letter from one of its pigeon-holes, glanced over the contents, restored the missive to its place, then turned to Max, who stood patiently waiting by his side.

“We will go out on to the veranda and have our talk there, my boy,” he said, leading the way, Max following, “the air is so much pleasanter there than within doors this warm evening.”

“Yes, sir; perfectly delightful, I think, papa; I don’t know where a lovelier, happier home than ours can be found.”

“Ah, I am very glad you appreciate it, my dear boy,” the captain said, with a pleasant look, beginning to pace the length of the veranda to and fro, Max keeping close at his side, “and I shall miss my eldest hope sadly when the time comes for him to leave the home nest. Have you made up your mind yet as to what calling you would like best to pursue?”

“I have been thinking a great deal about it of late, papa, and if you are willing, and there is an opening for me, I want to go into the navy.”

“I willing? Entirely so. I have not lost my old love for the service, and shall not grudge my son to it.”

“Perhaps I inherit my love for it from you, papa,” remarked Max. “Any way, I know that your having been in it, and hearing you speak so highly of it, has had a good deal to do with my desire to go into it; and your son could hardly fail to be patriotic and full of love to the old flag. Then you have furnished me with so much interesting reading about the doings of our navy in the Revolutionary War, the War of 1812, and the Civil War, that it’s no wonder I feel a strong desire to help in its work if we ever have another one.”

“No, I suppose I have only myself to blame,” his father said pleasantly, “yet I am not at all sure that I should act otherwise if I could go back to the time of your babyhood and begin over again.

“Well, Max, to-day’s mail brought me the offer of an appointment to a naval cadetship for my son, if I desired it. My boy, shall I accept for you?”

“If you think best, papa, I’ll be delighted to have you do it,” Max said, in a joyous tone. “But am I old enough to go this year?”

“Just the right age,” answered his father, half-sighing at the thought of the separation the acceptance of the offered appointment must involve. “But, Max, I fear I may have shown you the pleasant side of the life too exclusively. I must discourse to you of its hardships, before allowing you to decide for or against it.”

“I hope, papa, you don’t think me such a milksop or coward that I’d be frightened at the thought of a little hardship?” Max said, with heightened color. “I’m sure I ought to be willing to stand as much of such things as my father did.”

“No, my boy, I should not be the proud and happy father I am if I were compelled to entertain so mean an opinion of you,” returned the captain, looking down at the boy with a smile of fatherly pride and affection. “Perhaps love blinds me to the faults of my first-born, but to me he seems a son that any man might be proud to call his own; and if ever tempted to an unworthy act, let the remembrance that it would go nigh to break your father’s heart to hear of it restrain you from yielding to the temptation.”

He paused in his walk and laid a hand affectionately on the lad’s shoulder.

“Papa,” returned Max with emotion, “I think no punishment could be too bad for a boy that could grieve such a father as mine. I—I think I’d rather die than know I had hurt you so!”

“I believe it, my son,” responded the captain with feeling; “I have not the least doubt that you have a very strong affection for me, and would be very loath to cause me pain. I hope, too, that you are quite as anxious to please and honor your heavenly Father; much more so, indeed.

“But let us sit down here while I tell you of the hardening process a naval cadet must pass through, and the trials of his after-life as an officer in the service if he be so fortunate as to secure a permanent place in it.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll be glad to hear anything you can tell me about both. I suppose I’m not quite sure of getting into the academy, even if I do accept this offer, am I?”

“No, not quite; there is an examination to pass through, as to both your physical and educational qualifications. To be accepted, a boy must be physically sound and of robust constitution; both of which you are, so far as I can judge; you have never been seriously ill in your life.

“Beside, the applicant must have a sufficient knowledge of reading, writing, spelling, geography, English grammar, United States history, arithmetic, and algebra. You are well grounded in all these, and must review during your summer vacation, under the tutor who has had charge of you for some time past,” he added with playful look and tone.

“Papa,” Max said, a little tremulously, “shall I ever have such another? so kind, so patient, and always so ready to take any amount of trouble to explain things and make them clear to me?”

“It is not at all impossible that you may find one or more who will be all that, my boy,” the captain responded, “but certainly none that can have the same affection for you, the same fatherly joy and pride in seeing your progress; it would not be natural for any other than your own parent.”

“No, sir; I know that; and of course I couldn’t feel the same toward any other teacher.”

“I shouldn’t want you to, Max,” laughed the captain; “I must acknowledge that I couldn’t be quite willing to have my son loving any other man with the same filial affection that he gives me.

“But to return to the subject in hand: you will have to resign many of the luxuries you enjoy at home. You will not be allowed a room to yourself; you must share it with another cadet, and with him take week about in keeping it in the most perfect order; sweeping, dusting, and arranging its contents every morning for inspection; every article will have a place, and must be found there when not in use.

“Your furniture will be severely plain; an iron bedstead, a wooden chair, a washstand, looking-glass, wardrobe, rug, and a table which you will share with your room-mate. You can have no curtains to your windows, no maps or pictures to adorn your walls.”

“I shouldn’t expect the government to provide such things,” remarked Max, “but can’t I take some from home?”

“No; it is not allowed.”

“That seems odd, papa. What harm could it do for a boy to have such things, if his father could afford to provide them?”

“It is because some of the lads may come from very poor families, and the government chooses—very wisely, I think—that all shall fare alike while students in that national college.”

“Yes, to be sure,” returned Max thoughtfully; “I think that’s just as it ought to be; and it will be a trifling hardship to have to do without such things while I’m there.”

“The discipline is very strict,” the captain went on, “but my boy has learned to obey one naval officer, and perhaps will in consequence find it at least comparatively easy to obey others.”

“Yes, sir; I hope so.”

“Your academic standing, number of demerits, and so forth, will be reported to me once a month, and will gratify or distress me according to what they are. I am sure the thought of that will be a restraint upon any inclination my boy may have to idleness or breaches of discipline.”

“I ought to be called an ungrateful wretch if it doesn’t, papa. How long is the course?”

“If appointed, you will have to take an oath to serve for eight years, including the probationary period. After graduating two years are spent at sea, then there is another examination, and if passed successfully and there is a vacancy to be filled, there will be an appointment to the line, and to the marine or the engineer corps of the navy.”

“But if there is no vacancy, papa?”

“The candidate is, in that case, given an honorable discharge, a certificate of graduation, and one year’s pay.”

“I hope I’ll get through all right and that there’ll be a vacancy ready for me to fill,” said Max.

“I hope so, my son, if that is your desire; but don’t forget that there are hardships in a seafaring life that do not fall to the lot of landsmen: many and long separations from their families, exposure to danger from disasters at sea or on foreign shores, and others too numerous to mention at present. Yet it is a life that has many and great attractions for me. But those I have often told you of.”

“Yes, sir; and all you have told me to-night does not frighten me out of my wish; life is very easy here at home, and perhaps it may be good for me to go through some rougher experiences. Don’t you think so, papa?”

“Yes, I rather agree with you in that; a life of luxury and ease is not the best for the development of a strong, manly, self-reliant character.”

“Then you will write and accept for me, will you, sir?”

“Yes.”

“How soon do I go to the academy, papa?”

“In September; and I have a plan for you in the mean time, with which you will be pleased, I think.

“I find I must pay a visit to some property that I own in the far West, and I want my son’s companionship on the trip, supposing he fancies taking it with me.”

The captain looked smilingly into the lad’s eyes as he spoke.

“Oh, papa, how delightful!” cried Max. “Will you really take me with you?”

“Such is certainly my intention, if nothing happens to prevent,” the captain replied, smiling to see how pleased the boy was with the prospect.

“Mamma Vi can hardly be going along on such a trip, I suppose?” Max said inquiringly.

“Oh no! we could not take the babies along, and she would not be willing to leave them.”

“Then are you and I to be the whole party, sir?”

“I have some thought of inviting Lulu to go with us,” replied his father. “Do you think she would like it, and that we two could take proper care of her?”

Max laughed. “I shouldn’t be a bit afraid to trust anybody to your care, sir,” he said, “and I’d do anything I could to help. Beside, I don’t believe Lu’s the sort of girl to give much trouble on such a journey, and I’m sure she’ll be fairly wild with delight when you tell her about it, and that she is to go along.”

“I am of the same opinion, and enjoying the prospect of witnessing her pleasure on hearing the news.

“Well, my son, our talk has been a long one, and it is late; time for a growing boy, such as you, to be in bed. Bid me good-night and go.”

They both had risen to their feet. Captain Raymond held out his hand as he spoke. Max promptly put his into it, saying with a bright, happy, affectionate look up into his father’s face, “Thank you very much, papa, for all your kind plans for me. Is Lu to hear about the journey to-night?”

“I think not,” was the reply; “she is so excitable that I fear such surprising news might keep her awake. I dare say, though, she is already in bed and asleep.”

To make sure of that, he went softly into her room on his way to his own. He rarely failed to look in upon his little girls after they had gone to their rooms for the night, and when he did fail it was a sore disappointment to them.

Lulu was in bed and had fallen into a doze, but woke at his approach, albeit he moved with a very quiet step, and started up to a sitting posture.

“Papa,” she exclaimed in an undertone, mindful not to rouse Grace from her slumbers in the adjoining room, “oh, I’m so glad you came!” throwing her arms round his neck as he reached the bedside and bent down to give her a kiss. “You must have talked a long time to Maxie. I was really growing jealous,” she added, with a laugh.

“Were you?” he asked, seating himself on the edge of the bed and drawing her into his arms. “Isn’t Maxie entitled to a fair share of papa’s attentions, as well as of his love?”

“Oh, yes, indeed! and I wouldn’t want to rob him of a bit of either; but I do so love the little bedtime chat with you that I’d rather miss ’most anything else.”

“Well, dear child, perhaps we can have an unusually long talk in the morning to comfort you for the loss to-night. So go to sleep as fast as you can, that you may be ready for an early waking,” he said. Then with another kiss and fervent, “Good-night, my darling, and may He who neither slumbers nor sleeps have you in his kind care and keeping,” he left her.

CHAPTER VIII.

Lulu’s first waking thought was of her father’s promise.

“Perhaps he is going to tell me what he and Maxie were talking about last night,” she said to herself. “Likely it was something of importance to keep them so long. I wonder what? Maybe about going to the seashore, or somewhere, for the hot months, as we always do.”

She slipped out of bed and began a brisk toilet, determined to be ready to receive her father whenever he might come.

She and Gracie were together in their own little sitting-room looking over their tasks for the day, when hearing his approaching footsteps they hastily laid aside their books and ran to meet him.

“Good-morning, my darlings; you look well and bright,” he said, bending down and opening his arms to receive them.

“Good-morning, dear papa,” they answered, running into them, and putting theirs about his neck. “Yes, we are well, and hope you are too,” hugging and kissing him with ardent affection.

“Now, papa, won’t you give me that long talk you said I should have this morning?” pleaded Lulu.

“Yes; don’t I always keep my promises?” he asked, taking possession of an easy-chair and allowing them to seat themselves one upon each knee.

“Yes, indeed you do, papa; sometimes when I’d rather you wouldn’t,” returned Lulu laughingly.

“Would you be willing to lose faith in your father’s word, dear child?” he asked, with sudden gravity.

“No, papa; no indeed!” she answered earnestly; “that would be worse than being punished, when I deserve it, for naughtiness that you’ve said you’d have to punish me for.”

“I trust there will never again be any call for me to keep such promises,” he said caressing her. “You have been very good for some time past, and intend to keep on trying to be so, do you not?”

“Yes, sir; but I’m afraid the badness that I still feel inside sometimes will crop out again one of these days,” she said, half-sadly, half-jestingly.

“The same danger threatens your father, too,” he said, “and the only safety for either of us lies in constant watching and prayer.”

“But, papa, how can we be praying all the time?”

“The Bible,” he replied, “bids us ‘Pray without ceasing,’ not meaning that we are to live on our knees, or with words of prayer always on our lips, for that would be impossible without neglecting other duties enjoined in God’s Word—such, for example, as ‘Six days shalt thou labor and do all thy work,’ ‘Distributing to the necessity of saints,’ and so forth—but that we are to live near to God and with so much of the spirit of prayer in our hearts that they will be often sending up swift, silent petitions, or songs of praise and thankfulness.

“Well, Lulu, I know you are curious to hear what Max and I were conversing about last night.”

“Oh, yes, sir, indeed! if you are willing I should know,” she responded eagerly.

“Quite willing,” he said. “It was of his choice of a business or profession. I had received a letter offering an appointment for my son as a naval cadet; so, as I wish Max to choose for himself, it was necessary for him to decide, and to do so promptly, whether he would accept that offer or decline it.”

“Oh! which did he choose to do, papa?”

“He said he had quite made up his mind to go into the navy, if he might, and asked me to write an acceptance for him; which I did before I went to my bed.”

“You are always so prompt, papa,” remarked Lulu, putting her arm round his neck and gazing with loving admiration into his face.

“Yes,” he said, “I must try to be all I would have my children, for ‘example is better than precept.’”

“And Maxie will have to go away and not be in school with us any more?” Grace said, half-inquiringly, tears filling her eyes.

“Yes, daughter,” her father answered with a slight sigh; “boys can’t be always kept at home; but I hope to keep my girls a long while yet,” he added, drawing them into a close embrace as he spoke.

“Dear, dear! how we will miss Max!” exclaimed Lulu, “but then how nice it will be when he comes home for his vacations!”

“So it will,” said the captain. “But now I have something else to tell you; something which concerns you, Lulu, a little more nearly.”

“I hope it isn’t that I am to go away too! you can’t make a cadet of me, though Aunt Beulah called me a tom-boy when I was with her,” Lulu remarked laughingly.

“No; but there are other places more suitable for girls,” her father replied, with a grave look and tone that she was at a loss to interpret.

“Oh, papa, you can’t mean that really I—I’m going away too?”

“Perhaps some better instructor than your present one might be found for you,” he began meditatively, then paused, as if considering the matter.

“Oh, no, no, no!” she cried, “there couldn’t be a better one, I’m sure, and I just love to be taught by you, and couldn’t bear to have anybody else teach me; ’specially if I had to go away from you. And wouldn’t you miss me a little, papa?” she asked, with tears in her voice and hiding her face on his shoulder.

“Yes; a great deal more than a little should I miss the darling daughter always so ready, even eager, to run papa’s errands and wait upon him lovingly,” he said, pressing his lips again and again to her cheek. “In fact, her companionship is so sweet to me that, having to go upon a long journey, I would prefer to take her with me.

“But I shall not force her inclination; if you would rather stay at home with Mamma Vi and the little ones, you may do so.”

“Oh, papa, what do you mean?” she asked, looking up in joyful surprise, not unmixed with perplexity. “Won’t you please explain?”

“Yes; I am going out to the far West on a business trip, shall take Max with me, and you, too, if you care to go.”

“Care to go! wouldn’t I!” she cried, clapping her hands in delight, and half smothering him with caresses. “Oh, I think I never dreamed of anything so, so, so delightful! Papa, you are such a dear, dear father! so, so good and kind to me! Oh, I ought to be the best girl that ever was made! and if I’m not it shan’t be for want of trying.”

But tears were rolling down Gracie’s cheeks, and with a little sob she drew out her handkerchief to wipe them away.

“O Gracie, dear, I wish you could go too!” exclaimed Lulu.

“If she were only strong enough,” her father said, caressing her with great tenderness, “she too should have her choice of going or staying; but I know the fatigue of the journey would be more than she could endure.”

“I don’t want to have a journey,” sobbed Grace; “but how can I do without papa? without Maxie? and without Lulu? all gone at once?”

“But mamma and the babies will be left, and you love them dearly, I know.”

“Yes, papa, but I love Max and Lu, and oh, I love you better than anybody else, in all the world!” clinging about his neck and laying her little wet cheek to his.

“Sweet words for papa to hear from your lips, darling,” he returned, holding her close and kissing her many times, “and papa’s love for you is more than tongue can tell.”

“Then why will you go away and leave me, papa?”

“Because business makes it necessary for me to go, darling, and you are not strong enough to go with me. But cheer up; it will be very pleasant at home with mamma and the babies; Grandma Elsie and the others coming over from Ion and Fairview very often; and after a while you will all be going to some nice seaside resort, where I hope to join you with Max and Lulu before it is time to come home again.”

“That will be nice, papa,” she said a little more cheerfully.

“And how would you like to get a letter from papa now and then? from Max and Lulu too? and to answer them? You can write very nicely now, and a talk on paper to your father will be better than none at all, won’t it?”

“Oh, I’d enjoy it ever so much, if you’ll excuse the mistakes, papa!” she exclaimed with animation.

“Indeed, I will,” he said; and just then the breakfast-bell rang.

Violet’s face as she met them in the breakfast-room was not quite so sunny as husband and children were accustomed to see it. She was feeling very much as Gracie did about the captain’s contemplated absence from home; also it was a sad thought to her that Max was not likely ever to be again a permanent resident of his father’s house; he would be at home now and then for a vacation, but that probably would be all, for after graduating he would go out into the world to make a career for himself; and it seemed hard to give him up, for she was fond of the lad—her husband’s son, and like a dear younger brother to her. She noted the traces of tears on Gracie’s cheeks with a fellow-feeling for the child’s distress.

“So papa has been telling you, dear?” she said, bending down to kiss the little girl. “Well, we won’t fret; we’ll try to just keep thinking of the joyful time we shall have when they come back to us.”

“Oh, that will be nice, won’t it?” exclaimed Lulu. “I’m just wild with delight at the prospect of going, but I know I’ll be ever so glad to get back; for this is such a dear, sweet home.”

“And papa will be in it again when you get back; you’ll have him all the time going and coming. I’m glad for you, Lu,” Grace said, smiling affectionately on her sister, through her tears.

But they had taken their places at the table, and all were quiet for a moment while the captain craved a blessing on their food.

Lulu asked a question the instant she was free to do so. “Papa, when will we start on our journey?”

“In about a week. Can you get ready in that time?”

“Oh, yes, indeed, sir! I don’t believe I have anything to do but pack my trunk. I have plenty of nice clothes and pretty things ready to wear!”

“Yes, plenty of them, such as they are; but you will need something plainer and more durable than the dresses you wear at home.”

“Shall I, papa?” she asked, in surprise and dismay. “Surely, papa, you won’t want me to look shabby, and I’ve heard that people dress quite as handsomely and fashionably away out West as they do here or anywhere else.”

“That may be so, daughter,” he said, “but sensible people dress according to circumstances; suitably for time, place, and occupation; for instance, a sensible lady wouldn’t put on a ball dress in the morning and when about to engage in domestic duties, any more than she would wear a calico wrapper to a ball.”

“Nor I wouldn’t think of doing either of those things, papa,” she returned laughing. “But you don’t expect to set me to doing housework out there, do you?”

“Perhaps we are to live in a tent and have you for our housekeeper, Lu,” suggested Max.

“Oh, is that it?” she exclaimed, with a look of delight. “Oh, that would be fun! Papa, are we to do so?”

“I have no such scheme in contemplation,” he said, smiling kindly into her excited face. “I rather think we will find a place to board, and that it will not be one where you will find occasion for much fine dressing. Beside I shall not care to take any one tricked out in laces and ribbons with me to climb mountains, roam through forests, or go down into mines, or to ride an Indian or Mexican pony, or a mule, over rough roads, and that not always in fine weather.”

“O papa, are you going to let me do such things as that!” she cried, laying down knife and fork to clap her hands in glee, and feeling a strong inclination to jump up and dance about the floor.

“Some, or possibly all of them, if I can have you in suitable attire,” he answered; “but certainly not otherwise.”

“What additions to her wardrobe do you wish made, my dear?” asked Violet.

“Two or three dresses of some material not easily torn or soiled; flannel perhaps; and they must be plainly and strongly made, no flounces, furbelows, or trimming of a kind that would be liable to catch on twigs or bushes or points of rock.”

“I shall look like a fright, I’m afraid,” remarked Lulu uneasily, and coloring deeply; “but I’m willing to for the sake of pleasing you, papa, and being taken everywhere with you.”

“That’s right, dear child,” he said, giving her a smile of approval.

“And I think you will look very nice and neat, Lu,” said Violet. “My dear, mamma and I are going into the city this morning for a little shopping, and if you can trust our taste and judgment we will willingly purchase the goods for Lulu’s dresses. Then I will set Alma to work upon them at once, and try to get Susan Allen to help her; for I think it will take both to finish them in season.”

“An excellent plan, my dear,” the captain replied, “and I shall be exceedingly obliged if you will undertake it, for I should sooner trust your and mother’s taste and judgment in such things than my own.”

“Can’t I go along and help choose my own dresses, papa?” pleaded Lulu.

“If it didn’t involve neglect of lessons, you might, daughter,” the captain answered in a very kind tone, “but as that is the case, we must leave the selection to your mamma and Grandma Elsie.”

A slight cloud gathered on Lulu’s brow, but it cleared again, when Max said, “You know, Lu, our school days together are almost over, and you don’t want to miss any of them; at least I don’t, for I shall never have another teacher so good at explaining, so kind and so fond of his pupils, as papa.”

The lad’s voice trembled a little with the concluding words, in spite of himself.

“I’m sure you won’t, Max, and I’m sorry for you,” returned Lulu, with a slight sigh; “for myself too, that I’m not to have your company in the school-room after this week.”

“Please don’t talk about it,” begged Grace, hastily wiping away a tear. “I’ll just have to try not to think of it, or I’ll be crying all the time.”

“Which would not be at all good for your eyes,” added her father, “so you would better take your mamma’s advice and turn your thoughts upon pleasant subjects. I have something to suggest; make out a list of all the toys, books, and other presents you would like to have (supposing some fairy should come and offer to supply them),” he interpolated with playful look and tone, “the places you would like to visit, and all the agreeable ways of spending your time this summer that you can manage to contrive; and when your list is done let me see it.”

Grace knew her father well enough to feel quite certain that the making out of such a list at his suggestion would not be labor lost.

“I will, papa,” she said, smiling through her tears; “I think I’ll begin this afternoon, soon as my lessons are learned.”

Lulu found no small difficulty in fixing her attention upon her tasks that morning; her thoughts would fly off, now to the Naval Academy, where her brother was likely to be domiciled in the fall, now to the far West, with the fresh pleasures there awaiting her father, Max, and herself.

Glancing toward her the captain saw that, though a book lay open on the desk before her, her eyes were fixed on vacancy. He called her to come to him. She started, coloring deeply, rose, and obeyed.

“You are not studying,” he said, in a grave, though not unkindly, tone.

“No, sir; I meant to, but—O papa, I just can’t study when I have so much else to think about.”

“Can’t is a lazy word, my daughter,” he replied. “You have a strong will—which is not altogether a bad thing, though it has given both you and me a good deal of pain and trouble in past days. I want you to exert it now and force your truant thoughts to fix themselves upon the business in hand. Will you not? because it is your duty, and to please your father who loves you so dearly?”

“Indeed, I will, papa; and perhaps I shall succeed if I try with all my might,” she answered, holding up her face for a kiss, which he gave very heartily.

Returning to her seat, she set to work with such earnestness and determination that when summoned to recite she was able to do so to the entire satisfaction of both her father and herself.

Max and Grace did equally well, and tutor and scholars withdrew from the school-room in a happy frame of mind.

A carriage was coming up the drive, bringing Grandma Elsie and Mrs. Raymond on their return from the proposed shopping expedition, and at once Lulu was all excitement to see what they had bought for her.

“May I see my dresses, Mamma Vi?” she asked, following Violet and her mother through the hall and up the wide stairway.

“Yes, Lu, certainly,” replied Violet, “though I’m afraid you will not think them very pretty to look at,” she added, with a deprecatory smile. “You know I could only try to carry out your father’s wishes and directions.”

“And that I am sure is just what a little girl who loves her father so dearly, and has such confidence in his judgment, would wish to have done,” Grandma Elsie remarked, in a pleasant tone. “I think the goods we have selected will make up into very neat dresses, entirely suitable for the occasions on which you expect to wear them, Lulu, my dear child.”

“Yes, Grandma Elsie, and I mean to be satisfied, even if they don’t look pretty to me, because I know that you and papa and Mamma Vi are much wiser than I, and if papa is satisfied with my appearance, I suppose it really doesn’t make any difference what other folks think,” returned Lulu, seating herself on a sofa in her mamma’s boudoir and undoing the package handed her by a servant.

“Three flannel dresses—a dark brown, a dark blue, and a dark green; all beautiful shades and nice, fine material,” she commented. “I like them better than I expected to, but—”

“Well, dear?” inquired Violet, as the little girl paused without finishing her sentence.

“They are very pretty shades,” repeated Lulu, “but I think red—a dark shade, most black in some lights—would be more becoming to my complexion. Don’t you, papa?” looking up into his face as he came and stood by her side.

“Possibly,” he answered, sitting down and drawing her to his knee, “but there might be times when it would prove dangerous. Some animals have a great hatred to that color, and with a red dress on you might be chased by a turkey gobbler or some large animal,” he concluded laughingly, hugging her up in his arms and kissing her first on one cheek, then on the other.

“Oh, yes! I didn’t think of that!” she exclaimed with a merry laugh.

“Beside,” he continued in the same sportive tone, “so thoroughly patriotic a young American as my Lulu surely does not want to be a redcoat?”

“No, papa, no, indeed! that would never do for a blue-jacket’s daughter, would it? Blue’s the right color, after all, and I’m glad that it was the color chosen for one of the dresses.”

“And now the next thing is to go up to the sewing-room and have them cut and fitted,” said Violet. “Alma is there, and will attend to it at once.”

“And we’re going to have Mrs. Allen and Susan here to help too, aren’t we?” queried Lulu, leaving her father’s knee and gathering up the new purchases.

“There will be some parts they can work on at home,” said Violet.

“You and I will drive over with some work for them this afternoon, Lulu,” said the captain; “and call at Fairview and Ion on our way home, so that you can have the pleasure of telling your little friends, Evelyn and Rosie, about the trip you are expecting to take. Here, give me that bundle; it is a trifle heavy for you to carry, and I’ll go with you to the sewing-room.”

“Oh, you’re just the goodest papa!” she returned merrily, readily yielding up the package, putting her hand into his, and dancing along by his side as he led her to the sewing-room; “you’re always contriving something to give me pleasure. It’ll be fun to tell the girls, and I’m in ever such a hurry to have a chance.”

“Yes, my daughter Lulu is very apt to be in a hurry,” he said, smiling down indulgently upon her, “and it is well not to dilly dally when there is anything to be done, yet sometimes wisest to make haste slowly.”

“Papa, don’t tell Alma or Susan that, please,” she whispered, in a merry aside—for they were nearing the open door of the sewing-room—“because I want them to make haste fast this time.”

“No, only that they must be deliberate enough to make sure of doing the work right; for otherwise it would but be the ‘more haste the less speed.’”

“Yes, sir; I remember that old saw, and how I’ve sometimes found it true.”

In the neat living-room of their cottage home Mrs. Allen and Susan sat that bright June afternoon, the mother busily plying her needle, the daughter running a sewing-machine.

The little garden was gay with flowers and the vines over the porch were in full bloom; the drowsy hum of the bees came pleasantly in at the open door and window, accompanied by the sweet scents of the flowers, and now and then from an adjacent field or wood the cheery bird call, “Bob White! Bob White!”

“How delightful it is here,” remarked Susan, stopping her machine for a moment to readjust her work; “the air is so sweet; the sounds are too. I like to hear that bird calling out so cheerily.”

“Yes,” rejoined her mother, “it is a very agreeable change from the old sounds of scolding, quarrelling, screaming, and crying that used to assail our ears in our former abode.”

“In Rose Alley? Yes, I was just thinking of that, and how hot and stifling the air must be there to-day. O mother, I do believe I should have been left alone in the world before now if we had had to stay on there! When I think of that I feel that I owe a debt of gratitude to Mrs. Travilla and Captain Raymond that I can never, never pay.”

“To them and to Him who put it into their hearts to do such great kindness and gave them the ability,” responded her mother. “I feel like another woman—find it a pleasure to busy myself with this beautiful napery. See, I am at the last dozen napkins, and will be ready to begin on those linen sheets presently. Yes, this is easy and pleasant employment, yet I should prefer something that would keep me out of doors most of the day. Dr. Conly says it would be the best thing for my health, and I have a plan in my head that perhaps I may be able to carry out if our kind friends approve, and will give me a little assistance at the start.”

“What is that, mother?” asked Susan; then glancing from the door, “Oh, there is the Woodburn carriage!”

She sprang up and ran down the path to open the gate for its occupants and bid them welcome.

They were Grandma Elsie, the captain, and Lulu. They greeted her with a pleasant, “Good-afternoon,” and kindly inquiries about her mother; then Lulu, handing out a bundle, said, “I’ve brought you some more work, Susan; parts of dresses for me. Alma says they are all cut and basted, so that you won’t need any directions about them; and Mamma Vi says you may please lay aside other work and do this as promptly as you can.”

“Yes, Miss Lulu; but won’t you all ’light and come in? A bit of chat with you and the captain always does mother so much good, Mrs. Travilla.”

They had not intended doing so, but that plea was powerful to Grandma Elsie’s kind heart.

“Yes, I can spare a few minutes,” she said, in reply to the captain’s inquiring look.

He at once alighted, assisted her to do so, and then Lulu.

They made only a short call, yet it was long enough for Grandma Elsie’s sympathetic listening and questioning to draw from Mrs. Allen the secret of her desire for outdoor employment of a kind not too laborious for her slender strength, and her idea that she might find it in bee-raising, had she the means to buy a hive, a swarm of the insects, and a book of instructions.

“You shall have them all,” Grandma Elsie said, “everything that is necessary to enable you to give the business a fair trial.”

“Many thanks, dear Mrs. Travilla,” returned the poor woman, tears of gratitude springing to her eyes; “and if you will kindly consider whatever you may advance me as a loan, I accept your kind offer most gladly.”

“It shall be as you wish,” Mrs. Travilla replied, “but with the distinct understanding that the loan is not to be repaid till you can do it with perfect ease.”

“And I should be glad to have a share in the good work,” remarked the captain. “Let it be my part to gather information on bee culture for you, and help in raising flowers for them to gather honey from. Doubtless they fly long distances in search of such, but it must be an advantage to have plenty near at hand.”

“Ah, sir,” returned Mrs. Allen, “you too are always ready to do every kindness in your power. I hope God, our heavenly Father, will abundantly repay you both. I always think of you when reading the words of the psalmist, ‘Blessed is he that considereth the poor’; for you give not only money, but time and thought and sympathy, considering their needs and how you may best supply them.”

While this talk went on in the parlor Lulu was telling Susan, out in the living-room, what the dresses were needed for, and going into ecstasies of delight over the prospect of her journey to the far West with her father and Max.

Susan sympathized in her pleasure, and promised to do her best toward getting her dresses done in season.

“To Fairview,” was the captain’s order to the coachman, when again they were seated in the carriage.

It was but a few minutes’ drive, and on their arrival Lulu was pleased to find Rosie there with Evelyn, so that she could have the satisfaction of telling her news to both together, and enjoying their surprise. It was quite as great as she had expected.

“How splendid!” cried Rosie. “You are a fortunate girl, Lu. I wonder if I couldn’t persuade mamma and grandpa to get up some such expedition and take me along!”

“I’m very glad for you, Lu, and hope it will be one long pleasure from beginning to end,” Eva said; “you couldn’t have a more delightful care-taker than your father, and Max will be good company too. But, oh dear, how I shall miss you!” she concluded with a sigh, putting her arms round Lulu and holding her in a close embrace.

“And I you,” said Lulu. “But when we talk that way at home papa says we should not think about that, but about the joy of reunion when we get home again.”

“Well, Gracie, what progress have you made with that list? Is it ready for papa’s inspection?” the captain asked, as the children clustered about him on the veranda after tea that evening.

“I’ve put down some things, papa, but maybe I can think up some more before long, if I may have a little more time,” she answered, with an arch smile up into his face.

“You can have all the time you want, darling,” he said, caressing her; “but suppose you let me see what you have already set down.”

At that she drew a half-sheet of note-paper from her pocket and put it into his hand.

He glanced over it and a look of amusement stole over his face. “A spade, rake, and hoe! I thought you had garden tools,” he said.

“Yes, papa, but these are to be big ones for Sam Hill to make his mother’s garden with. He says he always has to borrow now, and the neighbors get tired lending to him.”

“Ah, very well, you shall have money to buy them for him. But what do you want with twenty yards of calico and a piece of muslin?”

“Sam needs shirts, and his mother some dresses, papa.”

“And the slates and books are for the younger children?”

“Yes, sir; and those other things are for the Jones children. You know their father doesn’t buy them anything to wear, and sometimes he takes the clothes other folks give them and sells them to buy liquor.”

“Yes, it is very sad, and we must do the best we can for them. But you have not put down anything for my little Grace; is there nothing she would like to have?”

“I don’t need anything at all, papa. I have so many, many nice things already.”

“But I want to give you something to help to keep you from being lonely while Lulu is enjoying herself in the far West. Ah, I see there is something! What is it?”

“A canary bird, papa, that will sing beautifully.”

“Dear child,” he said, holding her close, “you shall have the finest that money can buy; a pair of them; and the handsomest cage we can find. I shall take you to the city to-morrow and let you choose them for yourself.”

“Oh, how nice, papa!” she cried, clapping her hands in delight; “then they will have a pretty home and be company for each other. I was afraid one would be lonesome all by itself. I was thinking, too, that I’d be ever so lonely, at night especially, without Lu; but mamma says she will take me in with her while you are gone.”

“Very kind and thoughtful in mamma,” was the captain’s comment.

“You’ll take me to buy them to-morrow afternoon, will you, papa?” she asked.

“Yes; if nothing happens to prevent.”

“And mayn’t Lu and Max go along?”

“Certainly; if they want to.”

“Thank you, papa; I’ll be very much pleased to go,” Lulu said; Max adding, “I too. So there’ll be four of us to choose your two birds, Gracie.”

“Perhaps we may be able to persuade your mamma to go too,” the captain said, as at that moment Violet joined them, “and then there’ll be five of us.”

“Go where, my dear?” asked Violet, seating herself by his side.

He explained, and she accepted the invitation, with the remark that she did not want to lose his company for a moment of the week he would be with her before starting on his journey to the West.

CHAPTER IX.

They all enjoyed their trip to the city the next day, Grace perhaps more than any of the others. She was allowed to buy everything on her list, and some others she thought of while on the way or in the stores, selecting them herself.

But the first business attended to was the purchase of the canaries. They succeeded in getting a beautiful pair, fine singers, and a very handsome cage. Grace was full of delight, and her father pleased himself with the hope that the new pets would save her from the loneliness Lulu’s absence would otherwise have caused her.

They left her all drowned in tears when they set out upon their long journey, but, as Violet reported to the captain in a letter written on the evening of that same day, the canaries set up a song so melodious and full of joy that she presently dried her eyes and hushed her sobs to listen.

Violet herself indulged in a few tears over the parting, but for the sake of Grace and the little ones soon forced herself to assume an air of cheerfulness.

Max and Lulu were sorry for those left behind, yet so delighted with their own good fortune in being permitted to accompany their father, that they speedily recovered from the sadness of leave-taking and were never in better spirits.

It was on Saturday morning they began their journey; the Lord’s day was spent in a strange city, very much as they would have spent it at home, and on Monday they started on again, taking a through train that would carry them to their destination, and on which they spent several days and nights, finding excellent accommodations for eating and sleeping.

The captain watched over his children with tenderest care—Lulu especially, as being the younger and of the weaker sex—and Max was constantly on the alert to wait upon both her and his father.

The journey, the longest the children had ever taken, was without accident; there was no detention, and the luxurious appointments of the cars prevented it from being very fatiguing.

They made some pleasant acquaintances, among them an English gentleman and his son,—a lad about Max’s age.

Mr. Austin, a man of wealth and refinement, was travelling for his health and to see the country, and had brought his son with him as a companion; thinking, too, as he explained to Capt. Raymond, after they had arrived at terms of comparative intimacy, that travel in a foreign land would be improving to the boy in an educational way.

The acquaintance began with the children. Albert had been watching Lulu admiringly for a day or so, from the opposite side of the car.

“That’s a pretty little girl over there, papa,” he at length remarked in an undertone. “I fancy she’s English too.”

“I think you are mistaken,” returned his father. “The gentleman is assuredly an American, and from his manner toward the children I fancy they are his own. There is a strong resemblance, also, between the three.”

“But she has quite an English complexion, sir; so rosy.”

“Yes, but such complexions are not so very unusual among the American women and girls.”

“No, sir, perhaps not. The boy’s a nice-looking fellow and has very gentlemanly manners. Don’t you think so, sir?”

“Yes; they are evidently people of education and refinement. But what is the train stopping for?” glancing from the window. “Ah, I see; they are taking on a fresh supply of fuel for the engine.”

The same question had been just asked by Lulu and answered by her father in the same way, as he rose and took his hat from the rack overhead.

“You are going out, papa?” Lulu said inquiringly. “Oh, don’t get left, please!”

“I certainly do not intend to,” he answered with a look of amusement. “I only want to stretch my limbs for a moment, and shall not go any distance from the train.”

“Oh, can’t we go too?” she asked.

“Max may, but you, I think, would better content yourself with moving about the car.”

“May I go out on the platform?”

“No, decidedly not,” he answered, in a firm though kind tone, then hurried out, Max following.

Lulu rose and stood at the window, watching for their appearance outside. They were there in a moment, right below it.

“Papa,” she called softly.

He looked up with a smile. “Dear child,” he said, “move about the car, it will rest you. I know you are tired sitting so long.”

He walked on, and she stepped out into the aisle and promenaded it up and down several times, stopping occasionally, now at one window, now at another, to gaze out over the landscape; a seemingly boundless prairie on one side, with a great herd of cattle feeding in the distance; on the other, woods and low-lying hills; no sign of human habitation or of human occupancy anywhere to be seen, except the little coaling station before which the train was standing.

The car was nearly empty now, almost all the passengers, excepting a few children and those in charge of them, having, like her father and Max, taken advantage of the halting of the train to get a little outdoor exercise, Mr. Austin and Albert among the rest.

The latter, however, returned almost immediately. As he stepped in at the car door his eyes fell upon a dainty white pocket-handkerchief lying on the floor. He stooped and picked it up, glancing around the car in search of the owner.

Lulu, standing at the window near by, with her back toward him, seemed most likely to be the one, and he approached her at once, asking in a polite tone, “Is not this your property, Miss? Excuse the liberty, but I found it lying on the floor, and it seemed likely to belong to you,” holding out the article as he spoke.

Lulu had turned round at the first sound of his voice. “Thank you,” she said; “yes, it is mine, for there is my name in the corner; in papa’s own handwriting.”

“I’m glad to have had the happiness of restoring it to you,” he said. “How extremely warm it is to-day. Do you not think so?”

“Yes; especially now that the train is standing still, but when it is in motion there’s a nice breeze.”

“There are some things I like vastly about America,” he went on, “but the climate does not suit me so well as that of old England; it’s so hot and dry, you know; at least, don’t you think so?”

She gave him a slightly puzzled look. “I—I believe I’ve heard that the weather in England is rather cooler in summer, and that it rains very often; but I never was there.”

“Why, aren’t you a little English girl?”

“English?” she exclaimed, opening her eyes wide in surprise, “no, indeed, I’m American, every inch of me!” with a flash of joy in her dark eyes and a little exultant laugh, as though to be able to call him or herself an American were the proudest boast any one could make.

“I meant it as a compliment, most assuredly,” he said, coloring with a sense of mingled annoyance and mortification. “I’m very proud of being English.”

“And that’s quite right,” she said; “papa says each one should love his own native land above all others.”

“Certainly. But you are of English descent surely.”

“I really don’t know,” laughed Lulu. “I know that my parents, and grandparents, and great-grandparents were all born in America, and I never thought of asking about my ancestors any farther back than that.”

“We think a great deal of family in England; it’s a grand thing—a thing to be proud of—if one can boast of a long line of noble ancestors.”

“Yes; papa says the knowledge that we’re descended from honest, upright, pious people is something to be very thankful for. He says it’s easier for such folks to be good—I mean honest and truthful and all that—than it is for the descendants of wicked people.”

“Perhaps so; though I never thought of it before,” and with a slight bow he withdrew to his own seat, for the passengers were flocking in again as the call, “All aboard!” warned them that the train was about to start.

Captain Raymond was among the first, and just in time to perceive that the English lad had been making acquaintance with his little girl. He was not altogether pleased. His countenance was unusually grave as he took Lulu’s hand and led her back to her seat. But there was too much noise and confusion at the moment for anything like conversation, and he made no remark.

Lulu felt that he was displeased, and several times her eyes were lifted to his face for an instant with a timid, half-imploring, half-deprecating glance.

At length as the train began to move more quietly, he bent down and spoke close to her ear. “I do not want a daughter of mine to be too forward in making acquaintance with strangers, especially men and boys. I would have her always modest and retiring. But I will not blame you unheard, dear child. Tell me about it.”

“I didn’t make the first advances, papa,” she said, putting her arm around his neck, her lips close to his ear. “Please don’t think I could be so bold. I had dropped my handkerchief and didn’t know it till the boy picked it up and handed it to me. He behaved in a very gentlemanly way, and when I had thanked him he began to talk about the weather, and presently asked me if I wasn’t an English girl. Just think of it, papa!” she added, with a gleeful laugh.

“And what did you say to that?” he asked, with an amused look; “that you were not, but wished you were?”

“Oh, papa, no, indeed! wish I was English? or anything else but American? I’m sure you know I don’t.”

“Yes,” he returned, putting his arm about her waist and giving her an affectionate hug. “I am happy in the knowledge that all my darlings are intensely patriotic.”

“Because you’ve taught us to be so—to love our dear native land and the beautiful old flag, the emblem of our nation’s glory!” she responded, her cheeks flushing and her eyes sparkling.

Max sitting directly in front of them, had caught the last two sentences of their colloquy.

“Yes, papa,” he said, “every one of us is that; even Baby Ned laughs and crows and claps his hands when he looks up at the flag waving in the breeze. I noticed it at Ion, on Grandma Elsie’s semi-centennial, where they had so many floating from the veranda and tree-tops.”

“Ah!” laughed the captain, “that was doubtless an evidence of good taste, but hardly of patriotism in so young a child.”

Mr. Austin was beginning to share his son’s interest in the Raymonds, and the two had been furtively watching the little scene, attracted by the animated expression of the faces of the captain, Max, and Lulu, as they talked.

“They seem a happy and affectionate trio,” Mr. Austin remarked to Albert.

“Yes, sir; and you were right about their being Americans. I asked the little girl if she wasn’t English, and to my astonishment she seemed almost indignant at the bare idea.”

“Ah, indeed! then I fancy she has never seen England.”

“No, sir, she said she never had; but if you had seen the look in her eyes when she told me she was every inch an American, you would hardly expect even a sight of old England to make her change her mind.”

“It’s a great country, certainly; immensely larger than our favored isle; and had it been our birthplace, it is quite possible we might have shared her feeling; but as it is, we assuredly looked upon Great Britain as the most favored land the sun shines on.”

“And he shines always upon some part of the empire,” responded Albert, with proudly beaming eyes.

It was not until in the afternoon of the next day the Raymonds reached their destination,—Minersville, a town not yet three years old, that had sprung up within that period of time, upon a tract of land owned by the captain, and grown with a rapidity that might well remind one of Jonah’s gourd, “which came up in a night.” It was all the result of the discovery of gold in the immediate vicinity. The mine—a very productive one—was still largely owned by Captain Raymond, also the greater part of the town, and a coal mine at no great distance from the place.

The two yielded him a large income—augmented by the fortunate investment of very considerable sums realized on the sales of stock and town lots; so that he was indeed a wealthy man.

He and Mr. Austin had made acquaintance by this time, and were mutually pleased. The same thing had happened with their sons, and the Englishman, after learning from the captain what was his destination, the history of Minersville, and something of the opportunities and facilities for hunting bears, deer, and other game in that region, had decided to make a halt there for a few days or weeks, Captain Raymond having given him a cordial invitation to inspect the mines and join him in hunting expeditions.

The town already boasted several thousand inhabitants, two churches, a bank, post-office, a fine public school building, dry goods and grocery stores, mills, factories, and two hotels.

To one of these last went Mr. Austin and Albert, but Captain Raymond—particularly on account of having his children with him—preferred a private boarding-house, and, through his business agent and mine-superintendent, Mr. John Short, had already engaged rooms with a Scotch lady, Mrs. McAlpine by name, whom Short recommended as a good housekeeper and one who kept an excellent table.

Our party had scarcely left the train when a gentlemanly looking man approached, and lifting his hat, said, “My name is Short. Do I address Captain Raymond?”

“That is my name, sir,” rejoined the captain, offering his hand, which the other took and shook heartily.

“Glad to meet you, sir; very glad; have often wished you would come out and see your property here for yourself. It’s well worth looking after, I assure you.”

“I am quite convinced of that,” the captain said, with a smile. “Also I do not doubt that it has been well looked after by my agent, Mr. Short.”

“Thanks, sir,” returned Short, bowing and smiling in acknowledgment. “And these are the son and daughter you wrote me you would bring with you?” he remarked, with an inquiring glance at the children.

“Yes,” replied the captain, looking down at the two with fatherly pride and affection. “Max and Lulu are their names. I am so domestic a man that I could not persuade myself to leave all my family behind when expecting to be absent so long from home.”

“Yes, sir; I’m not surprised at that. Well, sir, I think Mrs. McAlpine will make you comfortable. She has two sets of boarders, mill operatives and miners, who eat in the kitchen, and a few gentlemen and a lady or two who take their meals in the dining-room. But she has agreed to give up her own private sitting-room at meal times to you and your family (as you stated in your letter of instruction you wished a private table for yourself and children); for a consideration, of course,” he added with a laugh. “But knowing you could well afford it, and were not disposed to be close, I did not hesitate to accept her terms.”

“Quite right,” replied the captain. “And as to sleeping accommodations?”

“She can let you have a room of pretty good size for yourself and son, with a small one opening into it for the little girl—or perhaps I should rather say the young lady—your daughter.”

“She is only a little girl,—her father’s little girl, as she likes to call herself,” returned the captain, smiling down at Lulu and affectionately pressing the hand she had slipped into his while they stood talking.

“Yes,” she said, laughing and blushing, “I do like it; I’m not in a bit of a hurry to be a young lady.”

“No, Miss, I wouldn’t if I were you,” laughed Mr. Short. “Those changes come to us all only too fast. Shall I show you the way to your quarters, captain? I did not order a carriage, as it is hardly more than a step; and judging by my own past experience, I thought you’d be glad of a chance to use your limbs after being cramped up in the cars for so long.”

“You were not mistaken in that. I think we all feel it rather a relief,” the captain made answer, as they moved on together.

A very short walk brought them to the door of the boarding-house. They were admitted by a rather comely girl, apparently about fifteen years of age, whom their conductor addressed as “Miss Marian,” and introduced as the daughter of Mrs. McAlpine. She invited them into the parlor, and went in search of her mother, returning with her almost immediately. She was a middle-aged woman, with a gentle, ladylike manner, that was very pleasing, and the remains of considerable beauty, but had, Captain Raymond thought, one of the saddest faces he had ever seen; there were depths of woe in the large gray eyes that touched him to the heart; yet the prevailing expression of her countenance was that of patient resignation.

“She is evidently a great sufferer from some cause,” he said to himself; “probably an inconsolable widow, as I have heard no mention of a Mr. McAlpine.”

She bade them welcome, and inquired what they would have for their evening meal, and how soon they would like it served.

The captain answered these questions, then requested to be shown to the sleeping-rooms set apart for their use during their stay.

“I fear, sir, they will seem but poor and mean after such as you and the young folks have no doubt been accustomed to,” she said, leading the way: “but they are the best I can provide, and I trust you will find them clean and comfortable.

“Our nights are cool, even when the days are very warm, and you will get the mountain breeze here; which is a thing to be thankful for, to my way of thinking,” she added, drawing back the curtain from an open window of the room into which she had conducted them.

The captain stepped to it and looked out. “Yes,” he said, “and a fine view of the mountains themselves, with a pretty flower-garden and orchard in the foreground, a river and wooded hills between; a beautiful prospect; another cause for thankfulness, I think. The room, too, is of fair size,” turning from the window and glancing about him. “That open door I presume leads into the one my little girl is to occupy?”

“Yes, sir. It is not large, but I have no other communicating bedrooms, and Mr. Short said you wrote particularly that they must be such, or yours large enough for a corner of it to be curtained off for the young miss.”

“Yes; so I did: and she, I know, would prefer a small room with an open door into mine, to a large and better one with a separating wall between,” smiling down into Lulu’s eager, interested face, at that instant upturned to his.

“Indeed, I should, papa,” she responded, slipping a hand confidingly into his and returning his smile with one of ardent, filial affection.

Tears sprang to the sad eyes of Mrs. McAlpine at the sight, and it was a moment before she could command her voice to speak. When able to do so, excusing herself upon the plea that domestic duties required her attention, she left them.