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

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’S FRIENDS
AT
WOODBURN

MARTHA FINLEY

AUTHOR OF “ELSIE DINSMORE,” “ELSIE AT NANTUCKET,”
“OUR FRED,” “MILDRED AND ELSIE,” “WANTED—A
PEDIGREE,” ETC., ETC.

NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
Publishers

ELSIE’S FRIENDS AT WOODBURN.

CHAPTER I.

The twenty-fourth had been cold and stormy: a keen, biting wind blowing continuously, during the greater part of the day, bringing with it a heavy fall of sleet and snow.

The weather on Christmas Day was an improvement upon that—the wind being less boisterous and the snow-fall only an occasional light flurry, but the sun scarcely showed his face, and as evening drew on the moon shone but fitfully and through skurrying clouds; the ground was white with snow, but as it had drifted badly, the roads were not in condition for sleighing, and Max Raymond and Evelyn Leland made the journey from Woodburn to the Oaks in a close carriage.

Captain Raymond handed Evelyn in. Max took a seat by her side and gallantly tucked the robes about her feet, remarking that it was the coldest night of the season so far.

“Yes,” she said, “but I suppose we shall have still colder weather before the winter is over. This is nothing to some I have known in my old home at the north.”

“Oh no!” returned Max, “I remember it used to be very much colder where we lived when I was a little fellow.”

Eva smiled, thinking he was not nearly grown up yet.

“And hardly a breath of wind reaches us in this close carriage,” she said. “I shouldn’t care if the ride was to be twice as long.”

“No, nor I,” said Max. “But I dare say we’ll have a fine time after we get to the Oaks.”

“Yes; but I am so sorry your father thought best to decline the invitation for Lulu; I shall not enjoy myself half so well without her,” sighed Evelyn.

“I’m sorry too,” Max said: “for I know it was a great disappointment to her when papa told her she was not to go. I don’t know why he refused to let her, but I do know that he always has a good reason when he denies any of us a pleasure.”

Eva said, “Of course; I am quite sure he is the best and kindest of fathers,” and then they began talking of the approaching festivities at the Oaks, and those whom they expected to meet there.

“Do you know who are invited besides ourselves?” asked Max.

“I believe I do,” replied Evelyn. “There are to be two or three sets; little ones—Walter Travilla, and the eldest two of Aunt Rose Lacey’s children—as mates for little Horace and his sister, Rosie Travilla, Lora Howard and myself for Sydney and Maud; you and Ralph Conly, Art and Walter Howard for their brother’s companions, besides Bertram Shaw, a school-friend of the Dinsmore boys, who, for their sakes, has been asked to the Oaks to spend the holidays.”

“Eva,” queried Max, “Do you know exactly what relation Horace Chester Dinsmore and his brother and sisters are to the rest? they seem to call everybody cousin, so far as I’ve noticed; even Grandpa Dinsmore.”

“Yes; I was asking Aunt Elsie about them the other day,” replied Eva, “and she told me their father was own cousin to Grandpa Dinsmore; his father’s brother’s son; and when he died he left them to Grandpa Dinsmore’s care; made him their guardian, I mean, and as Uncle Horace and his wife were kindly willing to have them at the Oaks, they were invited to make it their home till they are grown up. It’s a lovely place, and I know they are very kindly treated, but I can’t help feeling sorry for them because both their parents are dead.”

“Nor I,” said Max, “for no matter how kind other folks may be to you, it isn’t like having your own father or mother. I’m ever so fond of Mamma Vi though,” he added with emphasis, “and just as glad as I can be that papa married her.”

“And that she married him,” put in Eva, laughingly. “I think it was a grand match on both sides; she is so sweet and lovely, and he in every way worthy of her.”

“My opinion, exactly,” laughed Max. “I am very proud of my father, Eva.”

“I don’t wonder; I am sure I should be in your place,” she said. “Ah see, we are just turning into the grounds! The ride has seemed very short to me. But it’s quite a little journey yet to the house. I admire this winding drive very much. It gives one quite a number of beautiful views, and it’s really obliging in the moon to come out just now from behind that cloud and show us how lovely every thing is looking. I think newly-fallen snow gives such a charming variety to a landscape.

“There’s witchery in the moonlight, too,” she went on, glancing out through the windows, now on this side, now on that. “I don’t wonder Grandma Elsie is so fond of this place where, as she says, she lived so happily with her father and Grandma Rose when she was a little girl, and until she was married.”

At that moment a turn in the road brought the front of the mansion into full view. Lights were gleaming from every window, seeming to promise a warm welcome and an abundance of good cheer, a promise whose fulfillment began presently as the carriage drew up before the door.

“You are the last, my dears, but none the less welcome,” Mrs. Dinsmore said, as she kissed Evelyn and shook hands with Max.

“Thank you, ma’am. I hope you have not kept your tea waiting for us,” returned Eva a little anxiously.

“Oh no, my dear, we had been told not to expect you to tea, so did not wait.”

“And Rosie Travilla has only just come,” said Maud, taking possession of Evelyn and hurrying her away to the room appropriated to their joint use during Eva’s stay.

“These rooms that used to be Cousin Elsie’s have been given up to our use for the present,” she said. “This was her bedroom; there is another adjoining it on that side, and her dressing-room on the other is turned into a bedroom for the time, so that we six girls are all close together, and have her boudoir for our own private little parlor, where we can be quite to ourselves whenever we wish. Isn’t it nice?”

“Yes, indeed!” returned Evelyn.

“Oh Rosie, so you got here before me!” as the latter came running in, followed by Sydney, and greeted her with a hug and kiss.

“Yes; a little. But where’s Lu?”

“The captain thought it best for her to stay at home, and she preferred to do so, since Gracie is so unwell as to need her nursing.”

“How nice and good of her!” cried Sydney; “but I’m ever so sorry not to have her with us, for I like her very much indeed.”

“I love her dearly,” said Evelyn. “I never saw a more warm-hearted, generous girl, and it’s just beautiful to see how she and Gracie love one another; their father and brother, too.”

“I really think the captain might have let Lu come, and I am very sorry for her disappointment,” said Rosie.

“She was disappointed at first,” said Evelyn, “but after Gracie took sick she wouldn’t have come if her father had given permission; she told me so, saying that she couldn’t enjoy herself at all, knowing her darling little sister was suffering without her there to comfort and amuse her.”

“Vi would have done that quite as well, I am sure,” remarked Rosie.

“And so we’re only five instead of six,” said Maud. “Well, we’ll each one of us just have to try to be all the more entertaining to the rest. Your dress and hair are all right, Eva, and let us hurry out to the parlor, where the others are: for they’ll be wanting us to take part in the games.”

The door opened as she spoke, and an attractive-looking little girl, about Evelyn’s age, looked in. It was Lora Howard, the youngest of the Pine Grove family.

“Come, girls,” she said, “we’re waiting for you. O Eva, how do you do?”

“What’s the game to be?” asked Rosie; “some sort of a romping one to please the little ones, I suppose.”

“Yes; either Pussy Wants a Corner, or Blindman’s Buff,” replied Lora, leading the way to the scene of festivity.

For a time mirth and jollity ruled the hour, the older people joining in the sports of the young, with the double motive of watching over them and adding to their enjoyment; then light refreshments were partaken of. After that the servants were called in, and the head of the family read aloud a short Psalm, offered a brief prayer, giving thanks for the blessings of life and the pleasures of the past day, and asking for the protecting care during the silent watches of the night, of Him who neither slumbers nor sleeps.

Then the good-nights were spoken, and all scattered to their rooms.

The little ones were carried off by Mrs. Dinsmore and their nurses; the five young girls retreated to the suite of rooms set apart to their use, and the lads—seven in number—trooped up the broad stairway leading to the second story.

“You and I are to be bed-fellows, Max, and to share the same room with Art and Walter Howard,” said Frank Dinsmore. “You see we have to crowd a little—there being such a lot of us—but it’ll be all the jollier, don’t you think, boys?”

He had led the way, as he spoke, into a most inviting-looking room, large enough to seem far from crowded, even with the two double beds filling opposite corners.

“Yes, yes, indeed!” the others responded, in chorus, Art adding: “The more the merrier, and we’ll have no end of a good time, if I’m not mightily mistaken.”

A door of communication with another room stood wide open, and through it they could see the three older lads, gathered about a blazing wood fire.

“Walk in, boys,” called Chester, addressing Max and his companions, as he saw them sending curious glances in that direction.

“We’re expected to go to bed, aren’t we?” queried Max in reply, coming in last, and speaking with some hesitation.

“We’re not at boarding-school, my lad,” laughed Chester, “and no one has given orders as to the exact hour for retiring, so far as I am aware.”

“Of course not,” said his brother, “Cousin Horace and Cousin Sue are not of the sort to be over strict with a fellow, and would never think of laying down the law to visitors, any way.”

“And it’s not late,” added Walter, accepting the chair Chester had set for him.

“Come on, Max, we’re a respectable crowd, and won’t damage your morals,” said Ralph, lighting a cigar and beginning to smoke it.

“I should hope not,” said Chester, “and I presume if any such danger had been apprehended he would hardly have been allowed to come to the Oaks.”

“Are his morals supposed to be more easily damaged than those of the common run of fellows?” asked Bertram Shaw, regarding Max with a sneering, supercilious stare.

“I am inclined to think they are,” said Ralph.

“Come, come, now, I’m not going to have Max made uncomfortable,” interposed Chester, good-naturedly. “He’s my guest, you know. Here, sit down, laddie, it’s early yet,” pushing forward a chair as he spoke, “have a cigar?”

“No thank you,” returned Max pleasantly; “I tried one once and got enough of it. I never was so sick in my life.”

“Oh, that’s nothing unusual for a first trial; likely it wouldn’t have the same effect again,” said Bertram.

“Better take one; you’ll seem twice the man if you smoke that you will if you don’t.”

The box of cigars had been passed around to all, and each of the other boys had taken one, but Max steadily refused.

“My father says it is very injurious to boys, and will stunt their growth,” he gave as a reason; adding, with a laugh, “and it’s my ambition to be as tall as he is, and like him in every way.”

“Very right,” remarked Frank, “but do you mind the smoke?”

“Oh no, not at all.”

But the next minute he saw something that he did mind. A table was drawn into the middle of the room and a pack of cards and a bottle of wine produced from some hiding-place and set upon it, while Chester invited them all to draw up their chairs and have a glass and a game.

The others accepted without hesitation, but Max rose and, with burning cheeks and fast-beating heart, uttered a protest.

“Oh, you can’t be going to drink and gamble, surely! What would Uncle Horace say if he knew such things were going on in his house?”

“No, my son,” said Chester, laughingly, “we’re not going to do either; we’ll not play for money, so it won’t be gambling, and the wine isn’t strong enough to make a fellow drunk; no, nor anywhere near it. So you needn’t be afraid to join us.”

“No, thank you,” returned Max firmly. “I can not think it right or safe to drink even wine, or to play cards, whether you put up a stake or not.”

“No, ’twouldn’t be safe for you, I presume,” sneered Ralph. “He’s awfully afraid of his governor, lads; so we’d best not try to persuade him.”

“Do you mean my father?” demanded Max, a trifle hotly.

“Of course, my little man; whom else should I mean?”

“Then I want you to understand that I never would be so disrespectful to my father as to call him that!”

“It’s not so bad,” laughed Chester, while Bertram frowned and muttered something about a “Muff and a spooney,” and Frank said, “Come now, Max, sit down and have a game with us. Where’s the harm?”

“Don’t urge him,” sneered Ralph, “he’s afraid of a flogging. He knows he’d catch it, and the captain looks like a man that wouldn’t mince matters if he undertook to administer it.”

Max’s face flushed more hotly than before, but he straightened himself and looked his tormentor full in the eye as he answered: “I don’t deny that I should expect a flogging if I should weakly yield and do what my conscience tells me is wrong, even if my father had not forbidden it, as he has; but I’m not ashamed to own that I love my father so well that the pained look I should see in his face when he learned that his only son had taken to such wicked courses, would be worse to me than a dozen floggings. Good-night to you all,” and he turned and left the room.

“Coward!” muttered Ralph, as the door closed on him.

“Any thing else than that, I should say,” remarked Chester. “I think he has just shown himself the bravest of us all. Moral courage, we all know, is courage of the highest kind.”

“Yes, boys, I am sure he’s in the right, and I, for one, shall follow his example,” said Arthur, rising; and with a hasty good-night, he too disappeared.

Walter and Frank exchanged glances.

“I think myself we might be at better business,” remarked the one.

“That’s so!” assented the other, and they, too, withdrew to the next room.

Max had taken a tiny volume from his pocket and was seated near the light, reading.

“What have you there, old fellow?” asked Frank, stepping to his side, laying a hand on his shoulder, and bending down to look. “A Testament, I declare!”

The tone expressed astonishment, not unmixed with derision.

Max’s cheek flushed again, but he replied without hesitation, and in his usual pleasant tones, “Yes, I promised papa I would always read at least one verse before going to bed at night.”

“And say your prayers, too, I suppose?”

Max felt very much as if he were called to march up to the cannon’s mouth, as a glance showed him that not Frank only, but the other two boys also, were standing regarding him with mingled curiosity and amusement. His heart quailed for a moment, but the remembrance of what his father had once told him of his having to pass through such ordeals in his youthful days, gave him courage to emulate that father’s example and stand to his colors in spite of the ridicule that seemed so hard to face.

“And God’s eye is on me, his ear open to hear what I say,” was the next thought; “I will not dishonor either my earthly or my heavenly father.”

All this passed through his mind in a second of time, and he hardly seemed to pause before he answered in a firm, steady voice, “Yes; I did promise that too; and even if I had not, I should do it. Don’t you think, you fellows, it would be mean and ungrateful for a boy that is so well off as I am, and has been having such a splendid time all day long, to tumble into his bed without so much as saying thank you to the One he owes it all to?”

“Does look like it when you put it so,” muttered Arthur.

“And then,” proceeded Max, “who is there to take care of us while we and every body else are all fast asleep? May be we’ll wake in the morning all right if we don’t take the trouble to ask God to keep us alive and safe, for He’s always a great deal better to us than we deserve, but don’t you think it’s wise to ask him?”

“I reckon,” said Frank, forcing a laugh, for Max’s seriousness was rather infectious: “we’ll not hinder you any way, old boy, and while you are in the way of asking for yourself, you can just include the rest of us, if you like.”

“How old are you Max?” queried Arthur.

“Thirteen.”

“And I, though four years older, am not half the soldier you are.”

Max shook his head. “I am not brave at all; it was awfully hard to speak out against the cards and wine, and I did hope I’d have this room to myself till—till I’d got through with reading and—and the rest of it.”

“Of course; but you went through the fight and stuck manfully to your colors for all your fright. I say, old fellow, you’re worthy to be the son of a naval officer.”

“Thanks,” said Max, flushing with pleasure; “I wouldn’t be worthy of my father if I couldn’t brave more than I have to-night.”

“Well, go ahead and finish up your devotions; we’ll not disturb you,” said Frank, turning away and beginning to undress for bed.

The Howards followed his example, all three keeping very quiet while Max was on his knees.

They had all been brought up under religious influences, and while not controlled by them as Max was, yet felt constrained to respect his firm adherence to duty and the right.

CHAPTER II.

Captain Raymond had foreseen the probability that his son would be subjected to such an ordeal, and had tried—successfully as the event proved—to prepare him for it.

Max was busy with his preparations for bed on the previous night, when his door opened and his father came in.

“Well, my boy,” he said in his usual kind, fatherly tones, “I hope you have had a happy day and evening?”

“Yes, papa; oh yes, indeed! Never had a more splendid time in all my life!”

“In all your long life of thirteen years!” laughed the captain, seating himself and regarding his son with a proud, fond look.

“No, sir; and such splendid presents as you and the rest have given me! Why, I’d be the most ungrateful fellow in the world if I wasn’t as happy as a king!”

“Happy as a king?” echoed his father. “Ah, my boy, I should be sorry indeed to think that your life was to be less happy than that of most monarchs. ‘Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.’

“I want to have a little chat with you,” he resumed, after a moment’s silence, his countenance and the tones of his voice much graver than they had been a moment since. “I heard to-day that Ralph Conly, who exerted so bad an influence over my son some time ago, is to make one of the party at the Oaks.”

“Is he, papa? then I suppose you have come to tell me you can’t let me go?” Max returned, in a tone of keen disappointment.

“No,” said his father, kindly, “I do not withdraw the consent I have given; you may go, but I want you to be on your guard against temptation to do wrong. I am told Ralph professes to have reformed, but I fear it may prove to be only profession, and that he and others may try to lead my son astray from the paths of rectitude.”

Max looked very sober for a moment; then said with an effort, “I’ll give up going papa, if you wish it—if you’re afraid for me.”

“Thank you, my boy,” returned his father, heartily, taking the lad’s hand, as he stood by his side, and pressing it with affectionate warmth, “but I won’t ask such self-denial. You must meet temptation some time, and if you go trusting in a strength not your own, I believe you will come off conqueror.

“Don’t let persuasion, sneers or ridicule induce you to do violence to your conscience, in either shirking a known duty, or taking part in any wrong or doubtful amusement. Remember it would go nigh to break your father’s heart to learn that you had been drinking, gambling, or taking God’s holy name in vain.”

“Oh, papa, I hope I shall never, never do such wicked things again!” Max said with emotion, calling to mind how he had once fallen under Ralph’s influence.

“I know you don’t intend to,” his father said, “and I trust you will have strength given you to resist, if the temptation comes; but I know too, that it is very difficult for a boy to stand out against the sneers, ridicule and contempt of his mates. But how much better to have the smile and approval of God, your heavenly Father, than that of any number of human creatures! Do not be like those chief rulers among the Jews who would not confess Christ because they loved the praise of men more than the praise of God!”

“No, papa, I hope I shall not. Besides, I don’t care half so much for the good opinion of all the boys in the land as for yours,” he added, gazing into his father’s face with eyes brimming over with ardent filial love and reverence. “I am proud to be your son, papa, and I do hope you’ll never have cause to be ashamed of me.”

“No, my boy, I trust you will be always, as now, your father’s joy and pride,” responded the captain, again pressing affectionately the hand he held. “Rest assured that nothing but wrong doing on your part can ever make you any thing else. Nor would even that rob you of his love.”

“Then, papa, I think I shall never try to hide my faults from you,” returned the lad with impulsive warmth; “for I’m sure a fellow feels a great deal more comfortable when he isn’t trying to make believe to his father that he is a better boy than he is really.”

“Yes; when his effort is not merely to seem, but to be all that he knows his best earthly friend would have him. You needn’t stand in awe of me, Max, as of one who knows nothing by experience of sinning and repenting. I sometimes think you are a better boy than I was at your age, and I hope to see you grow up to be a better man than I am now.”

“Why, papa, I never see you do wrong, and I don’t believe you ever do,” said Max.

“I do try to live right, Max,” his father answered, “to keep the commands of God, honoring him in all my ways, and setting a good example to my children, but I am conscious of many shortcomings, and could have no hope of heaven but for the atoning blood and imputed righteousness of Christ.”

“And that’s the only way any body can be saved?” Max said in a low tone between inquiry and assertion.

“Yes, my boy; for all human righteousnesses are as filthy rags in the sight of Him who is of purer eyes than to behold evil, and can not look upon iniquity.”

“Papa,” Max said, after a moment’s thoughtful silence, “I’m afraid you wouldn’t think it from the way I act and talk, but I have really been trying to be a Christian ever since that time when I wrote you that I hoped I had given myself to God.”

“My dear boy, I have noticed your efforts,” was the kindly response; “I see that you try to control your temper, and are always truthful, and obedient and respectful to me, kind and obliging to others.”

“But you know, papa, it’s only a few weeks since you came home, and you haven’t found me out yet,” replied Max, näively. “I’ve often a very hard fight with myself to go right, and sometimes I fail in spite of it; then I grow discouraged; and so I’m ever so much obliged to you for telling me that it’s a good deal the same way with you. It makes a fellow feel better, you see, to find out that even those he respects the most don’t always find it easy to do and feel just as they want to.”

“Yes, my boy, we have the same battle to fight—you and I—the same race to run; so we can sympathize with each other, and must try to be fellow-helpers.”

“You can help me, papa, but how can I help you?” asked Max, with a look of surprise, not unmixed with gratification.

“By being a good son to me and your mamma, and a good brother to your sisters; if you are all that, you can not fail to be a very great help, blessing and comfort to me. But best of all, Max, you can pray for me.”

“Oh, papa, I do; I never forget you night or morning; but——”

“Well?”

“I—I’m afraid my prayers are not worth much.”

“Why not, my son? the Bible tells us God is no respecter of persons, but is ready to hear and answer all who come to him in the name of his dear Son, who is the one mediator between God and men. If you ask in his name—for his sake—you are as likely to receive as I or any one else.

“Now I must bid you good-night, for it is high time you were asleep.”

The next evening, about the time the good-nights were being said at the Oaks, Captain Raymond left Lulu, who had just passed a very happy half hour, seated on his knee, in her own little sitting-room, and went down to the parlor where Violet was entertaining her guests.

There was quite a number of them, though it was only a family gathering. Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore, from Ion; Grandma Elsie, as Evelyn and the Raymond children called her; Lester Leland and his Elsie; Edward and Zoe, and Herbert and Harold, who were at home from college for the Christmas holidays, beside the Lacey’s from the Laurels, several of the Howards of Pine Grove, and Calhoun and Arthur Conley from Roselands.

Violet looked up with a welcoming smile as her husband came in, and made room for him on the sofa by her side.

“I was just telling Lester and Elsie,” she said, “how beautifully Lulu is behaving—bearing so well the disappointment about her invitation to the Oaks, and showing such devotion to Gracie in her sickness.”

“Yes, she is a dear child, and well deserving of reward,” he said, feelingly. “It pained me to deny her the pleasure of sharing the festivities at the Oaks, though as matters have turned out she would not have gone had I given permission—loving Gracie, too dearly to leave her while she is not well—and I have been thinking whether it may not be made up to her by allowing her to have a party of her own next week: inviting her young friends who are now at the Oaks, and perhaps some others, to come here on Monday and stay until Saturday. Does the idea meet your approval, my dear?”

“Yes, indeed!” cried Violet, looking really delighted! “how happy it would make her and Max? Gracie, too, I think, if we can only get her well enough to have a share in the sports.”

“And, I believe,” she added with a laugh, “I am child enough yet to enjoy it greatly myself.”

“I hope so,” her husband said, smiling fondly upon her; “you are looking full young enough for mirth and jollity, and must not allow yourself to grow old too fast in an endeavor to match your years with mine.”

“No, captain, the better plan would be for you to match yours with hers by growing young,” said Zoe, laughingly. “Can’t you turn boy again for a few days?”

“I should not be averse to so doing,” laughed the captain. “I’ll see what I can do, Sister Zoe. May we look to you for some assistance in the work of contriving amusements?”

“Yes, indeed; if you give me an invitation to the party. I was not favored with one to the Oaks, you know, because of being a married woman; though Ella Conly was, in spite of her superiority of years.”

“Too bad!” returned the captain, gallantly; “but we will not draw the line just where they did; all the present company will please consider themselves invited for each evening’s entertainment, mothers and all under twenty-five, for the whole time—from Monday morning to Saturday afternoon. I am taking for granted that my wife approves and joins me in the invitations,” he added, turning smilingly to her.

“Oh, yes; yes, indeed!” she said; “I hope you will all come.”

There was a chorus of thanks and acceptances, some only partial or conditional.

“I promise you I’ll be here when I can,” Arthur said; “but you know a doctor can seldom or never be sure of having his time at his own disposal.”

“You’ll be heartily welcome whenever you do come,” responded the captain; “but please take notice that you will be expected to be quite as much of a boy as your host.”

“No objection to that condition,” returned Arthur, smiling; “if I don’t out-do you in that, it shall be no fault of mine.”

“The next thing in order, I suppose, will be to consider how our young guests are to be feasted and amused,” remarked Violet.

“Yes,” replied her husband; “but my wife is to be burdened with no care or responsibility in regard to either. Christine and I will see to the first—preparations for the feasting—and I imagine there will be no trouble about the other; the children themselves will probably have a number of suggestions to make.”

“Some of the older ones, too,” said Zoe, eagerly; and went on to mention quite a list of games.

“Besides, we can act charades and get up tableaux; and oh, let us try something I read about the other day in Miss Yonge’s ‘The Three Brides,’ a magic case with a Peri distributing gifts, oriental genii, turbaned figures, like princes in the ‘Arabian Nights,’ singing and piano accompaniment. Oh, it would be fun, and delight the children, I’m sure! And I know we could manage it all among us very easily.”

“It sounds charming,” said Violet; “we must study it out and see what we can do. Shall we not, Levis?”

“I like the idea very much, so far as I understand it,” he said. “Who will volunteer to take part?”

“Zoe and I may be counted on,” said Edward, with a smiling glance at his young wife.

“And Herbert and I,” added Harold. “We’ve had some experience, and it’s a sort of thing we enjoy.”

“Yes, and we’ll help with the charades and any thing else, if we’re wanted,” said Herbert.

But it was growing late, so further arrangements were deferred to the next day, and the company presently separated for the night. The Lelands and Edward and Zoe remained in the house; the rest departed to their homes.

“Why, Gracie; here before me, though you’re the sick one!” exclaimed Lulu, as, early the next morning, she entered the little sitting-room they shared between them and found her sister lying on the sofa ready dressed for the day.

“Yes,” Grace said, “I was so tired of bed, and Agnes said she would help me dress before mamma’s bell should ring. So I let her; but I’m tired and have to lie down again a little bit.”

“Yes; you’re not nearly strong enough to sit up all day yet,” returned Lulu, stooping over her to give her a kiss. “But you’ve been crying, haven’t you? your eyes look like it.”

Grace nodded, hastily brushing away a tear.

“Why, what’s the matter?” asked Lulu, in surprise. “I can’t think of any thing to make you cry, unless it’s pain; are you in pain, dear?”

Grace shook her head. “No, Lu, but,” sobbing, “I—I’ve been thinking ’bout that time I was so naughty, meddling with mamma’s things, and—and oh, you know the rest.”

“Yes, but why does it trouble you now? it was all over such a long time ago.”

“Yes, but papa doesn’t know about it, and—oughtn’t I to tell him?”

“I don’t know,” Lulu said reflectively; “but you needn’t be afraid; he wouldn’t punish you after this long while, especially as Mamma Vi knew all about it at the time, and punished you herself.”

“Such a little bit of a punishment for such a wicked thing,” Grace said; “papa would have punished me a great deal harder, I’m most sure.”

“But he won’t now; so you needn’t be afraid to tell him.”

“But he’d look so sorry, and I can’t bear to see my dear papa look sorry for something I did.”

“Then don’t tell him. It isn’t as if it had happened just the other day.”

“But, Lulu, I oughtn’t to let him think I’m a better girl than I am.”

“Maybe he doesn’t. You are a good girl; a great deal better than I am.”

“No, I’m not; you would never, never do the wicked thing I did. But I’m afraid papa thinks I’m better, ’cause when—when he thought the baby was going to die, he was hugging me up and kissing me, and he said ‘You never gave me a pang except by your feeble health,’ and I said I didn’t ever want to, and I forgot all about how bad I’d been that time, and that papa didn’t know about it.”

“What is it that papa didn’t know about, my darling?” asked a voice close beside the sofa, and both little girls started in surprise, for their father had come in so quietly, his slippered feet making no noise on the carpet, that they had not been aware of his entrance.

He took Grace in his arms as he spoke, sat down with her on his knee, drew Lulu to a seat by his side, then kissed them both, saying in tender tones, “Good-morning, my two dear children.”

“Good-morning, my dear papa,” responded Lulu, leaning her cheek affectionately against his shoulder.

But Gracie only hid her face on his breast with a little half-stifled sob.

“What is it, my precious one?” he asked, holding her close with loving caresses.

“Lu, you tell papa; please do,” she sobbed.

“Lulu may tell it, if you want papa to hear it,” he said, softly smoothing her hair, “otherwise it need not be told at all. But if it is about some wrong-doing that has been repented of and confessed to God and mamma, you need not dread to have your father know of it, for he, too, has been guilty of wrong-doing many times in his life, and needs to seek forgiveness of God every day and every hour.”

“Papa,” she exclaimed, lifting her head to give him a look of astonishment not unmingled with relief, “I don’t know how to b’lieve that, if you didn’t say it your own self; for I never, never see you do any thing wrong. But I want you to know ’bout this, so you won’t think I’m a better girl than I am. Lu, please tell,” and again her face was hidden on his breast.

“Papa, it was a long, long, while ago,” began Lulu, as if eager to vindicate her sister as far as possible, “and it was only that she accidentally broke a bottle of Mamma Vi’s, and then she was frightened (you know she’s always so timid, and can’t help it), and so,’most before she knew what she was saying, she told Mamma Vi she never meddled with her things when she was not there to see her.”

There was a moment’s silence, broken only by Grace’s sobs, which were now quite violent.

Then her father said low and tenderly, “My dear little daughter, I can not comfort you by making light of your sin; lying is a very great sin, one that the Bible speaks very strongly against in very many places; but I have no doubt that you long ago repented, confessed it to God and received forgiveness. And I trust you will prove the sincerity of your repentance by being perfectly truthful all the rest of your days.

“It was very honest and right in you to want me to know that you have not always been so good as I supposed; and so, my darling, I love you, if possible, better than ever,” he added, caressing her again and again.

“Oh, I’m so glad to hear you say that, papa!” exclaimed Lulu, looking up into his face with shining eyes.

“And you are no less dear than your sister,” he said, drawing her closer to his side. “My child, I have felt very sorry over your disappointment in missing the festivities at the Oaks, and have been trying to think of some way to make it up to you. How would you like to have something of the same sort here at home? a party of children and young people to come next Monday morning and stay till Saturday?”

“Oh papa,” cried Lulu, opening her eyes very wide in surprise and delight, “it ’most takes my breath away! Do you really mean it?”

“I do indeed,” he said, smiling on her. “It will be your, and Max’s and Gracie’s party, and we older folks will do all in our power to make the time pass pleasantly to you and your guests. We will have games and charades, tableaux, stories, and every thing delightful that can be thought of.”

“O papa! how very, very nice! how splendid!” cried Lulu, springing to her feet, clapping her hands, and then jumping and dancing round the room. “Dear me! I’d never once dreamed of such a thing! And it’ll be ever so much nicer than going to the Oaks. I’m glad you didn’t let me go: because I couldn’t be there now and get things ready for my own party too, and it’s so much splendider to be the one to have the party than one of the visitors. Isn’t it! won’t it be, Gracie? Oh isn’t papa just the best and kindest father in the world?”

“’Course he is,” said Grace, putting her arm round his neck, and lifting her eyes to his with a very grateful, loving look.

“Does it give you pleasure, papa’s dear pet?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” she answered with some hesitation; “if I don’t be sick when they’re here, and if I may sit on your knee sometimes.”

“Indeed you may,” he said; “and papa will try to take care that his feeble little girl has nothing to tire her.”

“No, she needn’t entertain,” said Lulu; “I can do it for both of us. Oh it is so nice, so nice, so perfectly splendid, to think we’re going to have a real party of our own for several days together!” she cried, again clapping her hands, jumping, dancing and pirouetting round the room.

Grace laughed at the sight, and so did their father.

“Why, Lulu, daughter,” he said, “you seem to be going quite wild over the prospect! I am very glad indeed to have hit upon something that gives you such pleasure. But come here; I have something more to tell you about it.”

“Oh, have you, papa?” she cried, running to him to put her arm round his neck and kiss him again and again; “what is it?”

“Ah,” he returned, laughing, “I doubt if it is well to tell you; you are so nearly crazy already.”

“Oh, yes, do tell me please. I won’t get any crazier; at least I don’t think I shall, I’ll try not to.”

So he told her of Zoe’s suggestion, and that he intended it should be carried out.

A conservatory opened from one of the parlors, and there, he said, they would have the magic cave.

“Oh papa, how lovely, how lovely!” both little girls exclaimed, their eyes sparkling and their cheeks flushing with delighted anticipation.

“That entertainment will be for New Year’s Eve,” he said, “and the Peri must have a present for each one who visits her case. That will necessitate a shopping expedition to the city to-day or to-morrow. Lulu, would you like to be one of the purchasers? shall I take you to the stores with me?”

“Oh!” she cried half breathlessly, “wouldn’t I like it? But,” with a sudden sobering down of demeanor and a tender look into the face of her little sister, “I—I can’t leave Gracie, papa, she would miss me and be so lonesome without me.”

“But I could stand it for one day, Lu; and I couldn’t bear to have you miss such fun—such a good time—just for me,” said Grace, with winning sweetness.

“And Mamma Vi will contrive that she shall not be lonely,” the captain said, drawing them both closer into his arms.

“The mutual love of my little girls is a great joy to me,” he added, caressing them in turn.

Just then a servant came in bringing Gracie’s breakfast.

She ate it sitting on her father’s knee, while Lulu, standing alongside, kept up a lively strain of talk on the all-absorbing theme of the hour. She had a good many questions to ask too, and they were all answered by her father with unfailing patience and kindness.

The proposed festivities were the principal topic of conversation at the family breakfast, also; for the ladies were deeply interested, the gentlemen not quite indifferent.

The storm had passed, the morning was fine, and the captain announced his intention to drive into the city, starting within an hour, winding up with the query, “which of you ladies will volunteer to go along, and assist in this important shopping?”

“Zoe would enjoy it, I am sure, and you could not have a more competent helper,” Violet said, smiling kindly into the eager face of her young sister-in-law.

“I should not object, if I can be of service,” said Zoe, “but don’t you want to go yourself, Vi? I haven’t a doubt that the captain would prefer your company to any other.”

“I think I should abide by the stuff,” returned Violet in a lively tone, “or rather by the little ones, baby and Gracie. Lulu must go with her papa—I would not have her miss it for a great deal—and I am eager to make the day a happy one to Gracie in spite of the absence of her devoted sister-nurse,” she added with an affectionate glance and smile in Lulu’s direction.

“Oh, Mamma Vi, thank you ever so much!” exclaimed the little girl. “I do think it will be just splendid to go with papa and help choose the things, but I couldn’t bear to leave Gracie alone.”

“You are a dear, good sister, Lulu,” remarked Mrs. Elsie Leland. “It does one good to see how you and Gracie love one another.”

“Thank you, Aunt Elsie,” said Lulu, flushing with gratification; then catching the look of proud, fond affection with which her father was regarding her, she colored still more deeply, while her heart bounded with joy. It was so sweet to know that he loved her so dearly and was not ashamed of her, faulty as she felt herself to be.

“Yes,” he said, “their mutual affection is a constant source of happiness to their father. I pity the parent whose children are not kind and affectionate to each other.

“Well, Mrs. Zoe,” turning smilingly to her, “am I to have the pleasure of your company today, and the benefit of your assistance and advice in the selection of the ornaments and gifts necessary or desirable for the successful carrying-out of your proposed entertainment?”

“Thank you; I shall be delighted to go and to give all the assistance in my power,” she answered. “That is if Ned is willing to spare me,” she added, turning to him with a merry, mischievous look and smile.

“I don’t think I can,” he said, in a sober, meditative tone, “but if the captain is sufficiently anxious to secure your valuable services to take me too, my consent shall not be withheld.”

“Then it’s a bargain,” laughed the captain, and Lulu’s eyes sparkled. She was saying to herself, “Then I shall be sure to sit beside papa; because they always want to be together; so they’ll take one seat in the carriage, and we’ll have the other.”

CHAPTER III.

“Oh, Gracie, Gracie, I’ve had the nicest, the most splendid time that ever was!” cried Lulu, rushing into their own little sitting-room where Grace lay on the sofa, having that moment waked from her afternoon nap.

“Oh, have you, Lu? I’m so glad,” she exclaimed, as her sister paused for breath: for Lulu had rushed up stairs so fast in her joyful eagerness to tell every thing to Grace, that she had not much breath left for talking.

“I’ve had a good time, too, looking at pictures and playing with baby, and hearing lovely stories that mamma and Aunt Elsie told me,” continued Gracie. “But tell me ’bout yours.”

“Oh, it would be a long story to tell you every thing,” said Lulu. “I enjoyed the drive ever so much, sitting close beside papa, with his arm round me, and he giving me such a loving look every once in a while, and asking me if I was quite warm and comfortable. Then we went to ever so many stores and bought lots of things, some handsome and some not worth much, but just to make fun (when we have the case, you know). And papa was, oh, so kind! he let me buy every single thing I wanted to. And he says I may label the presents this evening—he helping me because it would be too much for me to do all alone—and decide which present is to be given to which person.”

“Oh, Lu, what fun!” cried Grace.

“Yes; and you shall have some say in it too, if you want to,” returned Lulu, generously, throwing off her coat as she spoke, then bending down to give Grace a loving kiss.

“I’m to make out the list of folks to be invited, too,” she ran on, “and write the notes, with papa’s help. He says this is to be all our own party—Max’s, and yours, and mine—and he wants us to get every bit of pleasure out of it we can. Isn’t he a dear, kind father?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“And, Oh Gracie, how nice it is to have him at home with us all the time and to live with him in this lovely home!”

“Yes, Lu, I think we ought to be ever such good children.”

“So do I. Oh, here comes papa!” as a manly step drew near the door.

It opened, and the captain came in and bending over Gracie kissed her several times, asking in tender tones how she was and if she had had a pleasant day.

“Yes, papa; oh, very! I’ve just had a nice nap and now I’d like to get up and sit on your knee a little while, if you’re not too tired.”

“I’m not at all tired, my pet, and shall enjoy it perhaps as much as you will,” he said, seating himself and complying with her request.

“Lulu, daughter, put your hat and coat in their proper places, and make your hair neat.”

“Yes, sir,” Lulu returned, in bright, cheerful tones, and moving promptly to obey.

She was back again almost immediately. “Oh, Gracie,” she said, “I didn’t tell you about our dinner! Papa took us to Morse’s, the best and most expensive place in the city, and he let me choose just what I wanted from the bill of fare, and he paid for it.”

“And my wise little girl, who thinks it so delightful to have her own way, chose several dishes that she found she could not eat at all,” remarked the captain, with a humorous look and smile directed at Lulu, who was now standing close at his side.

“Yes,” she said, blushing, “you told me I wouldn’t like them, papa, and I found you knew best after all, but you and Aunt Zoe enjoyed them so that they weren’t lost.”

“Quite true,” he responded.

“And then, papa, let me choose again,” Lulu went on, addressing Grace, “and I took things I knew I liked.”

“You did have a splendid time,” remarked Gracie, rather wistfully.

“I hope you will be able to go with us next year, my pet,” her father said, caressing her tenderly.

“O, papa! are we to have another party next year?” queried Lulu, in almost breathless excitement.

“That depends,” he said; “if a certain little girl of mine should indulge in an outburst of passion while she is playing hostess to her young friends, I think the prospect of a party for her next year will not be a very brilliant one.”

“Oh, I hope I won’t, papa; please watch me all the time, and do every thing you can to help me keep from it,” Lulu murmured, her arm round his neck and her cheek laid to his.

“I certainly shall, my dear child,” he answered, putting his arm about her and drawing her into a close embrace; “and I am very hopeful in regard to it; you have been behaving so well of late. It gives me great pleasure to be able to say that.”

She lifted dewy eyes to his. “Thank you, papa. Oh, I do mean to try as hard as I can!”

“Suppose we decide now who are to be invited,” he said. “Gracie must have a say about that, as well as the rest of us.”

“I s’pose we’ll have all the relations—least all that aren’t too old—won’t we papa?” she asked.

“Yes, I think so; the same company they had at the Oaks, for the whole time, and the grown people in the evenings, when we are to have tableaux or the magic cave or something else not too juvenile for them to enjoy.”

“Papa,” said Lulu, “I thought you said I was to have some choice.”

“Yes, daughter; mention any one else you may wish to invite.”

“I don’t care to have any body else, but—papa, please don’t be angry with me, but I’d rather not have Rosie Travilla here.” She hung her head and blushed, as she spoke in a low, hesitating way.

The captain looked a little surprised, but not angry. “Why not, my child?” he asked. “You ought to have a very good excuse for leaving her out.”

“Papa, its because—because I’m afraid she’ll get me in a passion.”

“Ah,” he said with an involuntary sigh, “I remember now that she was mixed up in some way with that unfortunate affair of a few weeks ago. But can you not forgive her for that?”

“Yes, papa, if I only could be sure she wouldn’t say horrid things to me that—but, oh, I didn’t mean to tell tales!”

“And I certainly don’t want to hear any; yet I should be far from willing to have your hard task of controlling your temper made harder for you.”

“I don’t want to be a tell-tale either,” Grace said timidly, “and I do like Rosie; but sometimes she isn’t very good to Lu. Sometimes she teases her so that I think its ’most more her fault than Lu’s when Lu gets in a passion.”

“Ah, that is news to me; and perhaps I have been too hard on my quick-tempered little daughter,” he said in a remorseful tone, drawing Lulu into a closer embrace, and pressing a tender kiss upon her forehead.

Lulu looked up with a flash of joy in her eyes, then dropping her head on his shoulder so that her face was half hidden there, “I’ll invite Rosie if you want me to, papa,” she said, “and if she teases me I’ll try to be patient.”

“That’s my own dear child,” was his kindly response. “I should not like to have her left out considering how very kind her mother and grandfather have been to my children, and that she is your mamma’s sister; and I hardly think she will do or say unkind, trying things to you when she is your guest in your father’s house. I feel quite sure she will not in my presence, and I shall arrange matters so that I can be with you almost all the time while your guests are here.”

“O, papa, thank you!” cried Lulu, drawing a long breath of relief; “then I’m quite willing to have Rosie here. I shouldn’t like to hurt Grandma Elsie’s feelings, or Mamma Vi’s or even Rosie’s own, by leaving her out.”

“I am rejoiced to hear you say that; I trust there is little or no malice in your nature,” he said, repeating his caresses.

“Papa, I think Lu’s very good ’cept her temper,” said Grace, putting an arm affectionately round her sister’s neck.

“No,” said Lulu, “I’m willful, too; I’ve disobeyed papa more than once because I liked my own way best; and I’m bad other ways, sometimes. But I do love our dear father, and I am trying to be a better girl,” she added, lifting her head to look affectionately into his face.

“Yes, daughter, I see that you are, and it makes me very happy,” he said.

“Now, I have something to tell you, two, that will please you, I think. We are all invited to spend to-morrow afternoon at the Oaks to see some tableaux they are getting up there, and I hope even my little Grace will be able to go.”

“Oh, how nice!” cried Lulu, while Grace asked, “Will you go and take us, papa?”

“I hope to,” he answered, smiling fondly down upon her. “Ah, there is the tea-bell! Will you travel down to the table in papa’s arms?”

“Yes, sir; if you like to carry me, and it won’t make you tired.”

“It won’t tire me at all, my pet. I only wish you were heavy enough to be something of a burden,” he said, as he rose with her in his arms and moved on toward the door, Lulu following.

“Oh, Lu, don’t you wish you were in my place?” Grace asked with a gleeful laugh, looking down at her sister over their father’s shoulder.

“No; I’m so big and heavy that it must tire papa to carry me.”

“Hardly,” he said; “you remember it is not many weeks since I did carry you quite a distance?”

“But didn’t it tire you, papa?”

“Very little; I was scarcely sensible of fatigue.”

“Oh, its nice as nice can be to have such a big strong papa!” cried Grace, giving him a hug.

It was quite a party, and a merry one that gathered about the tea-table, enlarged, since breakfast by the addition of Violet’s mother and her two college boys.

The talk ran principally upon the holiday amusements going on at the Oaks and those in course of preparation at Woodburn.

“They boast of being able to get up some very fine tableaux at the Oaks,” remarked Harold, “and expect to quite astonish us to-morrow.”

“I hope you are going, captain, and will take Lulu and Gracie with you,” Grandma Elsie said, half inquiringly, smiling kindly upon the two little girls as she spoke.

“Yes,” he said, smiling also into the eager young faces, “I shall certainly take them both, unless something unforeseen happens to prevent; my wife having promised to go with us,” he added, with an affectionate glance at Violet.

“Yes, indeed! I shouldn’t like to miss it,” she said gayly; “I believe Zoe and I are about as eager over these holiday doings as either of the children.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he responded; “a man enjoys having a young wife even when not young himself.”

“And the older he is, the younger he wants his wife to be,” remarked Zoe in a lively tone: “at least so I have heard people say.”

“But papa isn’t old, aunt Zoe!” exclaimed Lulu, indignantly.

“My dear child,” laughed her father, “it’s no sin to be old, so you need not be so ready to take up the cudgels for me.”

“Have you sent out your invitations, Lulu?” asked Zoe.

“No, ma’am, not yet.”

“You will have an opportunity to give them verbally to-morrow afternoon, if you like,” remarked her father.

“But I—I don’t think I want to, papa,” she said. “I’d like to send nice little notes—only it’s a good deal of trouble to write them.”

“Oh!” said Zoe, “you can have plenty of help in it; I’ll volunteer for one.”

“I, too, am at your service,” said Grandma Elsie; and her offer was followed by several others.

“‘Many hands make light work,’” said Zoe, “and we’ll have the thing done in a few minutes after leaving the table. Then there’ll be plenty of time for the selection of subjects for our tableaux, which I intend shall outshine those at the Oaks.”

“Don’t make rash promises,” said Edward, laughingly, “you have not seen those at the Oaks yet.”

“Are we who abode by the stuff to-day, to see your purchases now?” asked Mrs. Leland, lightly, as they left the table.

“Why, no; of course not,” cried Zoe, with emphasis; “half the fun will be in the surprises when the Peri hands out her gifts. O, captain,” turning hastily to him, “is it to be decided beforehand who is to have what?”

“I think that would be the better plan,” he answered, “and I propose that you and Lulu share that privilege, if privilege you consider it.”

“That I do,” she returned, quite delightedly; “and if you like I’ll help label them, so there need be no mistake in the distribution.”

“Suppose you three attend to that business, in the children’s sitting-room, while the rest of us repair to the library and write the invitations,” suggested Violet; adding “then you can join us and help in the selections for the tableaux.”

“An excellent arrangement, my dear,” said her husband. “Shall we carry out our part of it, Madam Zoe?”

“With all my heart, Sir Captain,” rejoined Zoe, merrily.

“Then I will order our purchases carried up to the appointed place. Gracie, shall I take you up there to oversee us at our work?”

“O, papa, mayn’t I help, too?” asked the little girl, with a very wistful, coaxing look in her sweet blue eyes, as she lifted them to his face.

“Help, darling? What could such a feeble little one as you do?”

“I mean help say whose the things are to be,” she said.

“Ah, I did not understand! Yes, my pet, you may; the gifts are to be from you as much as from your brother and sister; so no one has a better right to a voice in the matter of distribution.”

He was rewarded by a very bright, glad look and smile as she held up her arms to be taken.

He held her while giving his order to a servant whom he had summoned, then carried her up, settled her comfortably in an easy chair, and wheeled it up beside a table whereon the day’s purchases were presently piled.

Zoe and Lulu had followed. The captain politely placed a chair for each, then seated himself, and the work began; he writing the labels and they affixing them.

It was all done very harmoniously; there seemed to be but little difference of opinion, and Lulu behaved as well as could have been desired, gracefully yielding her wishes now and again to those of Zoe or her little sister.

That pleased her father very much, and she felt amply rewarded by his smile of approval.

“There, that job is done!” announced Zoe at length.

“Why,” exclaimed Grace, in a tone of mingled surprise and dismay, “there’s nothing for papa! No, nor for you, Aunt Zoe; nor Lu either!”

“Oh, that is all right, little girlie!” laughed Zoe, “for of course if we provided our own gifts we should miss the surprise, which is more than half the fun.”

“Oh, yes!” she said, “I forgot that.”

“You and I will contrive to find something for Aunt Zoe and Lu,” her father said to her in a low aside; at which she clapped her hands and laughed gleefully.

“Now we are going down to the library,” he continued, aloud, “shall I carry you there?”

“I’m afraid it will make you too tired, papa, to carry me up and down so often,” she answered, but with a longing, wistful look that plainly told her desire to be with others.

So, with the assurance that she was a very light burden and he enjoyed carrying her, he picked her up and bore her on after Zoe, while Lulu brought up the rear.

“We’ll soon have to make this journey again,” he said, “for it will be your bedtime in about half an hour.”

“O papa, can’t I stay up a while longer tonight?” she pleaded.

“If you were well and strong I should say yes without any hesitation,” he answered; “but I think you will find yourself weary enough to be glad to go to bed at the usual hour.”

And he was right; for though much interested at first in the talk that was going on among the older people, her eyelids presently began to droop, and her head dropped on her father’s shoulder, for she was sitting in her favorite place upon his knee.

“Ah, birdie, you are ready for your nest, I see,” he said, passing his hand softly over her golden curls; “papa will carry you up and put you in it.”

“Yes,” she murmured sleepily. “Lulu, won’t you come too?”

Lulu hesitated, and looked half inquiringly, half entreatingly at her father. She was very loath to leave the room while the interesting discussions in regard to arrangements for the anticipated amusements were going on, questions of drapery, scenery, costumes, and who should be given this part and who that, were being settled.

“You are free to go or stay, as you choose,” the captain answered to the look, speaking in a very kind tone.

He waited a moment for her decision. There was evidently a struggle in her mind for a brief space, but love for her little feeble sister conquered.

“I’ll go, papa,” she said. “I’ve been away from Gracie all day, and it would be too bad to refuse her.”

“That is right and kind, daughter,” he returned with an approving smile, as he rose with the little sleeper in his arms, for Gracie was already too far on the way to the land of dreams to be aware of the sacrifice of inclination Lulu was making for her sake.

CHAPTER IV.

“Get me Gracie’s night-dress, and we’ll put her to bed—you and I,” the captain said pleasantly to Lulu, when they had reached Gracie’s bedroom.

Lulu made haste to obey, and stood by his side ready to give her assistance when needed.

“Poor darling,” she said in a low tone, “how tired and sleepy she is, papa.”

“Yes, she is not at all strong yet,” he sighed, thinking to himself it was not likely she would ever be any thing but feeble and easily exhausted.

The child did not rouse to consciousness, but was still fast asleep as he laid her gently down upon her pillow.

He covered her up with tender care, then seating himself again, drew Lulu into his arms with a fond caress.

“Dear child,” he said, “your unselfish love for your sister makes me very happy.”

There was a flash of joy in Lulu’s eyes as she lifted them to his, then blushing and half hiding her face on his shoulder, “But I don’t deserve to have you say that, papa,” she murmured; “for I didn’t want to come up with you and Gracie.”

“No, but if you had had no desire to stay behind there would have been no self-denial in your yielding to her wish. You deserve all the credit I am giving you. Now do you want to go back again?”

“If you like me to, papa, Gracie is so sound asleep that she will not miss me.”

“Yes; and if you are not too tired with all the shopping you have done to-day, you may stay up half an hour later than your usual bedtime,” he said, taking her hand and leading her from the room.

“Oh, thank you, papa!” she cried, “I don’t think that I’m too tired, and I should like to so very much!”

“You are very greatly interested in what is going forward?” he remarked, inquiringly, and smiling down on her as they descended the stairs, her hand in his.

“Yes, indeed, papa! Oh, may I read the book that tells about the magic cave?”

“Some day, when you are a little older; at present you may read only what it says about that.”

Once such a reply to such a question would have brought a frown to Lulu’s brow, and she would have asked sullenly why she could not read the whole book now. But she was improving under her father’s training; growing much less willful and more ready to yield to his better judgment, having become convinced that he was really wiser than herself, and that he loved her too well to deny her any harmless indulgence.

So she responded in a perfectly pleasant tone, “Thank you, papa, I’ll read only that part.”

“I can trust you,” he said, “for I know you to be a truthful child; and I think, too, that you are learning to be an obedient one also.”

Lulu was allowed to stay in the parlor as long as the older people did, as it so happened that they were ready to retire earlier than usual that evening; they separated and scattered to their respective rooms before ten o’clock.

Captain Raymond lingered behind to see that every thing was made secure for the night. Passing into the library on his round he was a trifle surprised to find Harold there.

“Ah, I thought you had gone up-stairs with the rest!”

“So I did—part of the way at least—but the remembrance of something I heard this afternoon and which ought, I think, to give you pleasant dreams, brought me back to tell it. That boy of yours, captain, is a son to be proud of.”

“So I have thought myself, at times, but feared it might be only a father’s partiality,” returned the captain, his face lighting up with pleased surprise. “What have you to tell me of him?”

“He had an experience over at the Oaks last night, that might have easily proved too severe a test of moral courage to an older fellow than he, yet he came out of the trial with colors flying. I heard the whole story from Art Howard as we were driving together from the Oaks over to Roselands.”

And Harold went on to give a detailed and perfectly correct account of what had taken place among the lads after retiring to their rooms for the night.

He had an intensely interested and deeply gratified listener.

When he had finished, his hand was taken in a cordial grasp, while the captain said with emotion, “A thousand thanks, Harold! You can never know until you are a father yourself, what joy you have brought to my heart. I have strong hope that my boy will grow up a brave, true Christian gentleman, neither afraid nor ashamed to stand up for the right against all odds.”

“I believe it, sir; he’s a fine fellow; I’m so proud of him myself that I regret the fact that there is no tie of blood between us.”

The next morning Lulu was hurrying through the duties of the toilet, saying to herself that she wanted a little talk with Gracie about the Peri’s present to papa, before he should come in to bid them good-morning, as was his custom, when she heard his voice in their sitting-room, which adjoined her bedroom.

Half glad, half sorry, he was there already, Lulu made all haste to finish her dressing, then softly opened the communicating door.

Her father was seated with Grace on his knee, his back toward herself, and before he was aware of her presence she had stolen up behind him and put her arms round his neck, her lips to his cheek, with a loving “Good-morning, my dear, dearest papa!”

“Ah, good-morning, my darling daughter,” he responded, drawing her round in front of him into his arms and returning the kiss. “How happy it makes me to see you looking so bright and well. Beautiful, too,” he added to himself; but that he did not say aloud.

“You’ve come in ’most too soon this morning, papa,” she remarked, lifting laughing eyes to his.

“Ah! how is that?” he asked.

“Why, I was just coming in to consult with Gracie about the gift you are to get from the Peri; and now I can’t, because it has to be a secret from you, you know.”

“Papa,” said Grace, “please name over lots of things you would like to have, so we can choose one, and you needn’t know which.”

“Lots of things that I should like to have!” he repeated, “I really can not think of one. I have been deluged with beautiful and useful presents; the lovely bracket Lulu sawed out for me, the pincushion Gracie made with her own small fingers for my toilet table, Mamma Vi’s beautiful painting that hangs over the mantel in my dressing-room, the watch case from Max, beside the too-numerous-to-mention gifts from others not quite so near and dear as wife and children.”

“But you’ve got to have something, you see, papa,” laughed Lulu, “whether you want it or not. Never mind, though, Gracie, we’ll think up something. Perhaps Aunt Zoe can help us.”

“Ah, that reminds me,” the captain said, “that we are to think of a gift for her. What shall it be, Lulu?”

“Suppose we say a ring, papa? When we were in that large jewelry store I saw her looking at one with an emerald in it, and she admired it very much. Would it cost too much!”

“Perhaps not,” he said; “I shall see about it.”

“Did you like the things we gave you for Christmas, papa?” asked Grace, affectionately stroking his face with her little white hand.

“Yes, indeed! particularly because they were all the work of your own hands. I could hardly have believed such tiny fingers as my Gracie’s could do work so fine as that on the cushion she made for her papa. And Lulu’s carving surprised and pleased me quite as much.”

“Isn’t it just lovely, papa?” cried Grace with enthusiasm. “I can’t do that kind of work at all.”

“No, you are not strong enough.”

“And I can’t sew half so well as she can,” added Lulu; “I’m not at all fond of plain sewing.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” remarked her father, “for I think every woman should be skilled in that sort of work.”

“I’d like sewing on a machine pretty well,” said Lulu, “but it’s slow, tedious work with a needle in your fingers.”

“Then I fear if I should buy you a machine now, you would never learn the skillful use of your needle. I want you to persevere with that, daughter, and I promise that as soon as your mamma tells me you have become an accomplished needle-woman, I will buy you the best machine that is to be had. And perhaps,” he added with a humorous look, “it will not be necessary to forbid you to use it too constantly.”

“I don’t believe it will, papa,” returned Lulu laughingly, “I don’t believe I should ever enjoy working it half so well as sawing and carving.”

Just then the breakfast-bell put an end to their talk.

Shortly after the meal was over Zoe drew Lulu aside and asked if she had decided upon the present from the Peri to the captain.

“No, not yet, Aunt Zoe; have you thought of any thing?”

“Yes, one that is spoken of in the book we take the idea from, the idea of the magic cave, the Peri and so on, I mean. It’s a pen-wiper with an ass’s head, and the words ‘There are two of us.’”

“Why, Aunt Zoe! that would be just insulting papa! I shan’t consent to it at all!” Lulu burst out indignantly.

“Oh no; it would be only to make fun, and your father would understand it and be as much amused as any one else.”

“I don’t like it; I couldn’t bear to have such a thing as that given to him,” returned Lulu. “I want to buy him a gold pen and holder that I saw in the city. I have money enough, and don’t you suppose I can get somebody to go for it?”

“Oh that will be easy enough,” said Zoe good-naturedly. “Edward is going in to-day, and I know he will do the errand willingly.”

“Oh, that will be nice! Thank you,” said Lulu, in a tone of delight, “I must run and tell Gracie about it.”

She was turning to go, but Zoe detained her. “Wait a moment,” she said. “There are some pretty things to be made for adorning the magic cave; do you want to help with the work?”

“Yes, Aunt Zoe, if you will show me what to do,” Lulu answered a little doubtfully, “you know I’m not an expert needle-woman; but I think I should enjoy working with pretty things; it would be much more interesting than plain sewing.”

“Yes, indeed, and you will take to it very readily if I am not greatly mistaken. I’ll join you presently, bringing some of the materials, and show you what is wanted.”

“Oh, if you please, Aunt Zoe! I’ll be ever so much obliged; you’ll find me in Gracie’s and my sitting-room,” Lulu answered, hurrying away.

“Yes; that will be a nice one for you to give papa,” Grace said in reply to Lulu’s communication, “but what shall I give him? I want to give him something too.”

“Make him a pen-wiper,” suggested Lulu; “that would go nicely with a pen and pen holder, and you know he said he would rather have something we made for him ourselves.”

“Oh, I’d like to, if I only knew how! Maybe mamma would give me some stuff to make it of and show me how to do it.”

“Yes, I’m sure she will,” cried Lulu; “she’s so kind.”

At that moment Violet and Zoe came in together, bringing with them a quantity of material to be fashioned into dolls, fairies, etc., for ornamenting the magic cave, or to do duty as gifts to be dispensed by the Peri.

“If you little girls feel inclined to give us some assistance in this work, we shall be glad to have it,” said Violet pleasantly.

“I should very much indeed, Mamma Vi, if you or Aunt Zoe will show me how,” exclaimed Lulu, eagerly.

“I too, mamma,” said Grace. “Please, mayn’t I make papa a present first! I was thinking of a pen-wiper for him, if you’ll please show me how to make a pretty one.”

“Gladly, my dear. What would you think of a little book, its inside leaves of chamois, the cover of soft morocco, all fastened together with ribbon, and papa’s name printed in gilt letters on the outside?”

“Oh, that would be ever so nice, mamma! But I haven’t any chamois or morocco; and could any body go and buy them for me in time?”

“I have some of each and will make you a present of as much as you need,” Violet returned gayly, bending down to press a kiss upon the little eager upturned face.

“I have some liquid gilding too,” she went on, “so there will be no trouble about the lettering on the cover. I will do that part and perhaps papa will not object because so much is my work.”

“Oh, no; I’m sure he won’t!” exclaimed Grace; “and mamma, you’re so very kind to help me so!”

Lulu was eagerly turning over the piles of pretty things, while Zoe gave her directions how to fashion them into the desired articles.

Violet went in search of what was needed for the pen-wiper, and presently they were all four busily engaged, chatting and laughing right merrily as they worked, Violet and Zoe seeming to feel almost as young and free from care as the two little girls.

They were dressing paper dolls as fairies in wide-spreading tarleton skirts highly ornamented with tinsel.

Lulu had dressed two, thought their appearance really beautiful, and was highly delighted at her success; she was holding the second one up and calling the attention of her companions to it, when Harold Travilla looked in to say that a quantity of things to be used in getting up the tableaux, had come over from Ion, been taken by the captain’s order, to one of the unoccupied rooms, and mamma thought Vi, Zoe and perhaps Lulu, might like to look them over and select for the different characters.

“Of course we will,” said Zoe, jumping up with alacrity, while Lulu hastily dropped her fairy into her work-basket, asking “O, Mamma Vi, may I?”

“Certainly, dear; Gracie too, if she wishes,” Violet answered pleasantly, adding, “you will have plenty of time to finish your gift for papa afterward, little girlie.”

Zoe had already hurried on ahead, Violet and Lulu followed more slowly, as Grace was not yet strong enough to move quickly, and they would not leave her behind.

Reaching the room whither the package had been conveyed, Grace was comfortably seated in an arm-chair where she could overlook the proceedings without fatigue, and the others gave themselves up to the fascinating business of examining the articles and discussing their merits, and the uses to which they should be put.

There were some very elegant silks, satins, velvets, brocades and laces among them, and Lulu was quite lost in admiration. She thought it would be delightful to wear some of them even for the little while a tableau would last, and hoped it would be decided that she should take part in several.

At length, having seen every thing, and being seized with a desire to go on with her work, in which she had become quite interested, she ran back to her own rooms without waiting for the others.

Reaching the open door of the sitting-room, she paused upon the threshold, transfixed with astonishment and dismay. The baby, at the moment sole occupant of the apartment, was seated on the floor tearing up her fairies, while round her lay scattered in wildest confusion, the contents of Lulu’s work-basket, skeins of silk, and worsted tangled together, ribbons and bits of silk, satin and velvet that Lulu had thought to fashion into various dainty little articles, all crumpled and wet, showing this Miss Baby had been putting them in her mouth and trying her pretty new teeth upon them.

Lulu’s first impulse was to spring forward, snatch the fairy out of the baby’s hands, and give the little mischief-maker an angry shake.

But she controlled herself with a great effort, and recalling the sad scenes and bitter repentance of a few weeks ago, refrained from rushing at the child, but moved gently toward her, saying in soft persuasive tones:

“Oh, baby, dear, don’t do so, let sister have that, there’s a darling! Oh, you’ve made sad work! But you didn’t know any better, did you, pretty pet?”

“Oh, Miss Lu! I’se awful sorry! didn’t neber t’ink ob my child doing sech ting!” exclaimed the baby’s nurse, hurrying in from an adjoining room. “I was jes’ lookin’ at de Christmas tings scattered roun’ an’ hyar de chile gets hol’ o’ yo’ work-basket fo’ I sees what she ’bout.”

“You ought to have watched her, Aunt Judy: It was your business to see that she didn’t get into mischief,” returned Lulu in a tone of sorrow and vexation. “All these pretty things are ruined, just ruined? And I’d taken so much pains and trouble to make those fairies for the magic cave,” she went on, taking them up and turning them over in her hands with a despairing sigh.

“Never mind, daughter, there are plenty more pretty things where those came from,” said her father’s voice from the open doorway.

Lulu started, and looked up in surprise. “Papa!” she exclaimed, “I did not know you were there. I did try to be patient with baby.”

“And succeeded,” he said, bending down to smooth her hair caressingly (for he was now close at her side), and giving her a tenderly affectionate look and smile.

Then he sat down and drew her into his arms, while Aunt Judy carried the baby away.

“Dear child,” he said, “you have made me very happy by your patience and forbearance under this provocation. I begin to have strong hope that you will learn to rule your own spirit, which the Bible tells us is better than taking a city.”

Lulu’s face was full of gladness. “Now, I don’t care if the fairies are spoiled!” she said with a happy sigh, putting her arm round his neck and laying her cheek to his. “I’m ’most obliged to baby for doing it.”

Her father continued his caresses for a moment, then he said, “I am going for a walk; would you like to go with me? I should be glad of your company, and I think you need the exercise.”

“Oh, ever so much, papa!” she answered joyously. “There’s nothing hardly that I like better than taking a walk with you!”

“Then you may go and put on your coat and hood, and we will set out at once.”

It was a bright clear morning, the air just cold enough to be bracing and exhilarating. Lulu felt it so and went skipping, jumping, dancing along by her father’s side, her hand in his and her tongue running very fast on the interesting subjects of children’s parties, tableaux and magic caves.

He listened with an indulgent smile. “I think my little girl is very happy this morning?” he said at length.

“Oh yes, yes, indeed I am, papa!” she answered earnestly, “how could I help it with so much to make me so?”

“You are looking forward to a great deal of pleasure in entertaining your young friends next week?”

“Yes, papa; and that makes me glad; but that isn’t all, you know.” And she looked up into his face with an arch, loving smile.

“What else?” he asked, returning the smile with one full of fatherly affection.

“Oh a great many things, papa; but most of all, that you don’t have to go away and leave us any more; that makes this the very happiest winter of our lives so far, Maxie and Gracie and I all think.”

“You may safely put my name into that list also,” he said.

“You’d rather be with us than on your ship?”

“Much rather, daughter. I greatly enjoy these walks with you, as well as many another pleasure belonging to life at home with wife and children.”

“Papa, why did you forbid me to take walks by myself?” asked Lulu presently.

“Wait a moment,” he said, and just then a turn in the road brought them face to face with a ragged, dirty man of aspect so forbidding that Lulu, though not usually a timid child, clung to her father’s hand and shrank half behind him in terror.

The tramp noted it with a scowl, pushed rudely by them and disappeared round the corner.

“O papa,” panted Lulu, “what a horrible looking man! He looked at me as if he’d like to kill me.”

“How would you enjoy meeting him alone?” asked her father.

“Oh! not at all, papa! I’d be frightened half to death!”

“I think you would; and what is more, I think he—and many another of the same class—would be a more dangerous creature for you to meet alone than any wild beast. Do you need any further reply to your question of a moment ago?”

“O papa! no indeed! and I shall never disobey you again by roaming about by myself. I see now that you were kind to punish me for it.”

“I thought it far kinder than to let you run the risk that such disobedience would bring,” he said. “And,” he went on presently, “there are others who, though not so forbidding in appearance, are very nearly if not quite as dangerous: who coax and wheedle children and by that means get them into their power and carry them away from their parents and friends, to lead miserable sinful lives. I think it would break my heart to lose my dear little Lulu in that way; so, my darling, heed your father’s warning, and never, never listen to them.”

“Indeed I’ll not listen to them!” she exclaimed in her vehement way, “but I am sure nobody could ever persuade me to go away from you, my own dear, dear father!”

“Ah,” he said with a sigh, “I think you forget how, a few weeks ago, you attempted to run away from me without persuasion from any one.”

“But that was because I thought you didn’t love me any more, papa,” she answered humbly; “but now I know you do,” she added, looking up into his face with eyes full of ardent affection.

“Never doubt it again my precious child, never for one moment doubt that you are very, very dear to your father’s heart,” he said with emotion, bending down to give her a tender kiss.

CHAPTER V.

The captain was carrying a basket. Lulu asked if she might know what was in it.

“Yes,” he said; “it contains a few delicacies for a poor sick woman whom we are going to see.”

They had been pursuing a path running parallel with the highway, and which had led them into a wood, but now the captain turned aside into another, leading to a hut standing some distance back from the road.

“Is it in that little cabin she lives?” asked Lulu.

“Yes; a poor place, isn’t it? hardly occupying so much space as one of our parlors. And there is quite a large family of children.”

“I’m sorry for them; it must be dreadful to live so,” said Lulu, her tones full of heartfelt sympathy. “But, papa, what makes them so poor?”

“I suppose they had no early advantages of education—they are very ignorant at all events—but the principal trouble is idleness and drunkenness on the part of the husband and father. It makes it very difficult to help them too, as he takes every thing he can lay his hands on and spends it for drink.”

“Oh, I can never, never be thankful enough that my father is so different from that!” cried Lulu, with another glad, loving look up into his face.

He only smiled in return and pressed the hand he held, for they had now reached the door of the cabin and it was instantly opened by one of the children, who had seen their approach from the window.

One room, that to which they were admitted, served for kitchen, living room and bedroom, and with a loft overhead and a shed behind, comprised the whole house.

The first object that met their eyes on entering was the sick woman lying on a bed in one corner; the first sound that saluted their ears her hollow cough. She was very pale, and so emaciated that she seemed to be nothing but skin and bone.

“How are you this morning, Mrs. Jones?” the captain asked in kindly sympathizing tones, as he drew near the bed and took the bony hand she feebly held out to him.

“P’raps a leetle better, cap’n,” she answered pantingly. “I slep’ so good and warm under these awful nice blankets you sent fur Chris-mus; an’ the jelly an’ cream an’ t’other goodies—oh, but they was nice! I can’t never pay you fur all yer goodness—no, nor the half o’ it; but the good Lord—he’ll make it up to you somehow or other.

“An’ ye’ve brung yer leetle gal to see me? that’s kind, Mandy, set the cheer fur the gentleman—we ain’t got but one, cap’n—an’ find somethin’ fur her to set on, Mandy.”

“There, I cayn’t talk no more, me breath’s clean gone.”

“No, you shouldn’t try to talk,” the captain said, taking the chair that “Mandy” had set for him after wiping the dust from it with a very greasy, dirty apron. “And don’t trouble yourself, Amanda, to find a seat for my little girl; she is used to this one and likes it better than any other, I believe,” he added with a tenderly affectionate smile into Lulu’s eyes as he drew her to his knee.

“Yes, that I do,” returned Lulu, emphatically, glancing proudly from her father to Amanda, who stood regarding them in open-mouthed astonishment.

“Well, I never!” she ejaculated the next moment. “Wouldn’t I be s’prised out’n a year’s growth ef pap should act that a-way to me? And I shouldn’t like it nuther; the furder I kin git away from the likes o’ him the better, I think, so I do.”

The mother turned her face away with a groan.

“’Tain’t no fault o’ hern, cap’n,” she said; “ef Bijah wur like ye, sir, the childer’d be glad enough to git clost to him.”

“Yes; love begets love,” he said. Then taking up his basket, which he had set on the floor beside his chair; “I have something here for you and should like to see you eat some of it now.”

“What is it, cap’n?” she asked as he handed her a large china cup filled with something white, creamy, and very tempting in appearance.

“They call it Spanish Cream,” he answered. “I think you will find it good; and these lady-fingers, just fresh from the oven when I started will go nicely with it,” he added, setting a plate of them down on the bed beside her.

“Lady-fingers?” she repeated; “what’s them? I never hearn on ’em afore.”

“Sponge cakes,” he said; “they are very light and neither rich nor tough; so I think you may eat freely of them without fear of harm.”

“They’re mighty nice, cap’n,” she said when she had tasted them; “an’ this here creamy stuff—I never tasted nothin’ better. It wuz awful kind o’ ye to fetch ’em, but I haint got no appetite no more, an’ so ye mustn’t think hard o’ me that I don’t eat hearty of ’em.”

“Oh, no, certainly not,” he said.

“Shall I empty them things and wash ’em, ma?” asked Amanda, drawing near the bed and looking with longing eyes at the dainty food.

“Yes; but don’t you uns eat ’em clean up from yer sick mother that cayn’t eat yer bacon an’ corn bread and taters.”

“No; just a mite to see what ther like,” returned the girl, dipping up a huge spoonful of the cream and hastily transferring it to her widely-opened mouth; while a little crowd of younger children, who, from the farther side of the room, had been staring in silent curiosity at the captain and Lulu, burst out all together, “Gimme some, gimme some, Mandy; ye shan’t have it all, so ye shan’t.”

“No; ye cayn’t none on ye have none; it’s all fer yer poor sick ma, and ye’d orter to be ’shamed to be axin’ fer it,” returned Amanda sharply.

“Let them have a taste all around,” said the captain kindly. “I’ll have some more made and sent over by the time your mother wants it. But don’t wash the things; just empty them and put them back in the basket.”

“Yes, Mandy, ye might break ’em; put ’em back jes so,” panted the invalid from the bed.

When the children had quieted down, Capt. Raymond, taking a Testament from his pocket, asked if he should read a few verses.

“Yes, sir; oh yes, ef yer ain’t in too big a hurry. Please read about the blood; the blood that kin wash a sinner bad as me, clean nuff to git to heaven; them verses runs in my mind all the time. The Lord above knows I’ve need nuff o’ that washin’.”

“Yes,” he said, “we all need it more than any thing else; for in no other way can we be saved from the wrath to come! There is none other name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved!”

Then turning over the leaves of his Testament he read: “But now in Christ Jesus, ye who sometime were far off are made nigh by the blood of Christ.”

“If the blood of bulls and of goats, and the ashes of a heifer sprinkling the unclean, sanctifieth to the purifying of the flesh, How much more shall the blood of Christ who through the eternal Spirit offered himself without spot to God, purge your conscience from dead works to serve the living God?”

“And these things write we unto you that your joy may be full. This then is the message that we have heard of him, and declare unto you, that God is light and in him is no darkness at all. If we say that we have fellowship with him, and walk in darkness, we lie, and do not the truth; but if we walk in the light as he is in the light, we have fellowship one with another, and the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin.”

“Yes, yes; them’s the blessed words!” she cried, clasping her hands and raising her eyes to heaven. “Oh, if I only knowed ’twas fer me, me that hasn’t never tried to serve him, and now cayn’t do nothin’ but lie here and suffer!”

“If you bear your sufferings patiently it will be acceptable service to Him,” the captain answered. “He pondereth the hearts; he sees all the motives and springs of action. And he will not let you have one pain, one moment of distress that is not for your good—making you fit for a home with him in heaven—if you give yourself to him in love and submission, and try earnestly to learn the lessons he would teach you.

“But never forget that salvation can not be earned and deserved either by doing or enduring: it is God’s free, unmerited gift, bought for his chosen ones by the blood and righteousness of Christ. He offers them to us, and if we accept the gift, God will treat us as if they were actually our own: as if we had been sinless like Jesus, and had died the dreadful death that he died in our stead.”

“I—I don’t seem to see it quite plain yet,” she said; “please, sir, ask Him to show me jest how to do it.”

The captain willingly granted her request, kneeling by the bed; Lulu by his side.

His prayer was short, earnest and to the point; his language so simple that the poor sick woman, ignorant though she was, understood every word.

She thanked him in tremulous tones and with eyes full of tears.

“I hain’t got long to stay,” she whispered, faintly, “but I hope I’m ’bout ready now, fer I’ve tried to give myself to Him. I wish I’d know’d you years back, cap’n, and begun to serve Him then.”

Lulu seemed to have lost her gay spirits and walked along quite soberly by her father’s side as they went on their homeward way.

“Papa,” she asked, with a slight tremble in her voice, “is that woman going to die?”

“I think she has not many days to live, daughter,” he answered with a sigh, thinking how doubly forlorn her children would be without her.

“Then I’m very, very sorry for ‘Mandy’ and the others; it’s so hard for children to have their mother die!”

“And you know all about it by sad experience, my dear little daughter,” he responded, bending a tenderly compassionate look upon her as she lifted her eyes to his.

“Yes, papa; and so do Max and Gracie.”

“Do you remember your mother?” he asked.

“Not just exactly how she looked, papa; but oh, I’ve never forgotten how nice it was to have her to love, and to love us. Papa, I don’t believe she had a temper like mine, had she?”

“No, daughter; she was very amiable, very sweet and lovely in disposition. As I have already told you several times, you inherit your temper from me.”

“Papa, I’d never know you had a bit of a temper. Oh, do you think I can ever get to be like you in controlling mine?”

“Certainly, dear child. Can you think I would be so cruel as to punish you for its indulgence if I did not think you could control it?”

“No, papa; I know you’d never be cruel to me or any body.”

Then going back to the former topic of discourse. “It’ll be a great deal worse for those children to lose their mother than it was for us to lose ours (though ours was so, so much nicer), for they won’t have a good father left like we have. But O papa, it did seem so dreadful when you had to leave us and go off to sea so soon after mamma was buried.”

“Yes,” he replied, in moved tones, “dreadful to me as well as to my children!”

“But that’s all over now, and we can have you with us all the time; and in a dear, sweet home of our own,” she cried, joyously.

“And a new mamma who is very sweet and kind to my once motherless children, I think.”

“Yes, papa, she is; and it’s very nice to have such a pretty, gentle lady to—to do the honors of the house. That’s what people call it, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he returned, laughing in an amused way.

“And I s’pose you’re a good deal happier than you would be without her?”

“Indeed, I am! very much happier.”

Lulu felt a burning desire to ask if he had loved her mother as dearly as he did this second wife, but did not dare venture quite so far. She asked another question instead.

“Papa, did you give those children shoes and stockings?”

“What put it into your head that I did?” he queried in turn.

“Oh, I saw they all had good ones on, and I don’t believe their father ever bought them for them.”

“No; and I fear they’ll soon go for liquor.”

“Papa, I have a woolen dress that’s most out at the elbows; Mamma Vi said I’d better not wear it any more. May I get Christine or Agnes to patch it and give it to one of those Jones children? I think it would be about big enough for one of them.”

“You may get Christine to show you how to mend it and then you may give it to the little girl.”

“But—I—I don’t like to sew, papa, and I’m sure Christine would be willing to do it.”

“I presume she would, but, daughter, I want you to learn both how to do such work neatly, and what pleasure may be found in self-denying exertion for others. I am not laying a command upon you, however, but it will gratify me very much if, of your own free will, you will do what I desire.”

“Papa, I will,” she said, after a moment’s struggle with herself, “for I love to please you, and I just know you know what is best for me.”

“That’s my own dear little girl,” he said, smiling down at her.

CHAPTER VI.

“What a nice home ours is, papa!” exclaimed Lulu, as they turned into the grounds at Woodburn.

“Yes, I think so, and that we have a very great deal to be thankful for,” he replied. “If God’s will be so, I hope we may all see many happy years in it.”

“The grounds are so lovely,” pursued Lulu, “that I most wish we could have warm weather a part of the time next week.”

“I think we shall find plenty of amusement suitable for the house,” her father said in a kindly tone; “and next summer we will perhaps have an out-door party for my children and their young friends.”

“O, papa, may we? how delightful that will be!” cried Lulu, with a joyous hop, skip and jump. “Oh, it’s just the nicest thing to have such a father and such a home!”

There seemed a pleasant bustle about the house as they came in; the conservatory was being prepared for the sport that was to be carried on in it, and sounds of silvery laughter and sweet-toned voices in lively, gleeful chat, came floating down from above.

The captain and Lulu following these sounds presently entered Violet’s boudoir, where they found the ladies busily engaged in making ready for the tableaux.

Grace was among them, and gave her father a joyous greeting: for the pen-wiper was quite finished and laid away safely in a place that he was not all likely to look into.

He stooped to give her a kiss and ask how she felt; then caught up the baby, who ran to meet him crying in her sweet baby voice, “Papa, papa!” tossed her up two or three times, she crowing with delight, then seated himself with her on his knee.

“What is sweeter than a baby, especially when it is one’s own?” he said, hugging her close with many a fond caress.

“Papa, I do think she’s the dearest, sweetest baby that ever was made,” Lulu said, standing by his side and softly smoothing the baby’s golden curls.

“In spite of her mischievous propensities, eh?” he returned laughingly, while little Elsie held up her face for a kiss, saying “Lu, Lu!”

Lulu gave the kiss very heartily. “Yes, papa,” she answered, “I don’t believe she’s a bit more mischievous than other babies, and she doesn’t know any better. I wonder if its just because she’s our own baby that she seems so beautiful and sweet?”

“Not altogether that, I am sure,” he said, though no doubt it adds a good deal to the attraction. “What do you think about it, mamma?” he asked, looking up fondly into Violet’s eyes as she came to his other side.

“Oh, of course, I know she’s the darlingest baby that ever was born!” she returned gayly, bending down to kiss the little rosebud mouth, “Though no doubt you have thought the very same of three others.”

“Ah, how come you to be so good at guessing?” he responded, laughingly. “Yes, I remember that each one seemed to me a marvel of beauty and sweetness. I thought no other man had ever been blest with such darlings; and I’m afraid I must confess that I am of pretty much the same opinion yet,” he concluded, gathering all three of his little girls into his arms and looking down lovingly upon them, for Gracie too had come to him and was standing beside her older sister.

“It can’t be for goodness, as far as I’m concerned,” sighed Lulu half under her breath; but he heard her.

“No, nor for beauty; but just because you are my very own,” he said, caressing them in turn, Violet looking on with shining eyes.

“Lulu, dear,” she said, turning to her with a loving look, “I was sorry that baby did such damage to your pretty things. I thank you for being so patient and forbearing with her—the little mischief!”—glancing smilingly into the blue eyes of the babe—“and I shall make good your loss. I have plenty of bits of silk, satin, ribbon, velvet and lace among my treasures to more than replace what she spoiled.”

“Oh thank you, Mamma Vi,” exclaimed Lulu delightedly.

“My dear,” said the captain, with a humorous look, “isn’t the little mischief-doer as much mine as yours? and am I not, therefore, under quite as great obligation to make good the loss she has occasioned?”

“Perhaps so,” Violet returned, “but as man and wife are one, your easiest plan will be to let me do it, seeing you have no such supplies on hand.”

With that she pulled open a deep drawer in a bureau filled with such things as she had mentioned, and bade Lulu and Gracie help themselves to all they wanted.

“O Mamma Vi,” they cried, in wide-eyed astonishment and delight, “how very good in you! but do you really mean it?”

“Yes, every word of it,” laughed Violet. “Take all you want; I shall not feel impoverished if I find the drawer quite empty when you are done with it.”

“No, you would still have your husband,” remarked the captain with mock gravity.

“And baby,” added Violet, taking the child from him.

The little girls were exclaiming over their treasures.

“What have you there?” asked Zoe coming forward and peeping over their heads. “Oh what quantities of lovely things! some of them just suited for dressing fairies; and several more are needed.”

“Oh may I dress one?” asked Lulu eagerly.

“Yes, indeed, if you like. Here, I’ll help you select for it.”

“Lulu,” said her father, “you have forgotten to take off your hood and coat. Do so at once, daughter, you will be apt to catch cold wearing them in this warm room.”

“I was just on the point of asking her if she wouldn’t take off her things and stay awhile,” laughed Violet, as Lulu hastened to obey.

Before the dinner bell rang, Lulu had again dressed two fairies, which she thought quite an improvement upon the first two. She exhibited them to her father with pride and satisfaction, asking if he did not think them pretty.

“Yes,” he answered with a smile, “I am hardly a competent judge of such things, but they are pleasing to my eye; all the more so, I suspect, because they are the handiwork of my own little girl.”

Immediately after dinner the whole party set out for the Oaks, some riding, others driving. They arrived just as the exhibition was about to begin, and of course had no opportunity to speak to any of the young people—who were all engaged behind the scenes—till it was over.

The spectators declared themselves much pleased with the whole performance, every tableau a decided success, and some of them really beautiful.

Lulu and Grace, seated in front of their father and Violet, enjoyed thoroughly every thing they saw, taking special interest in the tableaux in which Evelyn and Max took part.

In the last one Eva appeared as a Swiss peasant girl, and a very pretty one she made.

The instant the curtain dropped she hastened, without waiting to change her dress, into the parlor where were the spectator guests, and made her way to Lulu’s side.

“O, Eva!” cried the latter, “how pretty you are in that dress! and how perfectly lovely you looked in the picture!”

“Oh, hush, you mustn’t flatter,” returned Evelyn, laughing, as she threw her arms round Lulu and kissed her with warmth of affection. “I’m so glad you came! you, too, Gracie,” kissing her also; “I was afraid you might not be well enough.”

“Oh, yes: I’m better,” said Grace; “and, oh, I wouldn’t have missed it for anything!”

There was a great deal of laughing and talking going on, and Captain Raymond, exchanging remarks with some of the other grown people, had not noticed Evelyn till this moment; but now he turned toward her with a kind fatherly smile, and held out his hand, saying, “Ah, my dear, how do you do? Allow me to congratulate you on your successful performances, and to hope you will repeat them at Woodburn next week.”

“Oh, yes, Eva, you will, won’t you?” cried Lulu.

Eva smiled pleasantly, “I shall be glad to do anything I can to help with the sports, and I expect a very good time,” she said. “It’s ever so good in you and Aunt Vi to make another party for us young folks, captain.”

“I shall feel fully repaid if it proves a happy time to you all,” he replied.

“I must go now and change my dress,” said Evelyn. “Captain, may I carry Lu off with me to the rooms we girls are occupying?”

“Yes, if you don’t keep her too long; we will be starting for home in about half an hour.”

“Thank you, papa; I promise to be back by that time,” said Lulu.

“And I’ll see that she is,” said Evelyn; and the two ran off together.

Lora Howard, the Dinsmore girls, and Rosie Travilla had already repaired to the rooms appropriated to their joint use, and the moment Lulu appeared, they all crowded round her with warm greetings, queries as to what she thought of their tableaux, and expressions of delight at the prospect of spending the greater part of the coming week at Woodburn.

“I was quite vexed with the captain for not allowing you to accept our invitation; but I’ll have to forgive him now,” Maud remarked, with a gay laugh. “I suppose he had some good and sufficient reason, and is trying to make up the loss to us now. Perhaps the right thing for us would be to retaliate by declining in our turn, but I must own I can’t work myself up to such a pitch of self-denial.”

“And I’m very sure I can’t,” said her sister.

“Lu,” said Rosie, a little shame-facedly, “I think it is very nice in you to invite me after all my teasing.”

“I’m ashamed of having been so easily teased,” responded Lulu, with a blush, “but don’t mean to be in future, if I can help it; and I hope we shall be good friends. I am sure papa and Mamma Vi wish that we would.”

“So nearly related—aunt and niece—you certainly ought to be the best of friends,” laughed Lora Howard.

“We’re going to have tableaux, and act charades, and play various kinds of games; papa is sure to see that we have a very good time; the best it is possible for him to contrive for us,” said Lulu, quietly ignoring Lora’s remark.

“My anticipations are raised to the highest pitch,” said Sydney.

Evelyn had just completed her toilet. “Time’s up, Lu,” she said, looking at her watch, “we must go back to your father.”

The other girls had finished dressing and the whole six at once adjourned to the parlor, where their elders were enjoying themselves together.

The lads were there also, Max standing beside his father, who held his hand in a warmly affectionate clasp, while he said in a tone that reached no other ears, “Max, my dear boy, I heard a report of you that has made me a proud and happy father.”

The captain’s eyes were beaming, and at his words Max’s face flushed so joyously that Lulu, watching them from the farther side of the room, wondered what it was all about. She hastened to them.

“Oh, Maxie,” she exclaimed, taking his other hand. “I’m so glad to see you! it seems as if we’d been a whole month apart.”

Her father smiled at that—a fond, approving smile.

“Are you going home with us now, Maxie?” she went on.

“I don’t know,” Max answered, with an inquiring glance at their father.

“Do just as you please about it, my son,” replied the captain; “your leave of absence extends to tomorrow afternoon, and if you are enjoying your visit, perhaps it would be as well to finish it out; your going might interfere with some amusement that has been planned for the others as well as yourself.”

Max said he was having a fine time and decided to stay.

“Can’t Lulu stay too, captain?” asked Sydney, who happened to be near enough to catch the latter part of his sentence, and Max’s reply.

He deliberated a moment. “Do you want to stay, daughter?” he asked in a kindly tone, and looking searchingly into Lulu’s face. Her reply came promptly, “I think it would be very pleasant, papa, only I want to be at home to help get ready for my party—ours, I mean, because, Max, it’s just as much yours and Gracie’s as mine. Papa said so.”

“And I think it’s splendid that we are going to have it,” said Max. “How good and kind you are to us, papa!”

CHAPTER VII.

Grace was very tired when they reached home, and her father carried her immediately to her own room, saying she must be undressed and put to bed at once, and her supper should be brought up to her.

“May Lulu have hers up here with me, papa, if she’s willing?” asked the little girl.

“I have no objection,” he said; “Lulu may do exactly as she pleases about it.”

“Then I will, Gracie,” Lulu said, leaning over her sister and patting her cheek affectionately; “we’ll have a nice time together, just as we have so often since you’ve been sick. I’m sure papa will send us a good supper. He never starves us, or wants us to go to bed hungry as Mrs. Scrimp used to, does he?”

“No,” he said; “I should far rather go hungry myself, and it pains me to the heart to think that ever my darlings were treated so.”

His tone and the expression of his countenance said even more than his words.

“Don’t be troubled about it now, dear papa,” said Lulu, putting an arm around his neck and laying her cheek to his, for he was seated, with Grace on his knee, while he busied himself in relieving her of her outdoor wrappings, “it’s all over, you know, and we don t mind it. I do believe we enjoy this dear, sweet home all the more for having had such a hard time at first.”

“My dear, loving little daughter,” he responded, gazing tenderly upon her; then added with a sigh, “I wish I could think that hard experience had left no ill effects, but it is plain to me that you were injured morally, and poor Gracie will not soon recover from the damage to her health.”

Violet came hurrying in just in time to catch his last words.

“What is it, dear?” she asked anxiously, “has Gracie’s little outing been too much for her?”

“No, I trust not,” he answered cheerfully; “I hope it will prove, in the end, to have been of benefit; but she is quite weary now and Lulu and I are going to put her to bed. Bring her night-dress, daughter.”

Lulu hastened to obey, and Violet, drawing near, stooped over Gracie with a fond caress and a few endearing words.

“I am very sorry you are so tired, darling,” she said, “but I hope you will have a good night’s sleep and wake in the morning feeling all the better for your little trip.”

“Yes, mamma, I’m ’most sure I shall,” said Grace, “my bed is so soft and nice to sleep in.”

“Shall not I take your place in helping to make her ready for it, Levis?” Violet asked in a sprightly tone.

“No, no,” he said, “I’m much obliged, but consider myself quite competent to the task; besides, I hear baby calling you.”

So with a kind good-night to Gracie, Violet left them.

Lulu had brought the night-dress, and while helping her father, talked eagerly about the tableaux.

“I do think they were just lovely!” she said. “And Eva and Rosie looked so pretty in those costumes. I want to take part in ours. You’ll let me, papa, won’t you?”

“Yes, daughter; but I hope you will not be selfish toward your guests in regard to the choice of characters, or in showing a desire to appear in too many. I want my little girl to be a polite and considerate hostess, and always modest and retiring; never trying to push herself into notice, and never seeking her own gratification in preference to that of others.

“The Bible teaches us to please others in such things as are right, ‘For even Christ pleased not himself.’ And he is to be our pattern.”

“I’ll try,” she said with a thoughtful look. “Papa, I do believe you care more to have your children good than rich or beautiful or anything else.”

“I do indeed!” he returned; “it is my heart’s desire to see them all followers of Christ, heirs of eternal life; for what is the short life in this world compared to the everlasting ages of the one we are to live in the next? And godliness hath the promise of the life that now is as well as of that which is to come; there is no real happiness, my child, but in being at peace with God.”

Grace was now ready for bed, and her father laid her in it, saying, “Lie there and rest, papa’s dear pet, till your supper is brought up. Then Lulu may get your warm dressing-gown for you, and you may sit up to the table in your own little sitting-room while you eat. Then you can go to bed again as soon as you are done your meal; and I think Lulu will be willing to stay with you till you fall asleep.”

“Oh, yes; yes, indeed!” cried Lulu. “I’ll stay as long as she wants me.”

“But, papa, you haven’t kissed me good-night,” Gracie said, as he was turning away.

“No, darling,” he answered; “but I haven’t forgotten it. I am going down now to order your supper sent up, and when I think you have had time to eat it, I shall come back to bid you good-night.”

Grace was too tired to talk, but she made a good listener while Lulu’s tongue ran fast enough for two all the time they were waiting for their supper and eating it after it came up—as tempting a meal as anyone could have reasonably desired.

Lulu’s themes were of course the tableaux they had seen at the Oaks, those they expected to have the next week here in their own home, and such other amusements as had been planned for the entertainment of the invited guests.

“And aren’t you glad, Gracie, that Maxie’s coming home tomorrow afternoon?” she asked.

“Yes, indeed,” returned Grace; “Maxie’s such a nice brother, and I’m tired doing without him.”

“So am I; but O, Gracie, how much worse it was to have to do without papa more than half the time, as we used to!”

“Worse than what?” asked the captain in a playful tone, stepping in at the open door leading into Grace’s bedroom.

The little girls were still at the table in the sitting-room.

“Worse than having Max away for a little while, papa,” replied Lulu.

“But we think that’s bad too,” said Grace.

“It will soon be over; Maxie will be at home to-morrow,” he said, sitting down beside her. “Are you enjoying your supper, my darlings?”

“Oh, yes, sir!” they both replied. Grace adding, “I’m done now, papa, and ready to be put in bed again, when I’ve said my prayers.”

The tea-bell rang as he laid her down, so with a good-night kiss, he left her to Lulu’s care.

The guests all went away early the next afternoon, most of them expecting to return on Monday, and a little later Max came home, riding his pony which his father had sent for him.

Every body gave him a warm welcome, from his father down to the baby, who the moment she caught sight of him, held up her little arms crying, “Max, Max, take her.”

“Why, of course I will, you pretty pet,” he said, picking her up and hugging her in his arms. “How fast you’re learning to talk; and are you glad to have brother come home?”

The boy was more pleased than he cared to show.

She nodded her curly head in answer to his question, while Violet said, “We are all very glad, indeed, Max; we have missed you in spite of having company every day while you were gone.”

“And though I’ve had a fine time at the Oaks I’m ever so glad to get back, Mamma Vi,” responded Max. “I’ve found out the truth of the saying that there’s no place like home.”

“And I trust will be always of that opinion,” his father remarked, with a pleased look.

“It is my ardent desire that to each one of my children their home in their father’s house may seem the happiest place on earth.”

“If it does not, it will be no fault of their father’s,” remarked Violet, giving him a look of proud, fond affection, as she took the babe from Max. “We mustn’t impose upon brother Max’s good nature, little girlie,” she said.

“Indeed, Mamma Vi, it’s no imposition,” he protested, “I like to hold her.”

“Oh Max,” cried Lulu, “won’t you tell us about the good times you’ve been having at the Oaks?”

“After a while,” he said, “but now I want to go round and see how things look indoors and out.”

“Oh yes; you must see what papa’s been having done in the conservatory, where the magic cave is to be. I’ll go with you, shan’t I?”

“Of course, if you like.”

“We’ll all go,” said the captain, taking little Elsie from her mother, “baby and all;” and he led the way, Violet following with Gracie clinging to her hand, Max and Lulu bringing up the rear, the latter talking very fast of all that was to be done for the entertainment of their expected guests.

Max was almost as much pleased and interested as even she could have wished.

“What lots of fun it will be!” he said, when he had seen the alterations and heard all that was to be told about the new use to be made of the conservatory. “Papa, I think it’s just splendid in you to give us youngsters such a party!”

“Splendid?” echoed his father with a humorous smile. “I presume that must mean that I am a shining example of paternal goodness?”

“I am sure you are,” laughed Violet. “I never saw a brighter.”

“Thank you, my love,” he returned. “And did you ever see a more grateful set of children?”

“No, never! I hope you feel that you have an appreciative wife, also?”

“She is far beyond my deserts,” he answered softly, the words reaching no ear but hers; for the children were again talking among themselves, and paying no heed to what might be passing between their elders.

“No, sir,” returned Vi, with a saucy smile up into his eyes. “I utterly deny that that is so, and stoutly maintain the contrary.”

“My dear,” he said laughingly, “have you so little respect for your husband’s opinions?”

“Yes, sir, just so little,” she answered merrily; “that is in regard to the matter under discussion.”

“Ah, that last is a saving clause,” he said with a look of amusement. “Shall we go back to the parlor? I see the children have forsaken us. Max seems half wild with delight at being at home again—it is so new and pleasant a thing for him and his sisters to have a home of their own.”

“With their father in it,” added Violet. “I think they never forget that that is the best part of it.”

“As he does not that wife and children are the best part of it to him,” responded the captain, feelingly.

“I think we are a very happy family,” Violet said with joyous look and tone, “and really it does seem extremely nice to be quite by ourselves occasionally.”

Lulu made the same remark as they all gathered about the open grate in Violet’s boudoir that evening after tea.

“Yes,” said her father, dandling the baby on his knee, “I think it does; though we all enjoy visits from our other dear ones, yet sometimes we prefer to be alone together.”

“Up, up!” said baby, stretching up her arms and looking coaxingly into her father’s face.

“She wants you to toss her up, papa,” said Lulu.

“So she does,” said the captain. Then followed a game of romps in which everybody took part, much to Miss Baby’s delight.

It did not last long, however, for her mammy soon appeared upon the scene with the announcement that baby’s bedtime had come.

Everybody must have a good-night kiss from the rosebud mouth, and then she was carried away, Violet following, while Gracie, as the next in age, claimed the vacated place upon her father’s knee.

“That is right,” he said, “and there is room for Lulu too,” drawing her to a seat upon the other. “Now, Maxie, what have you to tell us about the visit to the Oaks?”

Max had a good deal to tell and was flattered that his father should care to hear it. Drawing his chair up as close to his audience as consistent with comfort, he began talking with much liveliness and animation.

He said nothing about the unpleasant experience of the first night of his stay at the Oaks, or of certain sneering remarks to which he had afterward been occasionally subjected by Bertram Shaw, but told of the kindness with which he had been treated by his entertainers, and of the sports and pleasures in which he had participated.

The captain noted with much inward satisfaction that his boy’s narrative was free from both censoriousness and egotism, also that he seemed to have nothing to conceal from his father, but talked on as unreservedly as if his sisters had been his only auditors.

In fact, Max was becoming very thoroughly convinced that he could not have a wiser, truer, better friend, or safer confidant, than his father, and was finding it a dear delight to open his heart to him without reserve.

Violet rejoined them presently, and Max found in her another attentive and interested listener.

But Max was not allowed to do all the talking; there were other topics of discourse beside that of his experience at the Oaks; and in these every one took part.

They were all in a jovial mood, full of mirth and gladness, and time flew so fast that all were surprised when the clock, striking nine, told them the hour for evening worship had arrived.

As soon as the short service was over the children bade good-night and went to their rooms, the captain, as usual since her sickness, carrying Grace to hers.

When he rejoined his wife he found her sitting meditatively over the fire; but as he stepped to her side she looked up with a bright smile of welcome.

“How nice to have you quite to myself for a little while,” she remarked in a half jesting tone, as he sat down with his arm round her waist and her hand in his.

“My dear,” he said, a trifle remorsefully, “I fear I may sometimes seem rather forgetful and neglectful of you. Do you not occasionally feel tempted to regret having married a man with children?”

“Regret, indeed! Regret being the wife of one who has never yet given me an unkind word or look?” she cried, almost indignantly. “No, no, never for one moment, my dear, dear husband!” she added, laying her head on his shoulder with a sigh of content.

“My dear, sweet wife,” he responded, in accents of tenderest affection, pressing his lips again and again to hers and to her cheek and brow, “words can not tell how I love you, or how precious your love is to me!”

“I know it,” she said joyously. “I know you have given me the first place in your heart. Ah, I think mine would break if I saw any reason to doubt it. But please don’t think so ill of me as to suppose for a moment that I could be jealous of your love for your children, the poor motherless darlings, who have been half fatherless, too, for the greater part of their lives!”

“Yes,” he sighed, “when I think of all that I feel I can not be too tenderly careful of them, or too indulgent in all that I may with safety to their best interests.”

“I am sure of it,” she said; “and I do enjoy seeing you and them together; your mutual affection is a continual feast to my eyes. It often reminds me of the happy days when I had a father,” she added, with a slight tremble in her sweet voice and tears in her beautiful eyes. “Oh, how we all loved him! yet not better, I am sure, than your children love you.”

“Though from all I have heard of him, I can hardly doubt that he was far more worthy of it,” sighed the captain. “I fear I have sometimes spoken to my older two with unnecessary sternness. I think life in either army or navy has a tendency to abnormally develop that side of a man’s character.”

Violet looked up with a bright, half roguish smile. “What a talent for concealing your faults you must have! I have known nothing of the sternness you deplore: but mayhap you have been careful to seize your opportunity for its exercise when I was not present.”

“Probably I have, though not consciously with the motive your words would seem to impute,” he replied, returning her smile and caressing her hair and cheek with his hand as he spoke, “but because reproofs have a better effect when given in private.”

“Yes; that is very true,” she said, “but I fear there are many parents who are not, like you, so thoughtful and considerate as always to wait till they have the child alone to administer a deserved reproof.”

“Ah, how kindly determined is my little wife to see nothing but good in her husband!” he said, with a pleased laugh.

She ignored that remark.

“Levis,” she said, “I have been thinking, as I sat here alone just now, about the children’s looks, and wondering at Gracie’s being so entirely different from those of the other two; Max and Lulu resemble you so strongly that they would, I think, be recognized anywhere as your son and daughter: because they have your hair and eyes, indeed all your features—and of course I think them very handsome, noble-looking children—” she interpolated with a another bright, winsome smile up into his face, “but Gracie, though quite as lovely in every respect, possesses an altogether different type of beauty; of character also.”

“Yes,” he said, in a meditative tone, “Grace is like her mother.”

“Her mother? Your first wife? You never mentioned her to me before.”

Her tone was inquiring, and he answered it.

“Because, my love, I feared—supposed at least—that you would hardly care to hear of her.”

“But I do. I love the children, and but for her we should not have had them; and she was so near and dear to them. If I knew about her, I should try to keep her memory green in their hearts. Oh, if I were going to die, I could not bear to think that my dear little Elsie would forget all about me.”

CHAPTER VIII.

“I can scarce bear to think of such a possibility,” the captain said a trifle huskily, and tightening his clasp of Violet’s slender waist, “it seems that one such loss should be enough in a lifetime. But it is just like my own sweet Violet to desire to have Grace’s children remember her with affection.”

“Her name was Grace?”

“Yes; our little Gracie wears her name as well as her looks; also inherits from her the frail health which causes us so much anxiety, as well as her timidity and sweet gentleness of manner and disposition.”

“She must have been sweet and beautiful,” Violet said low and softly. “And you loved her very much?”

“Dearly, dearly; but no more than I love her sweet successor,” accompanying the last words with a very tender caress. “I have often asked myself what I ever did to deserve the love of two such women.”

“I should rather ask what they ever did to deserve yours,” said Violet. “I think the hardest part of dying would be leaving you.”

“Strange! Grace told me it was so to her,” he remarked in surprise.

“Poor thing! I can not help pitying her,” said Violet. “And I quite fill her place to you, Levis?” she asked with some hesitation, and a wistful, longing look up into his face.

“Entirely, my dear love,” he said, holding her close to his heart, with repeated and most loving caresses.

“Ah, then I do not feel jealous of the love you had for her, no matter how great it was. But please tell me more about her; of the life you led together, and the time when—she left you.”

“Ah, that was a sad time,” he said with emotion; then for some moments seemed lost in retrospective thought.

Violet waited in silence, her hand still in his, her eyes gazing tenderly into his grave, almost sorrowful face.

Presently he heaved a sigh, and in a low, half-absent tone, as if he were rather thinking aloud than talking to her, began the story she had asked for.

“It is just about fifteen years,” he said, “since I first met Grace Denby. She was then hardly more than eighteen, a fair, fragile-looking girl, with delicate features, large, liquid blue eyes, and a wealth of golden hair.

“A gentle, timid, clinging creature—almost alone in the world, having neither parent, brother nor sister—she was just the sort to win the enthusiastic devotion of a great, strong fellow like myself; I felt a protecting love for her from the first hour of our acquaintance.”

Violet was listening with deep interest, and as the captain paused in his narrative, she asked in her low, soft tones, “Where did you meet her?”

“At the house of my friend, Lieutenant Henry Acton. We were fellow-officers on the same vessel, intimate friends; and getting a leave of absence together, when our ship came into port one summer day, nothing would content Harry but for me to go home with him and see the pretty young wife he was so proud of.

“She and Grace had been school-girls together and were bosom friends.

“Grace, as I learned at length, was comparatively poor, and not treated in a way to make her happy in the family of an uncle with whom she made her home, not of choice, but necessity; so she had gladly accepted the invitation of Mrs. Acton to spend some weeks with her.

“Well, to make a long story short, Harry and his wife were naturally very much taken up with each other, and Grace and I were constantly thrown together, often left without other society; and soon we did not, I think, care for any other. Before the first week was out I at least was deeply in love, and the second had not elapsed ere we were engaged.

“It was the evening before my leave expired, and the next day’s parting was both sweet and sorrowful.”

“You did not marry at once?” Violet said inquiringly, as again the captain paused with a slight sigh and a half absent air.

“No; I should have been glad to do so; was, indeed, very urgent for the right at once to claim her as my own and provide for all her wants, but—” and he turned to Violet with a slight smile—“ladies are, I am inclined to think, almost always desirous to defer the final plunge, even when they would be by no means willing to resign all prospect of matrimony.”

“Yes; the step is so irretrievable and so important—involving so much of happiness or misery—that it is no wonder we pause and half shrink back on the brink of the precipice,” she returned with an arch glance up into his face. “But go on, please; I am deeply interested. How long were you forced to wait, poor fellow?” stroking his cheek caressingly with her pretty white hand. “I was only a little girl then, so have no need to feel as though you should have waited for me.”

“No; you were waiting and growing up, ready for me,” he answered with tender look and smile.

“Yes, so it seems; and it was just as well that you were enjoying Grace in the meantime, and that she was happy with you, as I am quite sure she must have been.”

“I think she was,” he said; “she often told me so, though our many partings wrung both our hearts.

“I had another leave of absence within the year, and then we were married. We went to Niagara for a week, then came back and started our housekeeping.

“It was only in a small way. Harry and I had taken a double house, that our wives might be close together when their husbands were off at sea, yet each have her own little domicile—a plan which worked very nicely.

“On my next home-coming I found a new treasure; Grace met me with Max in her arms, and perhaps you can imagine the joy and pride with which I took him into mine after the mutual tender embrace between his parents. I had been gone for over a year, and he was a fine, big fellow, old enough to be afraid of his father at first, but not many days had passed before he would come to me even from his mother, and strangely enough, it seemed to please her mightily.”

“Ah, I can understand that,” remarked Violet.

“I had a long leave that time,” the captain went on, “and a very happy time it was. Of course it was succeeded by a sorrowful parting, for I was ordered off to the coast of China, and again more than a year elapsed before I saw wife and children—a little daughter had been added to my treasures in the meanwhile, you will understand, and having been apprized of the fact, I was very eager to see her as well as her mother and our son.

“That, too, was a joyful time, but my after-visits to my little family were saddened by my wife’s ill health; she was never well after Gracie’s birth, but grew more and more feeble year by year till the end came.”

A heavy sigh followed the concluding words, and for some moments he sat silent, his eyes fixed thoughtfully upon the floor.

“Were you with her at the last?” asked Violet, in low, feeling tones.

“Yes; I have always been thankful for that. She was a Christian, and for her death had no terrors; she was glad to go, except when she thought of the parting from her dear ones.

“‘My little children! my poor soon-to-be-motherless darlings!’ she moaned one day, as I sat by her side, with her hand in mine; ‘what is to become of them!’

“I assured her I would do my best for them; earnestly endeavoring to be father and mother both in one.

“‘But, oh, you can not, because you will be forced to leave them for months or years together,’ she sobbed: ‘ah, the only bitterness of death to me is leaving them and you, my dear, dear husband.’

“I could only remind her of God’s gracious promises to the seed of the righteous, and his tender care for all helpless ones, and entreat her to trust them implicitly to Him; and at length she seemed able to do so.

“She died in my arms, her dear eyes gazing into mine with a look of intense affection which I can never forget.”

He was silent for a moment, then resumed his narrative.

“My leave of absence had so nearly expired that I had scarce more than time to see her dear body laid in the grave, and place my children in the care of Mrs. Scrimp (a sad mistake, as I have since thought, but seemingly the best thing that could be done then), when I was forced to bid my poor motherless darlings good-by, and leave them.

“Ah, how they clung to me, crying as if their hearts would break, and begging most piteously that I would stay with them or take them away with me. But, as you know, neither alternative was possible, and though it broke my heart as well as theirs, I was compelled to tear myself away, leaving them in their bitter sorrow and loneliness.

“Oh, I can not think of it yet without sore pain!” he added in moved tones.

Then, after a moment’s pause, “How thankful I am that now I can give them a good home and have the constant oversight of them! I find it sweet work to teach and train them, and watch the unfolding of their minds; and how sweet to be able to fondle and caress them whenever I will, and to receive such loving caresses from them as I do every day!—my precious darlings!”

“They are dear, lovable children,” she said, “and what a good father you are, Levis.”

“I don’t know,” he said, doubtfully; “I certainly have a very strong desire to be such, but I fear I sometimes make mistakes. I have used greater severity toward Lulu than I ever did with either of the others, or ever expect to. It pains me to think of it; and yet I felt it my duty at the time; it was done from a strong sense of duty, and seems to have had an excellent effect.”

“It certainly does, and therefore you should not, I think, feel badly about it.”

“The child is very dear to me,” he said; “I sometimes think all the dearer because she is a constant care and anxiety. I dare not forget her for an hour, but must be always on the watch to help her guard against a sudden outburst of her passionate temper; and I strongly sympathize with her in the hard struggle necessary to conquer it.

“Her mother’s invalidism was a most unfortunate thing for Lulu. Poor Grace felt that she had no strength to contend against the child’s determined will; so humored her and let her have her own way far more than was at all good for her; while she was seldom or never called to account and punished for her fits of rage.

“Mrs. Scrimp’s treatment following upon that, was, I think, even more hurtful to Lulu, subjecting her to constant irritation as well as the absence of proper control.

“I am more and more convinced as I watch my children and notice the diversity of character which they show, that it is very necessary to vary my system of training accordingly. The strictness and occasional severity absolutely needful in dealing with Lulu, would be quite crushing to the tender, timid nature of my little Grace; a gentle reproof is all-sufficient for her in her worst moods, and she is never willfully disobedient.”

“Nor is Max, so far as I am aware,” remarked Violet with a look and smile that spoke fond appreciation of the lad.

“No; when Max disobeys or is guilty of any other misdemeanor, it is pretty certain to be from mere thoughtlessness; which is bad enough to be sure, but far less reprehensible than Lulu’s willful defiance of authority. That last is something which, in my opinion, no parent has a right to let go unpunished; much less overlook or ignore, as of little or no consequence.”

CHAPTER IX.

It was Sunday afternoon, and the house seemed very quiet, Lulu thought as she laid aside the book she had been reading and glanced at Grace, who lay on the sofa near by, her eyes closed and her regular breathing telling that she slept.

Lulu stood for a moment gazing tenderly at her sister, then stole on tiptoe from the room, down the broad stairway into the hall below, and to the library door.

“I hope papa is there and alone,” she was saying to herself, “I know Mamma Vi’s lying down with the baby, and Max is in his own room.”

The door was ajar; she pushed it a little wider open and peeped in.

A hasty glance about the room told her that she had her wish. Her father sat in an easy chair by the open grate, his face turned toward her, and did not seem to be doing any thing, for he had neither book nor paper in his hand, but his eyes were fixed thoughtfully upon the fire.

“Papa,” she said softly.

He looked up and greeting her with an affectionate smile, held out his hand.

“Am I disturbing you?” she asked as she accepted the mute invitation, hastening with quick, eager steps to his side.

“No, not in the least; I was just thinking about you and wanting you here on my knee,” drawing her to it as he spoke.

“Oh how nice of you, papa,” she exclaimed, putting her arm round his neck and gazing with shining eyes into his face. “I came because I was just hungry for loving and petting!”

“Were you?” he asked, hugging her close and kissing her several times. “Well, you came to the right place for it; I have no greater pleasure than in loving and petting my children. But how came you to be so hungry for that kind of fare? you have not been very long without it.”

“No, sir; I was on your knee awhile last night, and had a kiss this morning; but that kind of hunger comes back very soon, papa; and its only your love and petting that can satisfy it. I hardly care to have any body else pet me. Oh I’m so glad you’re not like Anne Ray’s father!”

“Who is Annie Ray, and what is her father like?” he asked with an amused smile.

“She’s a girl that went to the same school I did when I lived with Aunt Beulah, and one day when we were taking a walk together I was telling her about my father being far away on the sea, and how I longed for you to come home, because it was so nice to have you take me on your knee and hug me and kiss me.

“Then she sighed and the tears came into her eyes, and she said ‘Oh, how I’d like it if my father would ever do so to me! I’d give ’most any thing if he would; but he never does; even when I’ve been away on a visit for two or three weeks he only shakes hands when we meet again.

“‘He isn’t a cross father; he always gives me plenty to eat and good clothes to wear, and sometimes a little pocket-money; but I’d rather do without some of those things if he’d hug and kiss me instead.’

“So I asked her, ‘Why don’t you go and kiss him? that’s the way I do to my father, and he always looks pleased and kisses me back.’

“‘Oh, I wish I dared!’ she said, ‘but I don’t for I am afraid he wouldn’t like it.’”

“I should be more grieved than I can tell if I ever had reason to think one of my children felt so toward me,” the captain said, stroking Lulu’s hair caressingly, while his eyes looked fondly into hers.

“You need never be at all afraid, daughter, to come to your father to offer or ask for a caress.”

“Unless I’ve been naughty?” she said, half inquiringly, half in assertion.

“No, not even then, if you are ready to say you are sorry and do not intend to offend in the same way again.

“I noticed that you were unusually quiet on the way home from church; would you like to tell me what you were thinking about?”

“First about what the minister had been saying, papa; you know he reminded us that this was the last Sunday of the old year, and said we should think how we had spent it and repent of all the wrong things and resolve that with God’s help we would live better next year.

“So I tried to do it. I mean to think how I’d been behaving all the year; and I found it had been a very, very bad year with me,” she went on, blushing and hanging her head: “all that badness at Viamede was after New Year’s day was past, and then I did such a terrible thing at Ion.

“O, papa, I most wonder you can be fond of me though I am your very own child!” she exclaimed, her head sinking still lower, while her cheeks were dyed with blushes.

“My darling, I too am a sinner,” he said with emotion, holding her close to his heart; “I too have been taking a retrospective view of the past year, and I am not too proud to acknowledge to my own little daughter that I fear that I have sinned even against her.”

She lifted her head to look into his face in wide-eyed astonishment.

“Yes,” he sighed, “I have been recalling the rebuke I administered to you the first time we met after the baby’s sad fall, and it seems to me now that my words were unnecessarily severe, even cruel.

“I had just come from my apparently dying babe and its heart-broken mother, and dearly as I have always loved my eldest daughter, my anger was stirred against her at that moment, as the guilty cause of all that suffering and distress.

“But I ought to have seen that she was already bowed down with grief and remorse, and have been more merciful. My dear child, will you forgive your father for his extreme severity?”

“No, papa, I—I can’t,” she murmured, her head drooping so low again that he could not see the expression of her countenance.

“You can not?” he sighed, in surprise and disappointment; “well, my dear child, I can hardly blame you, and I certainly would not have you say what you do not feel; but I had hoped your love for me was sufficient to prompt a different reply.”

“Papa, you don’t understand,” she cried, suddenly lifting her head, throwing her arms round his neck and laying her cheek to his. “Its because I’ve nothing to forgive. I deserved it all; every word of it; you had a right to say those words too, and they did me good, for it has helped me many a time to conquer my temper—thinking how dreadful to be any thing but a blessing to you, my own, dear, dear, dearest father!”

“Thank you, my darling,” he responded, in moved tones; “and now when death has parted us there will, I trust, be no sting for the survivor in the memory of those words, as I felt that there surely would be if they were left unretracted.”

“Papa, don’t talk of death parting us,” she said in tremulous tones, “I can’t bear to think of it.”

“I hope we may be long spared to each other,” he returned with grave tenderness.

“Do you mean you’re sorry for having punished me, too, papa?” she asked presently.

“No,” he said, “because that was in obedience to orders, therefore undoubtedly my duty and for your good.”

“Yes, sir; I know it was, and I know you didn’t want to do it, but had to because we must all do what the Bible says.”

“Yes, because it is God’s word, the only infallible rule of faith and practice.”

“What does that mean, papa?”

“Infallible means not liable to err; faith is what we believe; practice what we do, and we must study the Bible to know both what to do and what to believe.”

“It is an inestimable blessing to have such an unerring guide that following its directions we may at last reach the mansions Jesus has gone to prepare for his redeemed ones. Oh that I could know that my Lulu’s feet were treading that path—the straight and narrow way—that leads to eternal life!”

“Papa, I do mean to be a Christian some day.”

“How long are you going to live?” he asked with grave seriousness.

She looked up in surprise. “Why, papa, I don’t know.”

“No, nor do I; God only knows when he will call for you, or me, or any other of his creatures, and if we are taken away from earth without having accepted his offered salvation through the death and merits of his son Jesus Christ, our opportunity to do so will be gone forever; the door of heaven will be shut upon us never to open again. Knowing this, how can I be other than very anxious and troubled about my dear child, while she continues to neglect this great salvation?”

“I wish I was as good as you are, papa,” she said, nestling closer in his arms.

“My dear child, ‘There is none that doeth good, no, not one.’ ‘All our righteousnesses are as filthy rags’ in the sight of God, and it is only when covered by the spotless robe of Christ’s righteousness that we can stand in his sight.

“It is offered to all, but only those who accept it can be saved; and no one can tell when, for him or her, the offer will be withdrawn.”

“By death coming, do you mean, papa?”

“Yes; or by God saying of that one, ‘Ephraim is joined to his idols; let him alone.’ It is a fearful thing to be let alone of God; for Jesus said, ‘No man can come to me, except the Father which has sent me draw him.’”

“Papa, how can we know if He draws us?”

“When we feel any desire to come to Jesus, when something—a still, small voice within our hearts—urges us to attend at once to our salvation, we may be sure that God the Father is drawing us, that the Holy Spirit is calling us to come and be saved.

“And none need fear to be rejected; for Jesus says, ‘Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.’”

“Papa, do you think I’m old enough?”

“Old enough to begin to love and serve God? Are you old enough to love and obey me, and to trust me to take care of you?”

“Oh, yes indeed, papa! It seems to me I’ve always been old enough for that.”

“Then your question needs no further answer; if you can love, trust and obey your earthly father, so can you your heavenly Father also.”

“But I just can’t help loving you, papa,” she said, giving him another hug and kiss, which he returned, asking, “Why do you love me, daughter?”

“Oh, because you are my own father, and take good care of me, and give me every thing I have, and love me too; and because you’re so good and wise and kind.”

“And have you not all those reasons for loving your heavenly Father? He created you; therefore you are more his than mine; he has only lent you to me for a time; his kindness and his love to you far exceed mine, and my wisdom is not to be compared to his.”

“But, papa—”

“Well, daughter?” he said inquiringly, as she paused, leaving her sentence unfinished.

“I don’t think I can be a Christian with such a dreadful temper as I have. I shouldn’t think the Lord Jesus would want me for one of his children.”

“My dear child, the more sinful we are the more we need him to save us; don’t you remember that the angel said to Joseph, ‘Thou shalt call his name Jesus: for he shall save his people from their sins’?

“And he himself said, ‘I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.’”

“But, papa, oughtn’t I to conquer my temper first? I—I’d be a disgraceful kind of a Christian with such a bad, bad temper.”

“No, my daughter; ‘If you tarry till you’re better, you will never come at all.’ God’s time is always ‘Now.’ Come at once to Jesus and he will help you in the hard struggle with your temper.”

Violet’s entrance at that moment put an end to the conversation.

“Ah, Lulu,” she said pleasantly, “you have been having a very nice time with papa all to yourself, I suppose?”

“Yes, indeed, Mamma Vi,” returned the little girl, as the captain gently put her off his knee, that he might rise and hand his wife a chair. “Papa, shall I go now and see if Gracie is awake and wanting me?”

“Yes,” he said, glancing at his watch, “it is nearly tea-time.”

“How fond the child is of her father,” remarked Violet, smiling up into her husband’s face as Lulu left the room.

“And her father of her,” he responded. “I should count myself a rich man with one such child; but with four, and a peerless wife beside, I am richer than all the gold of California could make me without them.”

“It is nice to be so highly appreciated,” she said, with a bright, winsome smile, “and I’m not the only one who is, for I’m perfectly sure that I drew the very highest prize in the matrimonial lottery.”

“I am to understand from that that I, too, am appreciated? Yes, I have no doubt that I am, at my full value,” he said.

“Little wife, I hope you find your new home not less enjoyable than the old, which I know was an exceedingly happy one to you.”

“I have always had a happy home, but never a happier than this that my husband’s love and care have provided, and which they make so sweet and restful!” she answered.

“O Levis, what a joy this newly expired year has brought me! I had not dared to look forward to a home with you for many years to come! I had thought of it as a great blessing that might come to me in middle life, but not in my young days.”

“Ah, God has been very good to us,” he exclaimed, feelingly. “I trust we have many years to live and love together on earth, and after that a blessed eternity in the better land.”

“Yes,” she responded, “how that blessed hope—making even death only a temporary separation—adds to the joy of mutual love! It is dear mamma’s great comfort in her widowhood.”

“Yes,” he said, “what an evident reality it is to her that her husband is not dead but only gone before, and that they will be re-united one day, never to part again. Dearly as she no doubt loved him, and sorely as she must miss him at times, her life seems to me serene and happy.”

“It is,” said Violet; “her strong faith in the wisdom and love of her heavenly Father makes her days to be full of peace and content.”

Presently the summons to tea brought the family all together; except the baby, who was still too young to know how to conduct herself at the table.

But she too was with the others when they gathered in the library, upon the conclusion of the meal.

She was the center of attraction, amusing parents, brothers and sisters with her pretty baby ways, till carried away to be put to bed.

Then Grace was drawn lovingly to her father’s knee, while Max drew his chair up close on one side, Lulu hers on the other.

“Now we will have our texts,” the captain said, touching his lips to Gracie’s cheek. “What is yours, Max?”

One of the captain’s requirements was that each of these three children should commit to memory a text of Scripture every day, which texts were recited to him at morning family worship. On Sunday evening each had a new one, and all they had learned through the week were recited again, and then their father talked familiarly with them about the truth taught in the passages they had recited; for all were upon one and the same subject, selected by him before hand. But the texts were left to the choice of the children themselves.

God’s love to his people and to the world, was the subject at this time.

“The new ones first, papa?” asked Max.

“Yes; and we will take the others afterward.”

Then Max repeated, “God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”

Then Lulu, “Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us, and sent his son to be the propitiation for our sins.”

Now it was Gracie’s turn.

“We love him because he first loved us.”

Her face was full of gladness as she repeated the words in clear, sweet tones. “I do love him, papa,” she added. “Oh, how could I help it when he loves me so?”

“Yes; strange that such wondrous love does not constrain every one who has heard of it to love him in return,” responded the captain; and then he repeated a text. “Yea, I have loved thee with an everlasting love; therefore with loving kindness have I drawn thee.”

“Papa,” said Lulu, “that verse reminds me of something the minister said in his sermon this morning about God never leaving or forsaking any body that trusts in him. But then afterward he told about a poor dying woman that he went to see once, so very, very poor that she had hardly any furniture in her room, and nothing to eat, nothing but rags to wear or to lie on for a bed; and yet she was a Christian woman, and said it was like heaven there in her poor, wretched room, and she was just as glad as could be because she was going to die and go to heaven. Papa, I don’t understand; it does seem as if she was forsaken when she was so very poor that she hadn’t any thing at all even to eat.”

“Forsaken, daughter, when she was so full of joy in the consciousness of Christ’s love and presence, and the certainty that she would soon be with him in the glorious home he has gone to prepare for his own redeemed ones?”

“Oh, I didn’t think of it in that way!” said Lulu. “Jesus was with her, and so she was not forsaken.”

“I don’t think it made much difference about her being so poor,” remarked Max, “when she knew she was just going to heaven. What good do riches do when people are dying? they know they have to leave them behind. I’ve read that when Queen Elizabeth was dying she was so unwilling to go that she cried out, ‘Millions of money for an inch of time!’ She was dying in a palace with every thing, I suppose, that riches and power could give her, but who wouldn’t rather have been in that poor Christian woman’s place than in hers?”

“Who indeed?” echoed the captain; “in the dying hour the one question of importance will be, ‘Do I belong to Christ?’ for ‘There is none other name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved.’ Only those who have been washed from their sins in his precious blood, and covered with the robe of his righteousness—who are loving and trusting in him, will be saved.”

The children finished the recitation of their texts, said their catechism also, to their father, then for an hour or more their voices united in the singing of hymns, Violet accompanying them upon a parlor organ.

Family worship closed the day for the children; their bedtime had come.

“Papa, it has been a nice, nice Sunday—this last one in the old year!” Gracie said, as he was carrying her up to her room. “I hope all the Sundays in the new one will be ’most ’zactly like it.”

“And so do I,” chimed in Lulu, who was close behind them. “It has been a very nice Sunday. I’m glad its ’most over though, because I’m in ever such a great hurry for to-morrow to come. Papa, I really can’t help thinking about the fun we’re going to have.”

“You can help talking about it though, my child,” he said, “and can try to turn your thoughts upon something more suitable for the Sabbath-day.”

CHAPTER X.

A few moments before the breakfast hour on Monday morning, Captain Raymond, as usual, went into the apartments of his little girls to see how they were.

He found them in the sitting-room. Grace with a Bible in her hands, Lulu—greatly to his surprise, busily plying a needle.

“Good-morning, my darlings,” he said, bending down to bestow a fatherly caress upon each; then with a smiling glance at Lulu, “I am glad to see you so industrious, daughter.”

“Yes, papa; see it’s the dress for that little Jones girl. Christine basted the patches on for me Saturday, and showed me how to sew them; and I am nearly done now. Please look if I am doing it well.”

“Very nicely, I think,” he replied, examining the work; “your stitches are small and neat. Would you like to take it to the little girl yourself, this morning?”

“If there’s time, papa.”

“There will be; your young friends are not expected much before the dinner hour; so if the weather is pleasant, you and Gracie shall have a little drive with me shortly after breakfast, and we will call at the Jones’ house and leave the dress.”

Both little girls exclaimed, “How nice, papa!” and Lulu added, “I shall enjoy giving it to her myself. And I’ll have time to go; for I got up quite early and have pretty nearly put my rooms in order already.”

“I like to see you industrious, daughter,” her father said, kindly, “but I do not want you to overdo the thing by being up too long, and taking too much exercise before eating; because that might injure your health.”

“Yes, sir; but I had a glass of milk when Gracie had hers; and now I’m just nicely hungry for my breakfast.”

“Well, I am glad to hear it,” he said, “for the bell will probably ring in about five minutes.”

Gracie had laid her book aside and taken possession of his knee.

“I’d like to get up early and work, too, if I could,” she said, laying her head on his shoulder.

“Yes, I know you would, my pet,” he responded, passing his hand caressingly over her soft curls, “but you are not strong enough yet.”

“But she’s useful, papa,” remarked Lulu, “she has been helping me to learn my text while I sewed, by reading it over and over to me, and we’ve learned hers, too, in the same way.”

“That was a very good plan,” he said.

“They are such nice verses, papa,” said Grace. “This is mine:

“‘He that loveth not, knoweth not God; for God is love.’”

“And this is mine,” said Lulu:

“‘Hereby perceive we the love of God, because he laid down his life for us; and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren.’ What does that last clause mean, papa?”

“That the love between the disciples of Christ must be great enough to make them willing to lay down their lives—die for each other if necessary.”

“It wouldn’t be many folks I could love so hard as that,” remarked Lulu, emphatically.

“Doesn’t the Bible say we must love every body, papa?” asked Grace.

“Yes; ‘Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.’ ‘But I say unto you, love your enemies.’”

“There, I’m done!” exclaimed Lulu, breaking off her thread, throwing the mended dress over the back of a chair, and putting away her needle. “Papa,” coming close to his side and leaning up affectionately against him, “it’s just as easy as any thing to love you and Gracie, and Max, and Mamma Vi, and Grandma Elsie—and other people that are good and kind and pleasant, but I just can’t love every body; at least not a bit as I love you,” giving him a hug and kiss.

“No, dear child, that is not required; it is right that parents and children, brothers and sisters, husbands and wives, should have a deeper, stronger love for each other than they can possibly feel for mere acquaintances or those whom they do not know personally; but we are to love every body with a love of benevolence, wishing them well and being willing to help them when in poverty or distress; if in our power to do so.

“Also we must be patient and forbearing under provocation; the love of benevolence, if we have it, will help us to be so, and make us willing to yield honors and pleasures to others, even though it seem to us that we ourselves have the best right to them.”

“Papa,” said Lulu, “I know you mean that for me; and I do intend to try hard to be unselfish toward all my little friends while they are here; I asked God to help me when I said my prayers this morning,” she added, in a lower key.

“I am glad to hear it,” he said, pressing his lips to her cheek; “it is only by his help that we can overcome in the fight with the evil of our natures.

“We will go down to breakfast now; for there’s the bell.”

The weather proved mild, the sun shone brightly in a cloudless sky, and the little girls greatly enjoyed the short drive with their father.

They called at the house where the Jones family lived, but were in too great haste to stay many minutes. Grace did not get out of the carriage at all; the captain and Lulu alighted, and went into the cabin, but declined to sit down. Lulu handed the dress, done up in a neat bundle, to the girl for whom she had intended it, and greatly enjoyed her look of astonishment as she received it, her eagerly impatient tug at the string that held it together, and her scream of delight when success crowned her efforts and the dress—a far better and prettier than she had ever owned before—met her astonished gaze.

“’Tain’t for me?” she cried; “say, miss, you didn’t never intend to gimme it, did ye?”

“Yes,” said Lulu; “I brought it on purpose for you. Papa told me I might.”

“Well now! I never was so s’prised in all my born days!” was the child’s half breathless exclamation. “It’s mighty good o’ ye; and yer pap too.”

“No, it wasn’t a bit generous in me,” said Lulu; “for I was quite done wearing it; and besides papa gives me new ones very often.”

The captain had brought a fresh supply of delicacies for the invalid, and had employed the moments while the children were talking in saying a few comforting words to her. He now bade her good-by, and taking Lulu’s hand led her back to the carriage, the young Joneses, grouped in the door-way, sending after them glances of mingled curiosity, admiration and envy.

“Papa,” said Grace, who was watching the slatternly, frowzy little crowd with a curiosity and interest quite equal to theirs, “I think those children want a ride ever so much.”

“Quite likely,” he returned, “and if they were clean and neat they should have it; but as they are, their occupation of this carriage even for a short time, would render it unfit for your mamma, or indeed any of us, to enter again.” He had lifted Lulu in and taken a seat by her side while he spoke, and now they were driving on their homeward way.

“I wish they could have a ride,” said Lulu. “Papa, couldn’t some kind of a vehicle be hired for them?”

“Perhaps so; but who is to pay for it?” he asked.

“I, papa; if the money I have left will be enough,” answered Grace.

“I’ll help,” said Lulu; “we haven’t spent all you gave us for Christmas, papa, and we have, this week’s allowance besides.”

“Well, I will see what can be done,” he said. “I am glad my little daughters care for the happiness of others as well as their own.”

“We’d be dreadfully selfish if he weren’t willing to help other folks to a little bit of good times when we are going to have so much ourselves,” said Lulu. “Oh, Gracie, aren’t you glad the day for our party to begin has come at last?”

Elsie's Friends at Woodburn

ELSIE’S FRIENDSATWOODBURN