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.”