On Saturday morning the last of the guests departed.
“Well, it’s all over!” exclaimed Lulu with a sigh, as she turned away
from the window whence she had been watching the carriage that bore
them till it disappeared from sight, “and it does seem dreadfully
lonesome!”
“Dreadfully? quite that, daughter?” Capt. Raymond asked, taking her
hand and looking down into her lugubrious countenance with a smile of
mingled amusement and affection.
“No, papa; I believe that’s a little too strong,” she answered, with a
not very successful effort to be bright and cheery; “but it does seem
lonesome. Don’t you feel a little so your own self?”
“Well, no; I can’t say that I do. I have enjoyed entertaining our
relatives and friends, and now I feel that it will be fully as
enjoyable to have my wife and children quite to myself again for a
time.”
“I echo your sentiments, my dear,” Violet said in a lively tone; “I
have enjoyed the mirth and gayety of the past few days, but would not
be by any means willing to live in such a whirl of excitement all the
time; so now am full of content at being left alone with you and the
children again.”
“That’s just the way I feel about it,” Gracie said, nestling up against
her father.
“That’s right,” he said, putting his arm round her; “and if any of us
are lonesome we must draw the closer together, and each one try to be
as kind and entertaining to the others as possible. Suppose I order the
family carriage now and take you all for a drive? What do you say to
that, Mamma Vi?”
“I am pleased with the proposition,” Violet answered, “and shall go at
once and don my wraps. But where is Max? Is he not to go with us?”
“Yes; on his pony; he is off to the stables to take personal oversight
of the saddling and bridling. Now, daughters, do you go and get ready.”
It was dinner time when they returned from their drive, Violet and the
children rosy and happy, saying they had enjoyed it greatly, but were
now hungry enough to be glad to reach home and the dinner-table.
It did not seem a great while after leaving it when the short winter
day closed in, the lamps were lighted and, supper over, they gathered
close together about the glowing grate in Violet’s boudoir.
This was baby’s time for a romp with papa, brother and sisters. She and
they were very merry to-night, enjoying the romp all the more because
it had been omitted while the guests were in the house.
While Violet was away seeing baby put to bed, the three older children
hung about their father chatting freely with him and each other.
When that had been going on for a few moments, the captain asked, “How
about the lonesomeness now, Lulu?”
“Oh, I’m not a bit lonesome now, papa,” she cried, giving him a
vigorous hug and laying her cheek to his; “we didn’t have a nicer time
all the while the girls and boys were here.”
“Ah, I wonder if Max and Gracie are of the same opinion.”
“Yes, indeed, papa!” they both replied.
“Then you didn’t greatly enjoy entertaining your young friends?” he
said inquiringly.
“Oh, yes, sir! indeed, indeed we did!” exclaimed all three.
“How would you prefer to spend the rest of the evening?” he asked, and
again there was a simultaneous answer, “Hearing you read some nice
book, papa.”
“That is my choice also,” said Violet, coming in at that moment.
“A unanimous vote,” commented the captain, with a pleased smile, “that
is far more comfortable than a difference of opinion, or rather, in the
present case, of desire.”
He had always been a lover of choice literature and was anxious to
make his children such, cultivating their minds as well as their
hearts. He had already bought largely of standard works, history,
poetry, biography, travels, etc., and of the best juveniles; such as
can be read with interest by adults as well as the young; and many an
evening had passed delightfully to himself and Violet as well as to the
children in making acquaintance with their contents.
The captain was always the reader at these times, and would
occasionally pause to give opportunity for a request for information or
explanation, which he was fully capable of giving and always did give
in the kindest and most painstaking manner.
“Well, children,” he said, as he laid aside the book, “your holidays
are over, and we must begin lessons again on Monday morning. I shall
expect to find you all in the school-room at precisely nine o’clock.”
“I’m not sorry, sir,” said Max, “though I’ve enjoyed my vacation very
much.”
“I’m not really sorry,” said Lulu, “but I’m afraid I’ll find it hard at
first to sit still and study. Please, papa, won’t you be a little easy
with us for a day or two?”
“I hope you will find me not unreasonably strict or stern,” he replied,
smiling slightly; “but I can’t allow too much self-indulgence, too
ready a yielding to an indolent disinclination for work.”
“But please, papa, make their lessons short and easy for the first day
or two,” said Violet, in a playful tone of entreaty; “that is the way
mamma used to do with us after a holiday: getting us back into the
traces gradually, you know.”
“A very good plan I think,” responded the captain; “and very kind in
Mamma Vi to plead for the children.”
“Yes, so it is; but we don’t need any body to plead for us with our
own dear, kind father,” said Lulu, laying an arm across his shoulders,
as she stood by his side, and gazing into his face with eyes full of
filial love and trust.
“Indeed, no!” exclaimed Violet. “I know he loves his children dearly
and would not be hard with them for the world.”
“I trust not,” he said, smoothing Lulu’s hair caressingly, and
returning her look of love. “I think there is nothing I desire more
strongly than their welfare and happiness here and hereafter.”
“We are all sure of that, papa,” said Max. “Well, to-morrow is Sunday,
when we have only our Bible and catechism lessons, and they are short
and easy.”
“Yes; papa never gives long, hard lessons in those things,” assented
Lulu.
“And you think he does in other things?” the captain said, in a tone of
inquiry.
“It does seem a little so sometimes, papa,” she replied; “but maybe
it’s only because I’m lazy.”
“Laziness is a very bad complaint; not at all to be encouraged,” he
said. “I think you are not indolent as regards physical exertion, but
I fear you are sometimes a little so when mental effort is what is
required of you.”
“Papa,” said Max, “you make Sunday a very pleasant day to us; and
so did Grandma Elsie and Mamma Vi when we were at Ion. But before
that—when I lived with that old—”
“Max, Max,” interrupted his father in a reproving tone.
Max colored and hung his head.
“I want you to refrain from speaking so disrespectfully of even that
man,” his father went on. “I grant that he did not treat you with
kindness or even justice, but, my dear boy, try to forgive and forget
it all. I am very glad you find Sunday pleasant now. I would have you
all esteem it as the pearl of days.”
He spared no effort to make it both a happy and a sacred day to them,
a day when worldly cares, labors and amusements, even such as are
lawful on other days, were to be laid aside, and the whole time spent
in a holy resting, in worshiping and praising God, and studying his
word in order to learn his will that they might conform their faith and
lives to it.
Three brighter faces than those that met his glance on entering the
school room at the appointed hour on Monday morning could hardly have
been found anywhere.
“You do not look as though lessons were a terror to you to-day, my
darlings,” he said, smiling upon them with fatherly affection.
“Because we don’t feel so, papa,” said Max. “We’ve all been here,
studying for the last ten or fifteen minutes. You see we don’t want you
to find it a disagreeable business to teach us.”
“No, indeed, papa,” added Lulu, “we’re just determined to be good and
industrious, and you needn’t make the lessons short and easy unless you
think best.”
“Both they and the time shall be a little shorter than usual, however,”
he said, “but I am glad my patience is not to be tried with a lazy set
of pupils.”
He perceived that, though they were earnestly endeavoring to do their
best, it was difficult for them to sit still and give their minds to
their tasks, and a full hour earlier than usual he said, “Gracie, you
may go now to your play. Max, I want these letters mailed within an
hour. You may ride your pony into the village and post them for me, if
you will go and return promptly.”
“Yes, sir; I will; I’d like nothing better,” answered the lad, hastily
laying his books away in his desk, taking the letters and leaving the
room.
“Papa, mayn’t I stop studying too, and do what I please?” asked Lulu.
“You may put away your books and come here,” he said. “I have something
to say to you.”
“That’s nice!” she exclaimed, obeying with alacrity, for his tone was
so kind that she felt sure he had no fault to find with her.
He drew her to his knee and put his arm about her waist.
“What is it, papa?” she queried, patting his cheek with affectionate
familiarity. “I know you’re not going to scold me, because I haven’t
been doing anything naughty; and besides, you don’t look one bit stern.”
“No,” he said, caressing her hair and cheek with his hand, “I have no
reproof to administer, and yet what I have to say will not be pleasant
to you; but my little daughter must try to believe that her father
knows best and loves her too well to require of her any thing but what
he deems for her best interests.”
“I’ll try, papa,” she responded, but with a troubled, anxious look
stealing over her face. “I can’t think what it can be! Oh it can’t be
that you’re tired teaching me and are going to send me to school?”
“Not quite so bad as that,” he said. “I am not tired of teaching you
or the others; I find it sweet work, because you are all my own dear
children; but I am not qualified to instruct you in the accomplishments
I wish you to have, and therefore must employ some one else to do so.
Your musical education has been neglected of late, but now I have
engaged a teacher for you and you will take your first lesson from him
this afternoon.”
“From him? then it’s a man! Oh papa, I don’t want a man teacher! won’t
you please let me be taught by a lady?”
“My darling, I want you to have the very best instruction, and from all
I can hear, there seems to be no one else anywhere in this neighborhood
so capable of imparting it as this gentleman.”
“But I don’t want to take lessons of him, papa: for he’ll be sure to be
cross and hateful and put me in a passion, and—and then you’ll—you’ll
have to punish me; and you won’t like that any better than I will,” she
added, putting her arm round his neck and gazing beseechingly into his
eyes.
“My darling, I think you may dismiss that fear,” he said, again
stroking her hair caressingly, “for it is my intention always to be
present when you are taking your lesson, and see that you are not
ill-used, as well as that you do not misbehave.”
“Then maybe I can stand it,” she sighed; “for I don’t believe he’ll
dare to strike me or do any thing very bad to me if you are there to
see. You won’t let him, will you, papa?”
“No. I have already told him that if my little girl should be so
naughty as to make it necessary to punish her in any way, I shall be
the one to attend to it. I will not allow any one else to attempt it.”
“And you don’t like to do it either?”
“No, indeed, I do not; yet if it should have to be done, I should be
still more unwilling to trust it to any one else.”
“Is the gentleman an Italian, papa?” she asked.
“No; he is an Englishman.”
“I wonder if that’s any better?” sighed Lulu. “Professor Manton’s an
Englishman and I can’t bear him.”
“Hush, hush. I do not like to hear you talk in that way,” said her
father. “You may go now and amuse yourself as you please till dinner
time.”
“I don’t care to; I’ve lost all my spirits,” she sighed dolefully. “O
papa, do please change your mind.”
“My dear child, it is too late, even if I thought best to do so—which
I do not—for I have made the engagement and can not honorably retreat
from it.”
“Oh dear,” she groaned, “don’t you think it would have been kinder if
you had consulted me first?”
“No; not unless it were kinder to consider your present wishes rather
than your future interests,” he answered gravely, though there was a
slight twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “What is the use of my little
girl having a father if she is so wise that she knows better than he
what is best for her?”
“But I’m not; and oh, I wouldn’t be without a father for all the
world!” she exclaimed, clinging about his neck again, and pressing her
lips to his cheek.
He drew her into his arms and kissed her fondly. “Then you are going to
be good about this and not distress papa by stubbornness, pouting or
fretting?”
“Yes, sir. Why, it would be perfectly shameful for me to be naughty and
rebellious after you have given me a party and every thing! If I am I
hope you’ll punish me ever so hard.”
“I hope I shall not have occasion to punish you; it would distress me
greatly to do so. But what a doleful countenance! Put on your hat and
coat and we will take a little walk together.”
Her face brightened at once and she hastened to obey the order; for
she esteemed a walk with papa, her hand in his, one of her greatest
pleasures.
When they came in again, just in season for dinner, her face wore its
usual bright and happy expression.
They had scarcely left the table when the music teacher was announced.
Mr. Morgan was his name.
Lulu decided upon the first glance that she was not going to like him
at all, yet that he was less forbidding in appearance than Signor
Foresti.
“And I shan’t care so very much whether he’s nice or not, as papa will
always be by to see that he behaves himself,” she remarked to Grace
in talking the matter over with her the first time they were alone
together after the lesson had been given and Mr. Morgan had taken his
departure.
“Was he cross to-day, Lu?” Grace asked.
“No, of course not; do you suppose he’d dare to be, with papa there to
see and hear every thing?”
“No, I shouldn’t think he would. Isn’t it good in papa?”
“Yes, indeed; and I mean to try as hard as ever I can to improve to
please him.”
“And to please our heavenly Father. Oh, Lu, isn’t it good in him to
notice when we try to learn our lessons and be obedient and good
because we want to please him?”
“Yes; but I think a great deal more about pleasing papa,” acknowledged
Lulu frankly.
They were in the library, sitting by the fire in the twilight. Their
father and Violet had gone to pay some calls in the neighborhood,
leaving the little girls at home.
“It’s beginning to get dark,” remarked Grace. “I wish papa and mamma
would come.”
“There!” exclaimed Lulu, “I guess they have, for I hear wheels on the
drive.”
They listened for a little, then Grace cried out joyfully, “Oh, yes,
they have! for I hear their voices,” and the next minute their father
came in alone, Violet going on up to her boudoir.
“Papa! oh, we’re glad you’ve come!” they both exclaimed, jumping up,
running to meet him, and each taking a hand.
“Are you?” he said, seating himself and drawing them into his arms. “It
is very pleasant to receive so warm a welcome. I hope my darlings have
not been very lonely?”
“No, sir,” they answered simultaneously, Lulu adding, “I practiced a
whole hour by the clock, just as you and Mr. Morgan told me to, and
Gracie played with baby while I was doing that; then we both came in
here to sit and talk.”
“That was right. I expect and hope to see you improving very fast under
Mr. Morgan’s instruction; and after all it isn’t so very bad to have to
take lessons of a man, is it?”
“Not with you there, papa; but it would be without you.”
“I have something to tell you,” he said; “the little Joneses had their
drive to-day; in a spring wagon which I hired for the purpose. I sent
one of the servants over to sit with the mother, so that all the
children could go; and I think they enjoyed it greatly and are obliged
to my two little girls for giving them the treat.”
“Oh, I’m glad we did!” exclaimed Grace; “it’s better than getting a
present or buying something for ourselves, to know those poor children
have had a good time.”
“I think so too,” assented Lulu.
“Yes,” said their father, “there is no better plan for making money
contribute to our own happiness than using it for others, especially
the benefit of the poor and needy.”
“’Cept giving it to the heathen, papa?” Grace said, half inquiringly.
“Surely, to be destitute of the knowledge of Jesus and his salvation
is to be very poor and needy, my little daughter,” he replied.
“Yes; so it is,” she said thoughtfully. “Papa, I wish every body in the
whole world knew about him and loved him.”
“So do I, my darlings; and we must not content ourselves with idle
wishing, but earnestly strive to do all we can to spread the glad
tidings and win souls to Christ.”