It wanted barely two weeks of Lulu’s birthday when by her misconduct
she lost sight of her pony for a time.
Of course Max and Grace inquired for what reason she had been sent
away, and it was a mortification to Lulu to have to own that papa had
ordered it as a punishment to her for disobedience.
“Well, Lu,” said Max, “it does seem odd to me that you will disobey
papa, every once in a while, though he never gives an unreasonable
order and is always so kind and affectionate to us, yet sure to punish
disobedience.”
“Have you never disobeyed him, Max?” she asked a little angrily.
“Yes, several times in the course of my life; but not of late.”
“I don’t believe Lu will any more,” said Grace.
“I hope not; I don’t mean to; it ’most broke my heart to see how hurt
and sorry papa looked about it,” Lulu said, with a slight tremble in
her voice. “It was worse than having Fairy sent away.”
Max and Grace offered the use of their ponies.
“Thank you,” said Lulu; “it’s ever so kind in you both; but I don’t
know whether papa would let me ride either of them now while I can’t
have my own.”
They had left the dinner-table shortly before, were now on the veranda,
and Ajax was leading up Elf and Max’s pony, Rex.
The captain stepped out from the open hall door and Max asked, “Papa,
may I lend Rex to Lu?”
“If you choose; but she is not to ride alone even about the grounds; or
to go out of sight from the house by herself.”
“S’pose you ride on Elf, Lu, and have Maxie go along on Rex,” suggested
Grace.
“And let you stay behind? No, indeed! You and Max go, and I’ll amuse
myself at home. I had a ride this morning, and don’t need to go again,”
Lulu answered.
“I propose that instead, you two little girls shall take a drive in
the family carriage with your mamma and me, Max riding alongside on
Rex,” their father said, and they accepted his invitation with joyful
alacrity, running up at once to their rooms to get ready; for he told
them he had already ordered the carriage and it would be at the door in
a few minutes.
Lulu came down again a little ahead of Violet and Grace, and found her
father waiting on the veranda alone.
Drawing near his side, and speaking in a low tone, “Papa,” she said, “I
don’t deserve to go along, and you are very kind to let me.”
“I love to have you with me, dear child,” he answered, “and though I
have sent Fairy away for a time, it is not my desire to make the week
an unhappy one to you.”
Max’s birthday would occur a few days earlier than Lulu’s, and that
evening, when they were all together, his father told him he might
celebrate it by having a party, inviting as many of his boy friends as
he chose to spend the day, or part of it, at Woodburn.
Max was greatly pleased and began at once to plan amusements for his
expected guests, asking advice and assistance from both his father and
Violet.
Lulu listened with interest to the talk, glad for Max, and hoping, too,
that something would be said about the conditionally promised party for
her birthday.
But it was not mentioned, and she concluded that probably papa did not
intend to let her have one since she had behaved so ill. She was too
sincerely penitent to feel at all rebellious or ill-used, though sadly
disappointed; still, as it yet lacked nearly two weeks of the time, she
did not entirely give up hope.
When she had gone up to her own room for the night, and was getting
ready for bed, her thoughts went back to the interview held there
that morning with her father, and she seemed to see again the pained
expression in his eyes that had so distressed her then.
“Oh, how could I be so naughty and disobedient to him! Such a dear,
good father!” she again sighed to herself, tears springing to her eyes.
“I just hate you for it, Lulu Raymond, and I’d like to pound you well.
I ’most wish your father would do it! I’ve a great mind to ask him to.
And here he comes,” as she heard his step nearing the door.
As he came in she looked up at him with tearful, wistful eyes. He
opened his arms and she ran into them, put hers about his neck and hid
her face on his breast.
“What is it?” he asked, softly smoothing her hair; “why are there tears
in my dear little daughter’s eyes; is it because of Fairy’s absence?”
“No, papa; but because I’m so sorry to have hurt you so to-day. Oh,
have you got over it now?”
“Pretty nearly; the momentary doubt that my dear Lulu loved me more
than just a little, has vanished. I am quite sure she does love
me—better, perhaps, than any thing but her own self-will. But I shall
never be quite satisfied till I can believe that she loves me even
better than that.”
“Papa,” she pleaded, “please believe that I do _’most_ all the time.”
“Yes, I do believe it; and that you are really trying to overcome your
faults. I want to talk a little with you about these besetting sins of
yours, and how to battle with them. Then we will ask God together to
help you in the struggle, for Jesus says:
“‘If two of you shall agree on earth as touching any thing that they
shall ask, it shall be done for them of my Father which is in heaven!’”
“Papa,” she said, clinging lovingly to him as, a little later, he bade
her good-night, “if your children don’t grow up good, Christian people,
I’m sure it won’t be your fault.”
“It is what I desire for them more than wealth, or fame, or any thing
this world can give,” he answered, holding her close in a tender
embrace.
She had grown very fond of Fairy and missed the pretty creature
woefully, but said never a word of complaint or entreaty for her
restoration, but strove earnestly to be faithful in the performance of
every duty that so she might please her dear father, and fully convince
him of her devoted affection.
He noticed her efforts, gave frequent, loving commendation, and was
kind as kind could be.
Yet the week seemed a long one; but at last it did come to an end, and
on being dismissed from morning lessons Lulu found her pony quietly
feeding with Elf in the grassy plat in front of the school-room door.
She gave a joyous cry, but turned and ran back to hug, kiss and thank
her father before bidding Fairy welcome.
“It pained me to take her from you, and now it gives me great pleasure
to return her, my darling,” he said. “Go and enjoy yourself with her,
Gracie and Elf, as much as you can, till dinner time. I am sure I need
not remind you that you must keep within the grounds, unless Max or I
should join you.”
“I hope not, papa, and I do thank you ever so much for trusting me
again,” she answered, as she hurried away.
The absorbing topic of conversation now was Max’s approaching birthday
and the party which was to celebrate it.
The little girls held many pleasant consultations with each other, and
sometimes with papa and mamma too, about presents for him, desiring to
give something that should prove both useful and acceptable.
Max’s satisfaction with what he received, when the day came, seemed to
leave no room for doubt that they had succeeded. He was full of boyish
delight and more than once expressed the belief that he was the most
fortunate fellow in the world; for nobody could have a better father or
kinder mother and sisters.
“And such a feast as papa has provided for us!” he went on. “How the
fellows will enjoy it!”
“I think you must have been interviewing Christine and the cook, Max,”
laughed his father.
“Yes, sir, so I have; you see I feel free to do pretty much as I please
in my own father’s house; at least as regards going up and down, and
in and out, from garret to cellar, looking at whatever’s going on and
asking questions.”
“That’s right,” returned the captain heartily. “Where should a boy feel
at home if not in his father’s house?”
“Nowhere, I should say,” answered Max. “And you’ve provided so many
amusements for us that I don’t see how it’ll be possible for any one of
us to have a dull moment.”
“And am I not to have an invitation to share them with you, Max?” asked
the captain.
“Oh, will you, papa? will you really join in our games?” cried the boy,
his eyes sparkling with pleasure. “Why, that’ll be perfectly splendid!”
“Possibly the ‘other fellows’ may be of a different opinion,” laughed
his father.
“If they are at first, I’m sure they’ll change their minds when they
find out what good company you are, sir,” returned Max. “And O, papa,
won’t you tell us some of your sailor’s yarns, as you call them?”
“Perhaps, if other amusements fail.”
“Oh, thank you, sir! Mamma Vi, we’ll take our noisy games far enough
away from the house not to disturb you.”
“I shall not mind the noise,” said Violet. “I have always been used to
boys, and take great pleasure in seeing them enjoy themselves.”
This talk was at the breakfast table, and an hour or two later the
guests began to arrive.
The sports were such as the little girls did not care to take part in,
but they found much entertainment in looking on, and felt a sisterly
delight in seeing how intensely Max enjoyed it all.
The visitors were a polite, good-humored set, the captain’s presence
among them was a restraint as well as a pleasure, and nothing occurred
to mar the harmony of their intercourse.
When the time came for the good-byes, there were warm hand-shakings and
earnest asseverations that never in their lives had they had a better
time.
Max’s party was now successfully over. Lulu’s birthday was near at
hand, yet nothing was said about its celebration. She waited from
day to day, hoping that her father would mention the subject and say
that she, too, should have a party; but kind as he was and thoughtful
for her comfort and enjoyment in every other respect, he seemed to
have forgotten that he had ever spoken of such an intention, and never
to reflect that she might reasonably expect the same indulgence that
had been shown her brother and sister; so at length she sorrowfully
concluded that he thought her late misconduct had rendered her unworthy
of such a treat.
She was quite sure of it when the very last evening before her birthday
had come and still she had received no intimation that any notice
whatever was to be taken of it.
She was unusually silent all the evening, seemed to keep a little apart
from the others, and now and then sighed softly to herself.
Several times her father’s ears caught the sound, but he merely gave
her a kindly inquiring glance and went on with his talk.
When he came to her room for a few goodnight words, as he almost always
did, and found her shedding tears, he took her in his arms, asking
tenderly:
“What is the matter, daughter? are you not feeling quite well?”
“I’m not sick, papa,” she answered in tremulous tones, and half
averting her face.
“What then? tell your father what troubles you; he will help and
comfort you if he can.”
“I’m ashamed to tell you, papa,” she faltered, hiding her face on his
breast.
“Is it that you fear papa has forgotten what an important day to-morrow
will be to his little Lulu? If so, you may dry your tears. I have
thought of it a great deal and prepared a pleasure for you. Eva is to
come directly after breakfast and stay a whole week with you, and it
shall be a week of holidays.”
She lifted her head and looked up into his face, smiling through her
tears.
“Oh, that is nice!” she cried joyfully, “thank you, my dear papa.”
“As nice as a party?” he asked, with a smile.
“Almost,” she said, hesitatingly. “It’s better than I deserve, because
I was so _so_ very _very_ naughty only a little while ago.”
“Dear child, do you think your father could have the heart to keep on
punishing you for wrong-doing so sincerely repented of?” he asked, in
half reproachful tones and caressing her with great tenderness.
“I—I thought I—I deserved it, papa.”
“_I_ do not think so,” he said. “But did you want a party?”
“Yes, papa, and I thought you meant to give me one if I’d been good.”
“You shall have one some time before the summer is over,” he promised,
“and I hope tomorrow will be a very happy day to you in spite of your
disappointment.”
Then he kissed her good night and left her.
She was much comforted and her troubles were soon forgotten in sleep.
When she woke the sun was shining, and she started up with an
exclamation of surprise.
Beside her bed stood a small table, and on it were a number of things
she had never seen before:
A pretty work-basket, a beautiful little clock, a lovely pair of vases,
several handsomely bound books, and a box of kid gloves.
“Oh, how nice!” she cried. “They didn’t forget me; no, not one of them!
I’m so glad! it’s so pleasant to be remembered!”
She examined each gift, noting its beauties, and from whom it came—for
they were all labelled—then sprang out of bed and began dressing in
haste.
She had scarcely finished when her father entered noiselessly, stepped
softly up behind her and caught her in his arms before she was aware of
his presence.
“Good morning, my darling, and many happy returns of the day,” he said,
kissing her fondly.
“Good morning, my dearest papa,” she returned, twining her arms about
his neck, “and thank you for that lovely little clock, it is just what
I wanted for my mantel.”
“I am glad it pleases you,” he said.
Grace had followed him in.
“Oh, Lu, I’m glad you’ve got a birthday!” she exclaimed. “But weren’t
you surprised?”
“At having a birthday, Gracie?” asked their father, laughing a little,
and hugging them both at once.
“No, papa; at the things on the table.”
“Yes,” said Lulu; “I didn’t expect any presents at all.”
“Here is another surprise for you,” said the captain; and something
glittering went over her head, and a small round object was laid in her
hand.
She looked down at it and gave a cry of delight. It was a beautiful
gold locket set with brilliants and attached to a gold chain, which her
father had put round her neck.
She turned it over and found her initials on the other side.
“How very pretty, papa!” she cried.
He touched a spring and the locket flew open, disclosing a pictured
face.
Lulu gazed on it in silence for a moment, then lifting her eyes
inquiringly to her father’s face.
“Mamma, our own mamma; isn’t it?” she asked, in tones half tremulous
with emotion.
“Yes,” he said, “an excellent likeness, I think. She was very sweet and
lovely in both looks and character. I hope her children will resemble
her in that last, as Gracie does in looks.”
“Yes, papa; I do believe Gracie will look just like this when she’s
grown up,” Lulu said, glancing from the miniature to her sister, then
handing it to her. “And oh, but I am glad, _glad_ to have it. You
couldn’t have given me anything else that would have pleased me so
much, dear papa!” hugging him again as she spoke.
Grace gazed fixedly at the picture for several minutes, then lifting
tear-dimmed eyes to her father’s face, “How dear and sweet she does
look, papa!” she said. “I can remember her only just a little, and this
helps me to do it more. I’ll always know now how sweet and pretty my
first mamma was.”
“Our very _own_ mamma,” corrected Lulu emphatically.
“Yes, she was that,” the captain said; “and I would not have her
children forget her. Neither would your Mamma Vi; she so wishes you to
remember this dear mother of yours, that she has spent many hours in
painting from a photograph, this likeness for you, Lulu, and another
like it for Gracie; also she intends to paint one for Max.”
“Where is mine, papa?” queried Gracie eagerly.
“Here,” he said, taking from his pocket another locket, the
_fac-simile_ of Lulu’s except that the initials upon it were Grace’s
own.
She received it with a transport of delight unusual with her; for hers
was a much quieter temperament than that of her older sister.
“How good in Mamma Vi!” exclaimed Lulu; “especially,” she added, her
cheeks growing hot with blushes, “considering the many times I’ve
behaved badly to her.”
“So I think; and I trust, my dear child, that you will never again
treat her with unkindness or disrespect,” said the captain gravely.
“Oh, I hope not! I’m sure I don’t intend to!” cried Lulu.
“Let’s go and thank her,” proposed Grace. “Mine’s every bit as sweet
and lovely as yours, Lu.”
“Will you take us to her, papa?” asked Lulu.
“Willingly,” he said, rising and taking a hand of each.
The breakfast bell rang just at that moment, and as they stepped into
the hall they met Violet coming from her room in answer to it.
Very sweetly she received the thanks of the little girls, and
congratulated Lulu, saying, truly, that it had been a great pleasure to
her to paint for them the lovely face of their mother.