LILY'S CITY HOME.
BEFORE I go on to relate what happened on that pleasant day, I must
tell you some things about baby Lily and her home.
She did not always live in the city, though her father was Rector of
a large and wealthy parish there. In the summer they went a long way
into the country, down near the sea-side, where the children could fill
their lungs with nice, fresh air, and where the father and mother could
gain new strength for the performance of their arduous duties. Some
time I may tell you of the delights of their country home; but now I
will say that the parsonage or rectory was a large, commodious mansion,
joined to the rear end of the church.
The channel, the pulpit, and the reading desk were in a deep, wide
recess. There were quaint, old-fashioned rooms in the house, formed
out of the space at the side of the chancel. One of these rooms on
the lower floor, the pastor occupied for his study. It had a high
Gothic window, with small, diamond panes of glass; and the walls were
wholly lined with cases containing books. There were large, elegantly
bound volumes on the lower shelves; then on the others, the books were
smaller and smaller to the very top shelf, which could only be reached
by a pair of high steps.
There was one large bust, too, which the children often gazed at,
because it looked so peaceful and smiling. This was a bust of their
great grandfather, an eminent divine, and teacher of theology.
But I cannot stop to tell you all the wonders of the study, nor to
describe the Rector, who sat long hours at the table in the centre
of the room, poring over the old-fashioned volumes, and writing the
sermons which he prayed God might help to fit his beloved people for
heaven. I must go on to tell you about the chamber over the study,
which was called the church-room. This was lighted by a continuation of
the same window with its funny little panes of glass, through which the
sunlight streamed in so gloriously.
The room in the third story over this was devoted to the children, for
their toys; and well it was filled with all sorts, from tin horses
harnessed in pedlers' carts, to the family of Noah just walking out of
the ark.
Besides the pastor and his wife, there belonged to the family four
children,—Helen, Russell, Lily, and baby Herbert.
There had been another loved one, the first-born, the dearest treasure
known on earth.
"Lovely as an angel's dream,
Her chestnut locks with sunlight all agleam,
Her holy eyes with heaven in their beam."
* * * * * *
"But when the elder Shepherd of the fold
Came, covered with the storm, and pale and cold,
And begged for one of the sweet lambs to hold,
The parents knelt to pray! Is it thy will?
Ah, how they wept at the last word 'farewell!'"
As I told you in the first chapter, the birthday dawned clear and
bright. The children had scarcely finished their breakfast when there
was a ring at the door; and who should it be, but Miss Norton; with a
box for baby Lily.
This little girl now began to realize that birthdays were delightful.
Her violet eyes opened wider and wider as Sarah untied the box, and
took from it a beautiful plated tea-set, shining like silver.
"Oh," exclaimed Russell, "wont we have nice times now? Mamma, can't we
have our tea-party right away?"
Mamma smiled. "Yes, darling," she said, "as soon as Margery has cleared
the room."
At this moment Sarah came in, bringing baby brother fresh from his
bath, and all the children forgot their play in their eagerness to get
a kiss. Baby jumped, and cooed, and laughed such funny little laughs,
drawing in his breath, and then stopping to catch Helen's curls, as she
pressed closer to him.
"Come, Frankie," cried Russell at last, "let's go and set the table
now."
"I think real, live babies are better than all the tea-parties in the
world," answered Frank, warmly. "Oh, I love to hear them laugh!"
There was a low table in the nursery, on which the little folks used
to take their supper before they were old enough to dine with papa and
mamma. This was now covered with wooden horses and sheep; and Frankie
helped to pack the animals away in the box where they belonged.
"Please, Sarah," asked Russell, "may we have a table-cover?"
"Certainly, dear," and she gave him one from the drawer.
Before the cups and saucers and plates were arranged in order on the
pretty tray, there was another ring, followed by the sound of merry
voices in the hall.
"It's Aunt Mary!" was the joyful shout. "It's Aunt Mary, with Ida and
Rose."
"Yes, it is," repeated Russell, running to the window, "and there's Pat
bringing a great bundle from the carriage."
The door opened, and there stood Aunt Mary with her arms full of
parcels, and behind her, Ida and Rose, looking as smiling as the month
of June.
"Look, look, see Lily's new tea-set!"
But Aunt Mary could see nothing till she had laid the bundles carefully
on the table. Then she stooped to give baby a kiss; after which, she
was ready to attend to the children.