CALM DELIGHTS.
Now has descended a serener hour,
And with reviving fortunes.—SHELLEY.
The next morning Anna entered Drusilla’s room, followed by Matty,
bearing a large work-basket filled with cambric white as snow, and lace
as fine as cobweb.
“Set it down here at my feet, Matty, and go,” said Miss Lyon, sinking
into one of the arm-chairs.
Opposite to her sat Drusilla, and between them, of course, lay the
sleeping babe in the cradle.
“Here, my dear,” said Anna, calling the young mother’s attention to the
contents of the basket, “I have overhauled all my bureaus and boxes in
search of these materials; for you know if our baby is to be christened
on Sunday next he must have a fine robe, and you and I must set to work
immediately to make it.”
“Oh, thanks, dear Anna, for your constant thoughtfulness of me and my
babe. I have some very beautifully embroidered robes at Cedarwood, but
nurse did not think it necessary to bring them, and I have none here but
very plain white slips,” said Drusilla, gratefully.
“Well, now get your scissors ready, for I know nothing about cutting out
a baby’s robe, so you will have to do that part of the work, but I will
seam and tuck and gather and trim with anybody,” said Anna, beginning to
unroll the snowy cambric.
And Drusilla’s nimble fingers soon shaped out the little dress, and the
two young women set to work on it with as much delight as ever two
little girls took in dressing a doll.
When they had settled the style of the trimming to their mutual
satisfaction, and had then worked in silence for some time, Drusilla
looked up and said:
“I wonder if dear General Lyon will like to have me name my poor
discarded little baby after him?”
“Of course he will. It will be a compliment paid to him—though a
well-merited one to him,” replied Anna.
“No, dear, it will not be a compliment paid to him, but a favor asked by
me, and my heart misgives me that possibly he may not like it.”
“Foolish little heart, to have such misgivings! Why don’t you set the
doubt at rest by asking him and finding out what he will answer?”
“No, no, Anna, I cannot do that, because he is so kind that he would be
sure to give me a prompt and cheerful consent, no matter how much secret
reluctance he might have to the measure.”
“Then if you never propose the matter to him, I don’t see how you will
accomplish your purpose.”
“By _your_ means, dear Anna, I hope to do so.”
“How by my means, you absurd little thing?”
“I want you to find out in some other delicate way than by direct
questioning whether my wish would be agreeable to General Lyon.”
“I will try; but I warn you, I am a very bad diplomat.”
Whether Miss Lyon was really a bad diplomat or not, she did not seem to
think it at all necessary to sound the General on the subject in the
manner Drusilla desired; but as she sat with her grandfather in the
drawing-room that night, she suddenly said:
“We are going to have our baby christened next Sunday, grandpa, and his
mother wants to name him after you.”
“Does she, indeed, the dear child? I had not expected such a thing,”
exclaimed the old man.
“That is, if you have no objection, sir.”
“Objection! why I am delighted!”
“I am glad you like the plan.”
“Like it? why I have never in my life been more pleased or more
surprised! I shall make Master Leonard Lyon a very handsome christening
present!”
“That’s a darling grandpa! But listen. Don’t say a word to Drusilla
about the present, beforehand. She is no more mercenary for her child
than she is for herself, and she is the most sensitive person I ever met
with in my life.”
“All right, Anna! I shall say nothing of the present. But you, my little
housekeeper, you must see that a proper christening feast is prepared to
do honor to our boy.”
“You may safely leave that to me, sir.”
The next morning was cold, dark and stormy.
Drusilla was forbidden by her nurse to go down-stairs, and so she had
her breakfast up in her own room.
When the service was cleared away, and she was seated before the fire,
with the babe in her arms, General Lyon entered the room.
She arose with a countenance beaming with welcome, and was about to lay
her babe down, that she might set a chair for her visitor, when he
pleasantly signed to her to resume her seat, and he brought one to the
fire for himself.
“Anna tells me, my dear, that you design me the honor of naming your
fine boy after me,” he said, seating himself.
“If you will please to permit me to do so, sir, the honor will be mine,
and will make me happy,” said Drusilla, blushing deeply.
“My child, I cannot express how much I thank you! how gratified and
pleased I feel.”
Drusilla looked down, quite overpowered by the fervency of these
acknowledgments, on the part of the old hero.
“You must know, my dear,” he continued, “I have always secretly longed
for another Leonard Lyon to represent me, when I shall be gone; but
scarcely had a hope to see one during my life. Leonard Lyon is a very
ancient family name with us, and has been kept up in every generation,
except the last. It failed there, because I had never been blessed with
a son; and my brother had but one, and he was named after the family of
his mother, who was a Miss Alexander. Thus, you see, the ancient name,
Leonard Lyon, would have become extinct in me, had you not determined to
revive and perpetuate it in your son. Heaven bless you for the kind
thought, my dear, for it has made me very happy,” said the old
gentleman, earnestly.
“I fervently thank Heaven, sir, for giving me the power of pleasing you
in this matter,” murmured the blushing young mother, in a low and
tremulous voice.
“And this I will say, my child, that the name your boy will bear, has
never, in the thousand years of its existence, been sullied by a shadow
of dishonor.”
“I know it has been borne by heroes and sages, and by none others. I
hope and pray that my boy will prove worthy of his noble ancestry,”
fervently breathed Drusilla.
“That I feel sure, he will! If Heaven should grant me a few more years
of life, I shall take great delight in watching the growth of little
Leonard Lyon,” replied the old gentleman, as he arose, and kissed the
mother and the babe, and left the room.
The following Sunday proved to be a very fine day. At an early hour, the
capacious family carriage of General Lyon was at the door, well warmed
and aired for the reception of the delicate mother and the tender
infant.
Not even on her first bridal day, had Drusilla looked so lovely as she
did now, when she came down-stairs, dressed for church, her delicate,
pale beauty, still more tenderly softened by her simple bonnet of white
velvet, and wrappings of white furs.
She was attended by mammy, dressed in her Sunday’s best, and carrying
the baby, richly arrayed in his christening robes.
General Lyon, Anna, Drusilla, the nurse and the baby rode in the
carriage.
Dick Hammond, on horseback, escorted them.
The parish church was at Saulsburg, six, eight, or ten miles off,
according to conflicting statements. So, early as they set out, they
were not likely to be much too early to join in the commencement of the
service.
When they reached the turnpike gate, they found old Andy on duty.
Seeing Dick cantering on in advance of the approaching carriage, he
placed himself behind the gate, and lifted up both his arms, while he
called aloud to his wife:
“Jenny, woman! come out wi’ ye, and tak the toll, whiles I stand here to
keep yon daft laddie frae louping o’er the bar again!”
In answer to the summons, Jenny appeared just in time to receive Mr.
Hammond, who quietly drew rein before the door, paid for himself, and
the carriage behind him, and then with a bow, rode on his way.
The carriage followed; but as it passed, Mrs. Birney got a glimpse of
the passengers inside and after doing so, she dropped her chin, and
lifted her eyebrows, and remained transfixed and staring, like one
demented.
“Eh, woman! what’s come o’er ye? Are ye bewitched?” questioned Mr.
Birney, as he passed her, in going into the house.
“Na, gudeman, I’m no bewitched; but just amazed like! Didna ye see yon
bonny leddy lying back among the cushions? She that was all happed about
wi’ braw white velvets and furs?”
“Aweel, and what of her?”
“Hech, gudeman, she’s na ither than the puir bit lassie that came ben to
us that night o’ the grand storm.”
“Hout, woman! hauld your tongue! no’ to ken the differ between a born
leddy like this are, and a young gilpey like yon!”
“I ken weel the differ between a leddy and a gilpey. And I dinna need
_dress_ to instruct me in it, either, gudeman. I kenned the lass was na
gilpey when I saw her in her auld gray cloak; and I kenned her again in
the bit glint I had of her bonny face as she lay back in her braw
velvets and furs, wi’ her wee bairn by her side. Eh! but I’d like to
hear the rights iv that!”
“The rights o’ what, woman?”
“The grand wedding pit aff again; the fine bridegroom ganging aff in a
jiffey; this young, bonny leddy and her bairn made so muckle iv by the
whole family. But it’s na gude to speer questions. The minister will na
speak; the doctor will na speak; the vera serving lads and lasses will
na speak, although on ordinary occasions they’re a’ unco fond o’ clackin
their clavers. But we shall hear, gude man! we shall hear! Secrets like
yon canna be kept, e’en gif they be stappit up in a bottle.”
“Gudewife, ye’ll do weel to gie your attention to your ain proper
business and no meddle wi’ that whilk dinna concern you. The auld
general pit us here to keep the gate, and no to speer questions into his
preevate affairs. And though the situation is na sick a gude ane, it
might be waur. Sae we’ll behoove to gie na offence wi’ meddling,” said
Andy, as he sat down and opened his big Bible to read.
Meanwhile the Lyon family went on to church, which they entered just as
the organ had ceased playing and the minister was opening his book.
It was not until after the last lesson of the morning service was over
that the announcement was made:
“All persons having children present for baptism will now bring them
forward.”
Our whole party left their pew and proceeded to the front.
General Lyon, as senior sponsor, took the babe in his arms and presented
him to the minister. Dick as junior sponsor stood by.
Anna was sole godmother.
And amid the customary prayers, promises, and benedictions, the child
received the time-honored name of Leonard Lyon.
On their way home, the whole party congratulated each other with much
affection and cheerfulness.
But withal, Dick, riding along slowly by the side of the carriage, was
visited with some very serious reflections. He felt the great moral and
religious responsibility of the office he had undertaken. And thus he
communed with himself:
“General Lyon is aged and cannot be expected to live very much longer.
Anna is a woman. On me must devolve the duty of looking after that boy.
Good Heavens. However did they come to think of making such a good for
nothing dog as I am godfather to that innocent baby? It is enough to
make my hair stand on end to think of it. The fact is, I must strike a
light and look about myself. I must, I positively must and will,
thoroughly mend my ways and reform my life! not only for Anna’s sake—who
knows me already, and takes me for better for worse with her eyes wide
open—but for this innocent babe’s sake, upon whom, without his knowledge
or consent, they have thrust me for a godfather! No more gambling, no
more drinking, no more carousing with scamps, and squandering of money,
Dick, my boy! Remember that you are godfather to Master Leonard Lyon,
and responsible for his moral and religious education. And you must be
equal to the occasion and true to the trust.”
So profound were Dick’s cogitations that he found himself at Old Lyon
Hall before he was conscious of the fact.
He sprang from his horse in time to assist the old gentleman and the
young ladies to alight.
And they all entered the house, where Drusilla was greeted by a pleasant
surprise.