Kitabı oku: «Elsie's Widowhood», sayfa 11

A fine head of beautiful grey hair was the only attractive thing about her, her features were coarse and her countenance was fretful. She occupied herself in filling and emptying her plate with astonishing rapidity, and paid little or no attention to her husband, who was so crippled by rheumatism as to be almost helpless, having entirely lost the use of one hand, and so nearly that of his lower limbs that he could not walk without assistance.

He had a nurse, a young German, who was with him constantly day and night, helped him about and waited upon him, but in a very awkward fashion. The man's clumsiness was, however, borne with patience by the sufferer, and did not seem to trouble the wife.

She eyed Violet curiously between her immense mouthfuls, and whispered to her husband, loud enough for the child to hear, "Isn't that a pretty girl, William? such a handsome complexion! I reckon she paints."

The sudden crimsoning of Vi's cheek contradicted that suspicion instantly, and the woman corrected herself. "No, she don't, I see. I wonder who she is?"

"Hush, hush, Maria!" whispered her husband, "don't you see she hears you?" and he gave the young girl such a fatherly look, gentle and tender, that quick tears sprang to her eyes: it was so strong a reminder of one whose look of parental love she should never meet again on earth.

People at other tables were noticing her too, remarking upon her beauty and grace, and asking each other who she was.

"We'll soon find out, mamma; don't you see she is with Miss Keith? and she will be sure to introduce her to us," said a nice looking girl about Vi's age, addressing a sweet faced lady by whose side she sat.

They all met in the parlor shortly afterward, and Vi, Mrs. Perkins, her daughter Susie, and her son Fred, a lad of nineteen or twenty, were formally presented to each other.

"I don't want to get into a crowd; I don't care to make acquaintances," Vi had said, half tearfully.

Mary understood and respected the feeling, but answered, "Yes, dear cousin, I know: but do let me introduce Mrs. Perkins and her children. She is so sweet and lovely, a real Christian lady; and her son and daughter are very nice. We have been together a great deal, and I feel as if they were old friends."

Vi did not wonder at it after talking a little with Mrs. Perkins, who had made room for her on the sofa by her side; her thought was, "She is a little like mamma; not quite so sweet nor half so beautiful; though she is very pretty."

Several other ladies had come in by this time, the invalid gentleman's wife among the rest. "Mrs. Moses," Vi heard some one call her.

"How do you do, Miss?" she said, drawing forward an arm chair and seating herself directly in front of Violet. "You're a new-comer, ain't you?"

"I came this afternoon," Vi answered, and turned to Mrs. Perkins with a remark about the changing beauty of the sea and clouds; for they were near an open window that gave them a view of old ocean.

"Where are you from?" asked Mrs. Moses.

"The South, Madame."

"Ah! I should hardly have suspected it: you've such a lovely complexion, and how beautiful your hair is! like spun gold."

The German servant-man appeared in the doorway.

"Mrs. Moshes, Herr wants to see you."

"Yes, I hear." Turning to Vi again, "Well, you must have had a long, tiresome journey; and I suppose you didn't come all alone?"

Vi let the inquiry pass unnoticed, but the woman went on, "I've never been South, but I'd like to go; perhaps I shall next winter. It might help William's rheumatism."

"Your husband wants you, Mrs. Moses," remarked Mary Keith.

"Oh yes; he's always wanting me. I'll go presently."

"Cousin," said Mary, "shall we take a stroll on the beach?"

Violet caught at the suggestion with alacrity, and they went at once, the rest of their party, and Mrs. Perkins and hers, accompanying them.

"That poor man!" sighed Mary. "I thought if we all left her, perhaps she would go to him."

"Isn't it strange?" said Susie, "he seems to love her dearly, and she to care nothing about him. And he is so nice and good and patient, and she so disagreeable."

"A very poor sort of wife, I think," pursued Mary. "She will not even sleep on the same floor with him, for fear of being disturbed when pain keeps him awake. Day and night he is left to the care of that awkward, blundering German. But there! I ought to be ashamed of myself for talking about an absent neighbor."

"I don't think you are doing any harm, Cousin Mary," said Charlie, "for we can all see how utterly selfish the woman is."

"What! are you two cousins?" asked Edward in surprise.

"First cousins, sir," returned Charlie, laughing, "sisters' children. Can't you and I claim kin, seeing she's cousin to both of us?"

A sudden dash of rain prevented Edward's reply, and sent them all scurrying into the house.

CHAPTER XX

 
"A little more than kin and a little less than kind."
 

– Shakespeare.

Our little party had scarcely seated themselves in the parlor, where a number of the guests of the house were already gathered, when the invalid gentleman was assisted in by his servant and took possession of an easy chair which Mrs. Perkins hastened to offer him.

He thanked her courteously as he sank back in it with a slight sigh as of one in pain.

Violet, close at his side, regarded him with pitying eyes. "I fear you suffer a great deal, sir," she said, low and feelingly, when Mary, her next neighbor, had introduced them.

"Yes, a good deal, but less than when I came."

"Then the sea air is doing you good, I hope."

"I'm thankful to say I think it is. There's an increase of pain to-night, but that is always to be expected in rainy weather."

"You are very patient, Mr. Moses," Mary remarked.

"And why shouldn't I be patient?" he returned; "didn't Christ suffer far more than I do?"

"And he comforts you in the midst of it all, does he not?" asked Mrs. Perkins.

"He does, indeed, ma'am."

"I have always found him faithful to his promises," she said.

"And I," remarked another lady sitting near; "strength has always been given me according to my day, in the past, and I am glad to leave the future with him."

"Humph! it's plain to be seen that you two don't know what trouble is," put in Mrs. Moses, glancing fretfully at her crippled spouse; whereat the poor man burst into tears.

Vi's tender heart ached for him, and the countenances of all within hearing of the remark expressed sincere pity and sympathy.

A child began drumming on the piano, and Mr. Moses sent a helpless, half despairing glance in that direction that spoke of tortured nerves.

Vi saw it, and, as he turned to her with, "Don't you play and sing, my dear? You look like it, and I should be much gratified to hear you," she rose and went at once to the instrument, thinking of nothing but trying to bring help and comfort to the poor sufferer.

"Will you let me play a little?" she said to the child, with look and tone of winning sweetness, and the piano-stool was promptly vacated.

Seating herself, she touched a few chords, and instantly a hush fell upon the room.

She played a short prelude; then, in a voice full, rich and sweet, sang —

 
"'O Jesus! Friend unfailing,
How dear art thou to me!
And cares or fears assailing,
I find my rest in thee!
Why should my feet grow weary
Of this my pilgrim way;
Rough though the path and dreary
It ends in perfect day.
 
 
"'Naught, naught I count as treasure,
Compared, O Christ, with thee;
Thy sorrow without measure
Earned peace and joy for me.
I love to own, Lord Jesus,
Thy claims o'er me and mine,
Bought with thy blood most precious,
Whose can I be but thine!
 
 
"'For every tribulation,
For every sore distress.
In Christ I've full salvation,
Sure help and quiet rest.
No fear of foes prevailing,
I triumph, Lord, in thee.
O Jesus, Friend unfailing!
How dear art thou to me!'"¹
 

Edward had made his way to her side as soon as he perceived her purpose.

"You have left out half," he whispered, leaning over her, "and the words are all so sweet."

"Yes, I know, but I feared it was too long."

There were murmurs of admiration as he led her back to her seat. "How well she plays! such an exquisite touch!" "What a sweet voice! highly cultivated, and every word distinct." "Yes, and what a beauty she is!"

Some of these remarks reached Violet's ears and deepened the color on her cheek, but she forgot them all in the delight of having given pleasure to the invalid. He thanked her with tears in his eyes.

"The words are very sweet and comforting," he said. "Are they your own?"

"Oh no, sir!" she answered. "I do not know whose they are, but I have found comfort in them, and hoped that you might also."

Edward and Mary were conversing in low, earnest tones.

"I am delighted!" Mary said.

"With what?"

"Words, music, voice, everything."

"The music is her own, composed expressly for the words, which she found in a religious newspaper."

"Indeed! she is a genius then! the tune is lovely."

"Yes, she is thought to have a decided genius for both music and painting; I must show you some of her pictures when you pay us that promised visit."

Mr. Moses presently found himself in too much pain to remain where he was, and summoning his servant, retired to his own room.

His wife, paying no regard to a wistful, longing look he gave her as he moved painfully away, remained where she was and entertained the other ladies with an account of the family pedigree.

"We are lineal descendants of Moses, the Hebrew Lawgiver," she announced. "But don't suppose we are Jews, for we are not at all."

"Belong to the lost ten tribes, I suppose," remarked Charles Perrine dryly.

The morning's sun shone brightly in a clear sky, and on leaving the breakfast table our little party went down to the beach and sat in the sand, watching the incoming tide, before which they were now and then obliged to retreat, sometimes in scrambling haste that gave occasion for much mirth and laughter.

Mrs. Moses came down presently and joined them, an uninvited and not over-welcome companion, but of course the beach was as free to her as to them.

"How is your husband this morning?" inquired Mrs. Perkins.

"Oh about as usual."

"I do believe it would do him good to sit here awhile with us, sunning himself."

"Too damp."

"No; the dampness here is from the salt water, and will harm nobody."

"Where is he?" asked Fred, getting on his feet.

"On the porch yonder," the wife answered, in a tone of indifference.

"Come, boys, let's go and bring him!" said Fred, and at the word the other two rose with alacrity, and all three hurried to the house.

They found the poor old gentleman sitting alone, save for the presence of the uncouth servant standing in silence at the back of his chair, and watching with wistful, longing eyes the merry groups moving hither and thither, to and fro, between the houses and the ocean, some going down to bathe, others coming dripping from the water, some sporting among the waves, and others still, like our own party, sunning themselves on the beach.

"We have come to ask you to join us, sir," Fred said in respectful but hearty tones. "Won't you let us help you down to the beach? the ladies are anxious to have you there."

The poor man's face lighted up with pleased surprise, then clouded slightly. "I should like to go indeed," he said, "if I could do so without troubling others; but that is impossible."

"We should not feel it any trouble, sir." the lads returned, "but a pleasure rather, if you will let us help you there."

"I ought not to ask it of you: Jacob here can give me an arm."

"No," said Edward, "let Jacob take this opportunity for a bath, and we will fill his place in waiting upon you."

The invalid yielded, and found himself moved with far more ease and comfort than he had believed possible.

The ladies – his wife, perhaps, excepted, greeted him with smiles and pleasant words of welcome. They had arranged a couch with their waterproofs and shawls, far enough from the water's edge to be secure from the waves, and here the lads laid him down with gentle carefulness.

Mrs. Perkins seated herself at his head and shaded his face from the sun with her umbrella, while the others grouped themselves about, near enough to carry on a somewhat disjointed conversation in spite of the noise of the waters.

"I think a sunbath will really be good for you, Mr. Moses," said Miss Keith.

"It's worth trying anyhow," he answered, with a patient smile. "And it's a real treat to do so in such pleasant company. But don't any of you lose your bath for me. I've seen a number go in, and I suppose this is about the best time."

"Just as the ladies say," was the gallant rejoinder of the young men.

"I do not care to bathe to-day," Violet said with decision. "The rest of you may go, and I will stay and take are of Mr. Moses."

"Well, I'll go then. He'll not be wanting anything." said his wife. "Ain't the rest of you coming, ladies and gentlemen?"

After some discussion, all went but Mrs. Perkins and Violet, and they were left alone with the invalid.

Vi had conceived a great pity for him, great disgust for the selfish, unsympathizing wife.

"How different from mamma!" she said to herself. "She never would have wearied of waiting upon papa if he had been so afflicted; she would have wanted to be beside him, comforting him every moment. And how sweetly it would have been done."

"Little lady," the old man said, with a longing look into the sweet girlish face, "will you sing me that song again? It was the most delightful, consoling thing I've heard for many a day."

"Yes, indeed, sir; I would do anything in my power to help you to forget your pain," she said, coloring with pleasure.

She sang the whole of the one he had asked for, then perceiving how greatly he enjoyed it, several others of like character.

He listened intently, sometimes with tears in his eyes, and thanking her warmly again and again.

Finding that the old gentleman felt brighter and more free from pain during the rest of the day, and thought he had received benefit from his visit to the beach, the lads helped him there again the next day.

They set him down, then wandered away, leaving him in the care of the same group of ladies who had gathered round him the day before.

Each one was anxious to do something for his relief or entertainment, and he seemed both pleased with their society and grateful for their attentions.

Mrs. Perkins suggested that the lame hand might be benefited by burying it in the sand while he sat there.

"No harm in trying it, anyhow," he said. "Just turn me round a little, Maria, if you please."

His wife complied promptly with the request, but in a way which the other ladies thought rough and unfeeling, seizing him by the collar of his coat and jerking him round to the desired position.

But he made no complaint.

"I think it does ease the pain," he said after a little. "I'm only sorry I can't try it every day for a while."

"What is there to hinder?" asked Mrs. Perkins.

"Why, we're going to-morrow," replied Mrs. Moses, shortly.

"Oh, why not stay longer? You have been here but a week, and Mr. Moses has improved quite a good deal in that time."

"Well, he can stay as long as he chooses, but I'm going to New York to-morrow to visit my sister."

The ladies urged her to stay for her poor husband's sake, but she was not to be persuaded, and he was unwilling to remain without her.

"Take some sand with you, then, to bury his hand in, won't you?" said Mrs. Perkins.

"I haven't anything to carry it in," was the ungracious reply.

"Those newspapers."

"I want to read them."

"Well, if we find something to put it in, and get it all ready for you, will you take it in your trunk?"

"Yes, I'll do that."

"I have a good sized paper box which will answer the purpose, I think," said Mary Keith. "I'll get it."

She hastened to the house, returned again in a few moments with the box, and they proceeded to fill it, sifting the sand carefully through their fingers to remove every pebble.

"You are taking a great deal of trouble for me, ladies," the old gentleman remarked.

"No trouble at all, sir," said Mary; "it's a real pleasure to do anything we can for you: especially remembering the Master's words, 'Inasmuch as you have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, you have done it unto me.'"

CHAPTER XXI

 
"How happy they
Who, from the toil and tumult of their lives,
Steal to look down where nought but ocean strives."
 

– Byron.

Violet was alone, lying on the bed, resting after her bath, not asleep, but thinking dreamily of home and mother.

"Only one more day and my week here will be up," she was saying to herself. "I've had a delightful time, but oh I want to see mamma and the rest!"

Just then the door opened and Mary came in with a face all smiles. "O Vi, I'm so glad!" she exclaimed, seating herself on the side of the bed.

"What about, cousin?" Violet asked, rousing herself, and with a keen look of interest.

"I have just had the offer of a furnished cottage for two or three weeks – to keep house in, you understand – and I can invite several friends to stay with me, and it won't cost half so much as boarding here, beside being great fun," Mary answered, talking very fast in her excitement and delight. "Charlie will stay with me, I think, and I hope you and Edward will, and I have two girl friends at home whom I shall invite. One is an invalid, and needs the change, oh so badly; but though they are not exactly poor people, not the kind one would dare offer charity to, her father couldn't afford to give her even a week at any of these hotels or boarding-houses: and she did look so wistful and sad when I bade her good-bye. 'I can hardly help envying you, Mary,' she said, 'though I am ever so glad you are going. But I have such a longing to get away from home for a while – to go somewhere, anywhere, for a change. I'm so weak and miserable, and it seems to me that if I could only go away I should get well. I haven't been outside of this town for years.'"

Violet's eyes filled with tears. "Poor thing!" she said. "I have always travelled about so much, and enjoyed it greatly. I wonder why it is I have so many more pleasures and blessings than other people."

"I hope they may never be fewer," Mary said, caressing her. "But isn't it nice that now I can give poor Amy Fletcher – for that is her name – two or three weeks here at the sea-shore?"

"Yes, indeed! But you haven't told me how it happens."

In reply to this Mary went on to say that a married friend who had rented the cottage she had spoken of for the year, now found that he must take his family away for a short time, mountain air being recommended for his wife, who was in poor health, and as it would cost no more to have the cottage occupied in their absence than to leave it empty, he had offered her the use of it rent free.

"He saw father and mother last week," she added in conclusion, "and talked it over with them, and they have written me to accept his offer by all means, and stay as long at the shore as I can."

"But you are to visit us, you know."

"Yes, afterward, if that will do. I don't intend to miss that pleasure if I can help it," Mary answered gleefully. "Now about my other friend, Ella Neff. She is not an invalid, but she teaches for her support, and I know such a change would do her a world of good. She wanted to come with me, but couldn't afford it; yet I'm sure she can in this way: for beside the difference of board there will not be the same necessity for fine dress."

"I should never have thought of that," said Vi.

"No, of course not, you fortunate little lassie; you have never known anything about the pinchings of poverty – or the pleasures of economy," she added merrily, "for I do assure you there is often real enjoyment in finding how nicely you can contrive to make one dollar do the work of two – or 'auld claes look amaist as weel's the new.' But oh, don't you think it will be fun to keep house, do our own cooking and all?"

"Yes," Violet said; "yes, indeed."

"And you'll stay, won't you? Don't you think you'd enjoy it?"

"Oh, ever so much! but I don't believe I can wait any longer than till to-morrow to see mamma. Besides, I don't know whether she would approve."

"Well, if you should spend a day at home and get her consent to come back; how would that do?"

Vi thought that plan might answer, if Edward were willing to make one of the party at the cottage.

"We must consult the lads at once," said Mary. "Let me help you dress, and we'll go in search of them."

Vi sprang up, and with her cousin's assistance made a rapid toilet.

They found Edward and Charlie in the summer-house, just across the road, waiting for the call to dinner. Fortunately no one was within hearing, and Mary quickly unfolded her plan.

It was heard with delight. "Splendid! Capital! Of course we'll be glad to accept your invitation," they said: Edward, however, putting in the provision, "If mamma sees no objection."

"Or grandpa," added Violet.

"All the same," said Edward; "mamma never approves of anything that he does not."

"Where is the cottage? Can we look at it?" asked Charles.

"Yes; the family left this morning, and I have the key," Mary answered. "We could take possession to-night if we chose; but I must lay in some provisions first."

"Let's walk up (or down, whichever it is) after dinner and look at it."

"Yes, Charlie, if Edward and Vi are agreed. It is up, on this street, about two blocks from here."

"Directly in front of the ocean? That's all right."

"Or the ocean directly in front of it," Mary returned laughingly.

"All the same; don't be too critical, Miss Keith," said Charlie.

They did not linger long over dinner or dessert, but made haste to the cottage, eager to see what accommodations it afforded.

It was small, the rooms few in number, and mere boxes compared to those Edward and Violet had been accustomed to at Ion and Viamede; and very much more contracted than those of the cottage their mother was occupying, yet all four were quite satisfied to take up their residence in it for a season.

"Four bedrooms," remarked Mary reflectively: "two will do for the lads and two for the lasses. Parlor and dining-room are not very spacious, but will hold us all when necessary; I don't suppose we'll spend much of the daytime within doors. By the way, I think we must add Don Keith to our party – if he'll come."

The boys said "By all means," and Vi raised no objection.

"When do you expect Ella and Amy?" asked Charles, who was well acquainted with both.

"I telegraphed to mother at once to invite them, and shall expect to see them about day after to-morrow."

"What sort of provisions do you propose to lay in, Miss Keith?" inquired Charlie. "I am personally interested in that."

"I do not doubt that in the least, Mr. Perrine," she answered demurely. "I intend to buy some of the best flour and groceries that I can find."

"Flour? can't you buy bread here?"

"Yes, but perhaps I may choose to exhibit my skill in its manufacture; also in that of cake and pastry."

"Ah! Well, no objection to that except that we don't want you shut up in the kitchen when the rest of us are off pleasuring. What about other supplies?"

"I see you have some idea of what is necessary in housekeeping, Charlie, and I'll give you a good recommendation to – the first nice girl who asks me if you'll make a good husband," Mary returned, looking at her cousin with laughing eyes.

"Am I to have an answer to my question, Miss Keith?" he inquired with dignity.

"Yes, when I see fit to give it. The Marstons were, of course, served with butter, eggs, milk and cream, fish, flesh, and fowl, and Mr. Marston told me he had spoken to the persons thus serving him and his to do likewise by me and mine: does this explanation relieve your mind, Mr. Perrine?"

"Entirely. I am satisfied that we are not invited to share starving rations, which I am morally certain would give me the dyspepsia."

"I think we are very fortunate," Mary remarked, resuming her ordinary tone; "they have left us bedding, table and kitchen furniture, and we have nothing whatever to provide except our food, drink and clothing."

"I shall order a carriage for an early hour to-morrow morning," said Edward, "and drive over to see my mother. Vi will, of course, go along, and I wish, Cousin Mary, that you and Charlie would go too."

"Thank you very much," Mary said. "I should enjoy it extremely, but there are some few arrangements to be made here. The girls may come to-morrow evening, and I must be here and ready to receive them."

Then Charlie decided that he must stay and take care of Mary; so it was finally arranged that Edward and Violet should go alone, and the former attend to the ordering of the groceries, and anything else he could think of that was desirable and did not require to be fresh.

When the carriage containing Edward and Violet drove up to their mother's door, nearly all the family and their guests were out upon the beach.

There was instantly a glad shout from Harold, Herbert and Walter, "There they are!" and they, their sisters and grandfather started at once for the house, while Mrs. Dinsmore and Mrs. Travilla, who were within, hastened to the door.

Mrs. Conly and Virginia, slowly sauntering along within sight of the cottage, looked after those who were hurrying towards it, with smiles of contempt.

"Such a hugging and kissing as there will be now!" sneered Virginia; "they will make as much fuss as if they hadn't seen each other for five years."

"Yes," returned her mother, "and I don't wish to be a spectator of the sickening scene. Thank fortune I'm not of the overly affectionate kind."

"Mamma, mamma!" cried Violet, springing into the dear arms so joyfully opened to receive her, "oh, I am so glad, so glad to see you again!"

"Not more glad than mamma is, darling," Elsie said, clasping her close with tender caresses.

"And you've come home a day sooner than you were expected! how good in you!" the younger Elsie exclaimed, taking her turn.

"Yes, but not to stay; that is, I mean if mamma consents to – "

But the sentence remained unfinished for awhile, there were so many claiming a hug and kiss from both herself and Edward; indeed I am afraid Virginia was so far correct in her prediction that there was as much embracing and rejoicing, perhaps even more, than there would have been in the Conly family in receiving a brother and sister who had been absent for years.

But when all that had been attended to, and the pleasant little excitement began to subside, it did not take many minutes for mamma and grandpa and grandma to learn all about the proposed essay in housekeeping on the part of the young folks.

"What! does my Vi want to leave her mother again so soon?" Mrs. Travilla said with half reproachful tenderness, putting an arm about the slender, girlish waist, and pressing another kiss on the softly rounded, blooming cheek.

"No, mamma dearest," Vi said, blushing and laying her head down on her mother's shoulder, "but the house here is as full as ever, isn't it?"

"Yes, but that makes no difference; there is plenty of room."

"Well, mamma, I don't like to be away from you, or any of the dear ones, but I do think it would be great fun for a little while. Don't you? wouldn't you have liked it when you were my age?"

"Yes, I daresay I should, and I see no great objection, if you and Edward wish to try it. What do you say, papa?"

"That I think their mother is the right person to decide the question, and that I do not suppose they can come to any harm," Mr. Dinsmore answered, with a kindly look and smile directed to Edward and Violet. "I doubt if I should have allowed you to do such a thing at Vi's age, Elsie," he added, "but I believe I grow more indulgent with advancing years – perhaps more foolish."

"No, papa, I cannot think that," she said, lifting her soft eyes to his with a world of filial tenderness and reverence in their brown depths; "I lean very much upon the wisdom of your decisions. Well, dears, since grandpa does not disapprove, you have my full consent to do as you please in this matter."

They thanked her warmly.

"Cousin Mary would be delighted if Elsie would come too," said Violet, looking wishfully at her sister, "and so would I. I don't suppose, mamma, you could spare us both at once, but if Elsie would like to go, I will stay, and not feel it the least bit of a hardship either," she added, turning to her mother with a bright, affectionate smile.

"I should be lonely with both my older daughters away," the mother said, "but I will not be selfish in my love. Elsie may go, too, if she wishes."

"Dear, kind mamma, selfishness is no part of your nature," her namesake daughter responded promptly, "but Elsie has not the slightest desire to go. Yet I thank my sweet sister all the same for her very kind and unselfish offer," she added, giving Violet a look of strong affection.

"But what is grandpa to do without his merry little cricket?" asked Mr. Dinsmore, drawing Vi down upon his knee. "For how long is it? one, two, or three weeks?"

"I don't know, grandpa; perhaps I shall grow tired and homesick, and want to come back directly."

"Well, no one will be sorry to see you, come when you may."

"You will always be joyfully welcomed," added mamma; "nor Edward less so. Now let us consider what you will need, and how best to provide it. I claim the privilege of furnishing all the groceries and everything else for the larder that need not be procured upon the spot."

"Oh, thank you, mamma!" said Edward; "but I knew you would."

Violet asked and obtained permission to sleep with her mother that night, and all day long was scarcely absent from her side. Evidently the child had a divided heart, and was at times more than half inclined to stay at home.

But Edward urged that he would not half enjoy himself without her, that she had promised to go if mamma did not withhold consent, and that Mary would be sadly disappointed if she failed to return with him. Donald Keith, too, who was still there, and had accepted Mary's invitation, added his persuasions. "He was sure they would have a very pleasant time, and if she grew homesick she could drive home any day in a couple of hours; he would be glad to bring her over himself if she would let him, or she could come in less time by the cars."