Five Happy Weeks | Page 8

Featherfew girls had a very nice time, and went away well pleased; but they told their mamma that the Evans children were very droll.
"It's the way they have been brought up, I imagine," said Mrs. Featherfew.
Two or three days after that, the children were in a part of the garden, in which was a bridge over a darling little brook, as Edith called it. They were expecting their parents by the first steamer, and Johnnie had been gathering a basket of the ripest and reddest cherries he could find, to have them all ready for offering to mamma on her arrival. As he was running lightly over the bridge, his foot slipped, and he came near falling in, but Edith and Mabel flew to the rescue, and held him up by his cap, and his curls, and his arm, till he recovered his balance. One foot was very wet. It had gone "way, way in," and in that condition, splashed and barefoot, for he pulled off the wet boot and stocking, he went back to the house with the girls.
Just as they reached the front door, a carriage drove up. A gentleman sprang out, and lifted a lady next, and the servants began to take off the bags and trunks. Could that be mamma? It needed only a glance to satisfy the eager children, and in a moment all three were rapturously hugging and kissing her and their father.
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Mamma had grown quite plump and rosy. She was ever so much better, and Johnnie asked, the first thing, whether she could bear a noise now.
"A little noise, dear, I hope," she said smiling. It had been a great trial to Johnnie to keep so still as had been necessary when they were at home.
"She is not so very strong yet, Master John," said Mr. Evans. "I'm afraid an earthquake or a volcano would use her up. We'll have to take care of her yet awhile."
But the children found that they had gotten their old mamma back. She was a great deal nicer than anybody else, they thought.
That night, when it grew almost bedtime, and Chloe appeared as usual at the parlor door, with the candles on a silver tray, and the great silver snuffers, ready to light the young folks up stairs, they went and kissed their father and mother and Aunt Maria for good night. But when they were undressed, and the little dresses and skirts were hung smoothly over the chairs, the little shoes and stockings set side by side on the floor, and the little nightgowns on, somebody came quietly in, somebody who sat down in the rocking-chair, and with one little white-robed figure in her lap, and another with an arm thrown around her neck, and another on a footstool at her feet, heard their hymns, and told them a little story, and listened while each prayed to the dear Saviour. The three little hearts were satisfied that night, because they had had their mother to comfort them and bless them again.
A few days after that, they bade good-by to the beautiful seaside home, and to Luce, and the black cat, and the horses and cow, the geese and the chickens. To Miss Rose and Aunt Maria they gave a very warm invitation to come and see them in their own home.
Fido and Queenie had been well taken care of at Aunt Catharine's house, but they seemed very glad indeed to have their little mistress back. Johnnie declared that Fido couldn't hold a candle to Luce, and he and Mabel had several disputes over it. Indeed one day they became so angry at each other, that Mrs. Evans sent the little brother to his own room and the little sister to hers, to stay until they were ready to ask each other's pardon. Edith, serene and peaceful, kept out of all such troubles.
"Miss Simms," said Johnnie one day, "what is the reason nobody ever is angry with Edith? She seems to please people without trying to."
"I think Edith has found out a great secret very early in her life," Miss Simms answered.
"I wish I knew it, then; I'm always being scolded, and I try to be as good as the other fellows. But it isn't of any use, that I can see. To-day I had been perfect all day in school, you know, Miss Simms, and just a minute before recess, I spoke; and Miss Clark was mean enough to make me stay in. She read off the boys' names who had violated any rule, this way:
"'Willie Simpson, late;
"'Thomas Miller, missed his geography;
"'Johnnie Evans, whispering.
"'These little boys must spend this recess in the school-room.' I leave it to you, Miss Simms, if that wasn't mean."
"Was it the rule that you must lose your recess, if you spoke?"
"Yes,