"Oh dear!" said Nora, "this is a very puzzling world. Well, it's nice to be you, and to have found out just the work you are fitted for, and how you can best help other people."
And this thought clung to her as she walked home with the still silent Cecilia, through the damp, foggy December afternoon, the child bravely keeping down her strong inclination to cry, lest she should forfeit the privilege of going again. The world seemed, to Nora's imagination, to have taken the dull, cheerless aspect of the day, seen from the under side, from which she had lately been looking at it. And it seemed to her that they alone could be counted happy who knew how to lighten a little the cheerlessness and gloom. If she only knew how!
CHAPTER X.
A FIRESIDE TALK.
The fog and moisture had turned to snow, and the cold grayness of the early winter dusk emphasized the cheeriness that lighted up Mrs. Blanchard's drawing-room with its warm glow. Nora was practising, perseveringly, the choruses that were to be sung that evening at the first general practice for the oratorio, whither Mr. Chillingworth was to escort her, after dinner, to which he had been invited. Mrs. Blanchard reclined luxuriously in an easy-chair in front of the fire, half-lulled to sleep by the combined influence of the heat and the music, undisturbed by the prattle of the children, who, in the absence of visitors, were in full possession. Cecilia held "Tatters," the pet terrier, cuddled close to her with one hand, while with the other she helped Eddie and Daisy to set up the animals from their Noah's Ark, in a "'nagery percession" between two lines of stiff, conical trees taken from Eddie's "village," and supposed to represent an "avenue," with occasional little painted wooden houses behind it. As several of the animals had lost some of their legs, the setting up was a task of some difficulty, and presented some curious situations, the maimed wolf having to lean for support against his neighbor the lamb, while a hen that had lost one of her stout pedestals had to be similarly propped up against a fox of equal size. The long procession having been finally completed, Nora was called to come and admire.
"See, Auntie, it isn't a Noah's Ark percession," said Eddie, "it's a 'nagery percession. And those ar'n't Noah and his sons either. They're Barnum and the keepers."
"Oh, young America!" said Nora, laughing, in a semi-soliloquy. "You must remodel everything, even Noah's Ark."
"Well, Noah's Ark was a sort of 'nagery," replied Eddie, answering the tone rather than the words, "and I guess Noah was about as clever as Mr. Barnum."
Nora walked back to the piano, concealing an irresistible laugh. After all, she thought, children had to interpret those old stories of the past through present-day experiences—but her own childish conceptions had never been quite so realistic.