He flushed to the roots of his hair. An uncomfortable chill went over me.
“There are your Aunts!” I said, glad to be relieved from the sudden embarrassment.
The carriage came up through the opening. Miss Lucy dressed in white and looking very sweet. Papa went to speak to them.
The children were gathering from “near and from far.” We teachers “counted noses,” begged the groups not to disperse, ran hither and thither, and at last settled to the business before us. I was so glad that Miss Churchill and Miss Lucy had reached us in time for the singing. What if dresses were a little limp and stained and soiled, hats awry and curls blown in tangles, there were hosts of happy faces and lightsome, ringing voices.
Papa generally wrote a childish hymn for special occasions and mamma arranged the music. They sang that, then several Easter Carols.
Miss Lucy beckoned me toward her.
“How delightful it is!” she exclaimed. “And you’ve had a good time all day long. I wish I was a little girl! Oh, they are not going to stop? Please ask them to sing again. Would Christmas carols be out of place?”
I mentioned it to papa who smiled in his sweet fashion and acquiesced. We had the “Kings of Orient,” “Wonderful Night,” and “Ring out merry bells for Christmas.” How sweet those young voices sounded on the summer air! I was really proud of the children.
“Now,” began papa after the last echoes had dropped from the tree-tops, “we must form a line for our homeward march. We have had a pleasant day and enjoyed ourselves to the uttermost. Let us thank God for this great blessing.”
They stood reverently until he dismissed them with the benediction.