“My little girl, I want us to have a good many years of happiness together,” he said, with solemn tenderness. “Put all these things out of your head, and love your mother and me, and do your duty in that state of life to which it shall please God to call you. I want you to be like Martin Luther’s bird, who sat on the tree and sang, and let God think for him. And now, run to bed, for I wish to finish this sermon while I am in the humor.”
I kissed him many, many times. I was so sure of his sweet, never-failing love. And I suppose fathers and mothers never do get tired of us!
CHAPTER II.
It was a bright June morning. The windows were all open; the birds were singing, and the air was sweet with out-of-door smells. Waving grasses, hosts of flowers, rose and honeysuckle out on the porch in the very height of riotous living, each trying to outbloom the other.
We were at breakfast. We never had this meal very early at the Rectory. On summer mornings papa loved to get up and take a stroll, and botanize a little. Mamma rose, looked after Becky, and took a quiet supervision of us all. I helped dress the three younger children, for Fan usually had some lessons on hand, as she was still in school. By the time we were ready papa would be back. Then we sang a verse or two of a hymn, said the Lord’s prayer together, and papa pronounced the greater benediction over us. It was so short, simple, and enjoyable! Somehow I do not think children take naturally to prayers, unless they are rendered very sweet and attractive. We were allowed sufficient time to get wide awake before coming to breakfast. Mamma was at the head of the table again, looking as sweet as a new pink. Papa’s place was at the foot. Fan and I sat opposite each other, about half way down. She poured the water and the milk. I had the three younger children on my side, and spread their bread or biscuits for them. I used to think of Goethe’s Charlotte, only she had brothers as well as sisters.
It was nearly eight o’clock. Lemmy Collins came up with the mail. There had been a shower the evening before, and none of us had gone for it.
“Ah!” exclaimed papa, “we are bountifully supplied this morning. One for Nelly, two for mamma, and two for me.”
“O, what elegant writing!” said Nell, leaning over to look at papa’s.
“Yes;” slowly. “I cannot think;” and papa fell into a brown study.