“We are all ready now,” she said. “Call papa.”
I rang the bell, and the children came trooping in, papa and Mr. Duncan bringing up the rear. Fan glanced at the places, and looked pleased, I thought.
“Here Mr. Duncan,” she said, with a pretty wave of her hand; and he took the proffered seat, giving me a quick glance, that brought the warm blood to my cheeks.
We had a merry time; for, after all, strangers were no great rarity; and we were always merry in our snug little nest. It was said through the parish that every one had a good time at our house; and Mr. Duncan appeared to be no exception. When we were almost through, we began to say verses, each one repeating a passage of Scripture commencing with the same letter. We caught Mr. Duncan right away. He commenced two or three before he could hit upon the right beginning.
“You see, I am not very ready with my wits,” he said, laughingly.
Lily, Daisy, and Tim always had a romp with papa afterwards; but my duties were not ended until they were snugly tucked in bed. You see, we could not afford nurse-maids and all that on papa’s salary. But then, frolicking with them in bed was such a delight that I never minded the knots in their shoestrings, and the loads of trash that had to be emptied out of their pockets, to say nothing of mischief and dawdling, and the heaps of dresses and skirts lying round in little pyramids. Now and then I would make some stringent rules: every child must hang up her clothes, take care of her shoes and stockings, and put her comb and hair-ribbon just where they could be found in the morning. But, somehow, the rules were never kept. I suppose I was a poor disciplinarian.
I went down stairs at length. Mr. Duncan was pacing the porch alone. Papa had been called to see a sick neighbor. Mamma was listening to poor old Mrs. Hairdsley’s troubles, told over for the hundredth time, I am sure. She was a mild, inoffensive, weak-eyed old lady, living with rather a sharp-tempered daughter-in-law. Fan was out on an errand of mercy also.
“What a busy little woman you are!” he said. “I am glad to see you at last; and I hope no one will fall sick, or want broth, or be in trouble for the next fifteen minutes. I suppose clergymen’s houses are always houses of mercy. I begin to feel conscience-smitten to think that I am adding to the general burden. What will you do with two boys?”
“I cannot exactly tell,” I answered slowly, at which he appeared a good deal amused, though I did not see anything particularly funny in it.
“I think I would like to come myself, if I were not going ‘over the seas.’ What would I be good for? Could I do parish visiting?”