“Stuart apologized handsomely to papa.”
“O, I dare say. He is up to that sort of dodge;” and a smile of scorn curled his thin lip.
“I wish you loved your brothers better,” I could not forbear saying.
“It is their loss, no doubt.”
What could I do with him in such a mood? “Preaching,” as Fan called it, was useless. Then I bethought myself of Miss Churchill’s call, and told him what she had brought for him.
“And now,” I said, “it is time you had your supper. You must be nearly starved.”
With that I ran down stairs. Yes, I did like bright, pleasant people. Mamma’s cheery ways and papa’s sweetness were worth more than doses of science and philosophy, since we have to live in a work-day world, and cannot soar up to the clouds. It is just the every-day being that is life, not the grand dreams that never come to pass.
I prepared the tray and took it, standing it on a table at the bed’s side. When I returned the little group were in their accustomed places, with papa ready to ask the blessing. I slipped quietly into the circle.
When I went to bring the dishes down I remarked a peculiar expression upon Louis’ face.
“Miss Rose,” he began, “I want to know how it feels to be generous; therefore I shall give you a holiday this evening. I must resolve to stay alone now and then.”