Lucy kissed her good by. Miss Churchill’s farewell was a little more formal, but full of sweet cordiality. The coachman sprang up in his seat and turned the horses slowly.
Mr. Churchill assisted Lucy up the steps. “What a pretty behaved girl,” he said. “She is bright and pleasant without being bold or underbred. And she enjoys everything so thoroughly.”
“She makes one feel young again. She fairly gives of her own abundant youth.”
In the meanwhile the two rode home together. There was no moon, but the stars were out by thousands, shining in all their glory. They talked of the beauty of the night, of the improvements in the town, and he asked what was going on in the way of entertainment. This was how Fan came to mention the picnic, and Mr. Ogden was interested in it immediately.
Nelly and the elders were sitting in the wide, airy hall with the lamp in the back part, making a golden twilight within. Fan set her flowers in the midst, and all the air was sweet.
Such a lovely day as it had been! The talk and visiting, the dinner and tea, the two rides,—Miss Churchill and Miss Lucy—the kindly messages to mamma,—the invitation to tea, and best of all, the thought about papa’s sermon. Fan had a way of bringing something home from every place for every body. It was as good as going yourself.
“So papa, dear, it wasn’t my fascination altogether, but a little pinch of your good seed. It springs up occasionally where you do not expect it. And now tell me what you have been doing?”
Our day had proved one of the unsatisfactory days.
Mamma had gone out in the morning to make some calls, and found Mrs. Day’s baby very sick. Edith started from her nap in affright, and while I went down to soothe her, Stuart had tormented my patient into a fit of passion, so that he had a headache and could eat no dinner. Then there had been a steady stream of visitors all the afternoon.
“I didn’t get much of your trimming done,” I said to Fan, “but the picnic is not until Tuesday.”