CHAPTER XXVI.
What matter, whether through delight,
Or led through vale of tears,
Or seen at once, or hid from sight,
The glorious way appears?
If step by step the path we see,
That leads, my Saviour, up to Thee!
“I could not help it,” said Dr. May; “that little witch—”
“Meta Rivers? Oh! what, papa?”
“It seems that Wednesday is her birthday, and nothing will serve her but to eat her dinner in the old Roman camp.”
“And are we to go? Oh, which of us?”
“Every one of anything like rational years. Blanche is especially invited.”
There were transports till it was recollected that on Thursday morning school would recommence, and that on Friday Harry must join his ship.
However, the Roman camp had long been an object of their desires, and Margaret was glad that the last day should have a brilliancy, so she would not hear of any one remaining to keep her company, talked of the profit she should gain by a leisure day, and took ardent interest in every one’s preparations and expectations, in Ethel’s researches into county histories and classical dictionaries, Flora’s sketching intentions, Norman’s promises of campanula glomerata, and a secret whispered into her ear by Mary and Harry.
“Meta’s weather,” as they said, when the August sun rose fresh and joyous; and great was the unnecessary bustle, and happy confusion from six o’clock till eleven, when Dr. May, who was going to visit patients some way farther on the same road, carried off Harry and Mary, to set them down at the place.