“Ten thousand thousand precious gifts
My daily thanks employ;
Nor is the least a thankful heart,
To taste those gifts with joy.”
—Addison.
The playground was empty, for the boys were either engaged with their friends, or else departing; and Louis, from his little nook, saw many vehicles of different descriptions drive away from the door. When the dinner-bell rang he re-entered the house, but the dinner-table looked very empty—there was not half the usual party.
“Where have you been, Louis?” asked Reginald, as he entered; “I have been looking everywhere for you. Hamilton was quite vexed to go away without bidding you goodbye, and he begged me to do it for him.”
“I am very sorry, indeed,” said Louis; “I have been in the playground. Reginald, does it not make you feel very pleasant to see the heap of boxes in the hall? I stood a long time looking at our directions.”
“I am almost cracked,” cried Reginald, joyously;—
“ ‘Midsummer's coming again, my boys,