“John, that is the longest letter I ever saw to be written on one page. We have nearly finished tea while you have been reading it. From whom can it be?”
“It is from Frank Paning, sir. He and Ned Cheyleigh are coming up to spend a week or two with me.”
I could not look at Lulie, as I said this, but I knew her face was bent over her tea, with the blood scarcely beneath the skin.
“I am glad of that,” said mother, “for your sake, John; you will then have some company in your rambles.”
I laughed as well as I could, and said “yes, indeed!”
“And while I think of it,” said father, taking another paper from his pocket, “here is a railroad receipt for a horse, shipped from Baltimore. He will be at Goldsboro’ to-morrow, and as you will go over for the boys, you can bring him home with you.”
I assented, but asked what he wanted with another horse when he already had several he did not use.
“But this is something extra, my son, and I did not buy him for myself, but for a friend of mine. You will find his name on the bill of shipment.”
I looked at it again, and saw that the Bay line had received, in good order, but subject to a score of risks, one horse, to be sent to John Smith, Jr., at Goldsboro’, N. C. I thanked him with all the gratitude I could command under the conflict of feelings, and we all went out to the front porch, and sat there till the twilight darkened into night. Carlotta, with Lulie, took her seat on the steps, and I could hear her rich voice even laughing heartily at times as they talked together in low tones. I was glad that she was resuming her cheerfulness, and felt that I ought to join them, and not be so silent and moody in my own home. But I somehow wanted to be near mother to-night, and let her hand caress my head, because I was in trouble.
