Then the deepening twilight reminds Papa it is time for the homeward flitting; the bugle sounds its loud notes, the horses, refreshed by their country supper, come gayly prancing up to the cottage door; kisses and kind words are exchanged,—neglected dollies, recovered from their resting-place under the bushes, the “two nurses, two girls, three dollies, and two boys,” are again packed in; the coachman’s whip makes its airy circles, then a crack, and homeward hie the chattering party, just as the silvery moon’s face, peeping from behind the piled-up summer clouds, seemed to say to those fairy lanterns, the fire-flies twinkle, “You may go now, there is no further occasion for you.”
CHAPTER XI.
“Here blooming fields and fertile hills appear.
Below the harbor, bay and islands lay,
And there the ocean rolls wide-stretching to the sky.”
Mr. Havens and his aunt were sitting in the garden on their return from their country excursion; the little ones were sound asleep in their nests, and Artie and his sister were chasing fire-flies to put under glasses, when suddenly a loud ring at the front door was followed by Hugh’s appearance with a letter for Mr. Havens, who, after reading it, called the young folk to him—
“Children, do you think you could possibly manage to endure another day’s frolic?”
“Oh, yes, Papa, we are not one bit tired,” they eagerly replied; “we could run all night long.”