Carey lifted embarrassed eyes to his elder sister’s face, and met her look of loving pride, and flushed happily.
“Why, no, I guess my sister Nell’s to blame for that. She suggested it first, and worked it out mostly,” he said.
“Indeed, you did it all yourself, Carey,” said Cornelia. “I only wanted it, and Carey did the rest.”
“Yes, Gracie, that’s where you’re lacking,” said the minister, laughingly; “you haven’t any brother to carry out your every wish. Only a busy old father, who doesn’t know how.”
“My father’s all right!” said the daughter loyally; and Carey with a swift, appraising glance decided that he certainly looked it and that for a minister it certainly was surprising. He had a faint passing wonder what this man’s church might be like. Then they settled down in groups to talk, Carey beside the minister’s daughter, Cornelia beside the minister’s wife, and Mr. Copley with the minister, while Harry and Louise sat down together in the window-seat to watch them all.
“Doesn’t Carey look handsome?” whispered the little girl, with her eyes on her elder brother. “My, but I guess he’s mad he didn’t put on his other shirt.”
“I should say! Serves him right,” said Harry caustically, yet with a light of pride in his eye. “Say, she’s some bird, isn’t she? Better’n that little chicken we saw him have out last Saturday!”
“O Harry! You mustn’t call any girl a chicken. You know what mother would say.”
“Well, she was a chicken, wasn’t she?”
“I think I’d rather call her a—a fool!” said Louise expressively.