“That’s the hand to play,” cried Frank, thinking of his last rubber of whist at the club-room.
“The hand which helps us forward on the road to Heaven,” said his father, in a grave tone. “And I wish my dear children to feel that while they are living in luxury, knowing no sorrow or grief but what in imagination they make for themselves, heavy hearts and fainting spirits are all around them. That kind words, followed by kindly deeds, will brighten their way as they go onward and upward in life, even as I feel that such things are softening my descent toward the grave.”
Both son and daughter drew near their good old father and kissed him reverently. His words had fallen on their hearts at the right moment.
“Forgive me, papa, because I spoke slightingly of the poor girl in whom you have justly taken such an interest. If she comes here to Aunt Louisa, I will treat her just as well as I would my dearest school-mate or best friend.”
“There spoke my own blessed girl,” said Mr. Legare, proudly. “Your heart is in the right place, little one, though we have petted you so much that you forget it sometimes.”
“Sis, you’re a trump—that’s what you are. And I love you—just bet all you have I do.”
“Frank, I know you love me—but there is that lunch-bell again. Come, Aunt Louisa, I ordered oyster patties, because I know you like them so.”
“And we’ve a brace of partridges, father, that Egbert Tripp sent down from Ulster County to me, and I told the cook to lard them with bacon and broil them brown for you,” added Frank.
“They’re good children, Louisa—a little spoiled, but at heart real good children,” said the proud father, as he offered his sister-in-law his arm.
“It is true, brother, and I love my niece and nephew dearly,” said Mrs. Emory. “They make my visits here very pleasant. It would be a dreary world to me were it not for you and them.”