“Just say Lulu, Marian; you needn’t call me Miss,” Lulu said. “I suppose it is true that papa is rich, but he never says so, and always tells us he is only the Lord’s steward, bound to use the money entrusted to him for the upbuilding of Christ’s cause and kingdom, and that no one—no matter how rich—has any right to be wasteful, extravagant, or idle. And he says that not only money, but time and ability to do anything useful, are talents entrusted to us to be used and increased—the money and talents, I mean, are to be increased—that at last the Lord may say to us each, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.’”
“I think your father must be a very good, Christian man,” was Marian’s answering remark.
“Indeed he is!” returned Lulu emphatically, “he’s always a Christian, always loving Jesus, and trying his very best to please and honor him by doing exactly as the Bible says.”
The captain had finished his correspondence and gone out to mail his letters, and as Max, too, was out, Lulu found no one in their rooms when she went back to them on her return from her walk with Marian.
But on the table beside which her father had been sitting lay a pile of clothes fresh from the iron; just brought in from the wash.
“There,” thought Lulu to herself, “if Mamma Vi were here she would soon take papa’s clothes from that pile and see if there were any buttons to sew on or stockings to darn; and if there were she’d sit right down and attend to it. She lets Christine or Alma attend to Max’s clothes, but unless she is sick, no one but herself must do papa’s, because, as she says, it is a great pleasure to her to care for her husband’s comfort.
“I always love to do things for papa, too, and I like to be kind and helpful to Max, for he’s a dear, kind brother to me. And of course my own mending belongs to me; so I’ll just sit down to this pile of clothes and put them all in order.”
She hastened to put away her hat and gloves and get out her work-basket, which was thoroughly furnished with all the needed articles and implements, and when her father came in he found her seated in a low chair between table and window, busily plying her needle.
“My little busy bee,” he said, regarding her with a pleased smile, then bending down, kissed her forehead.
She laughed and held up her rosy lips in mute invitation. He kissed them, too, then laying his hand tenderly on her head, said, “My little girl looks quite matronly. Are you playing at being Mamma Vi?”