"Yes, indeed! it didn't take even me long to find that out."
The carriages rolled away amid much waving of handkerchiefs by the travellers and the little party left behind; then Mary carried Violet off to her room for a long talk before it should be time to dress for tea, while the lads strolled away together along the beach, their tongues quite as busy as the other two: for there were various college matters to discuss, beside plans for fishing, boating, riding, and driving.
And Edward must sound his mother's praises and learn whether Charlie did not think her the very loveliest woman he ever saw.
"Yes," Charlie said with a sigh, "you are a lucky fellow, Ned. I hardly remember my mother—was only five years old when she died."
"Then I pity you with all my heart!" Edward exclaimed; "for there's nothing like a mother to love you and stand by you through thick and thin."
He turned his head away to hide the tears that sprang unbidden to his eyes, for along with his pity for his friend came a sudden recollection of that dreadful event in his childhood when by an act of disobedience he had come very near killing his dearly loved father. Ah, he should never forget his agony of terror and remorse, his fear that his mother could never love him again, or the tenderness with which she had embraced him, assuring him of her forgiveness and continued affection.
Meantime Donald was speaking in glowing terms of Cousin Mary. "One of the best girls in the world," he pronounced her—"so kind-hearted, so helpful and industrious. Uncle's circumstances are moderate," he said; "Aunt's health has been delicate for years, and Mary, as the eldest of eight or nine children, has had her hands full. I am very glad she is taking a rest now, for she needs it. A maiden sister of her mother's is filling her place for a few weeks, she told me: else she could not have been spared from home."
"You make me glad that I left Violet with her," Mrs. Travilla said, with a look of pleased content.
Edward and his chum returned from their walk, made themselves neat, and were waiting on the piazza before the open door, as Mary and Violet came down at the call to tea.
The dining-room was furnished with small tables each accommodating eight persons. Our four young friends found seats together. The other four places at their table were occupied by two couples—a tall, gaunt, sour-visaged elderly man in green spectacles, and his meek little wife, and a small, thin, invalid old gentleman, who wore a look of patient resignation, and his wife, taller than himself by half a head.