“That is my case also,” said Ethel, “but we will hope for many a good visit from the dear ones we must part from for a time when we go.”
“And the visits must be returned,” said Uncle Albert, “and you two being so much younger than my good brother and I, must expect to give two to one.”
“Yes, that would be only fair,” said his brother. “Ah, Ethel, I hear that my prospective nephews are making ready some pretty cages for their birds.”
“They are both building, sir,” replied Ethel with a smile and a blush; “but the cages are to accommodate themselves as well as their mates, and each is to be a gift from the father of the future owner. They have sent us the plans, and we are delighted with them.”
“They are submitted to us for any alteration we may desire to suggest,” added Blanche, “but we can think of scarcely any improvement. They are to be side by side, the gardens running together, and face the river, which we are told is a beautiful stream of clear, rapidly flowing water, the banks green to its very edge. And the houses of the parents of the male birds,” she added with a merry laugh, “are less than a square away. Would you like to see the plans, uncles?”
The reply was a pleased assent from both, and she brought them. They examined them with evident interest, making favorable comments, asking some questions, and suggesting a few slight alterations which they thought would be improvements.
“Very desirable residences they seem likely to be,” was Mr. George Eldon’s comment when they had finished their inspection, “and I trust they will prove happy homes to my nieces.”
“Ethel and I mean to try to make them such to their owners,” remarked Blanche with an arch look and smile. “Of course, having never seen the place ourselves, we can only take the word of those who have as to the beauty of the surroundings; but I feel sure I shall better enjoy gazing upon a beautiful, clear, swiftly flowing river, grass, flowers, and trees, than upon brick pavements and white shutters, white marble doorsteps and the like, so trying to the eyes.”
“No doubt of it,” said her Uncle Albert, “but life will have its troubles and trials, whether it be passed in city or country. You must not expect paradise, even in a snug little home of your own with a kind husband indoors, and clear flowing waters, flowers, and other lovely things outside.”
“No, I do not, uncle,” she said laughingly, “yet I cannot divest myself of the idea—the hope—that the contemplated change will be for the better, even if I have the troublesome charge of a man’s happiness committed to my care; his happiness at least so far as a neat, well-kept home and well-spread table can secure it.”