Early, one fine spring morning, he made his appearance at Oak Valley, accompanied by Stephen Haywood, with whose father he had long been acquainted. While on the way to the farm, he entertained our young friend Stephen with an account of his first interview with the little couple and their tiny little child. “How I shall stand it now,” said he, “I cannot tell; but I am sixteen years older, and a man of eighty has nearly expended all his laughter. It is high time, I think.”
Young Haywood, who, although not introduced to the family at that time, yet knew them well, from report, could not help smiling; but the old gentleman’s attention was soon directed to the neatness and order of the farm; and, when Stephen asked him if he had an idea that the children were all as small as their parents, he could scarcely answer.
“Assuredly they are; why, if any one of the six had been but an inch taller than themselves, they would have sent an express to me at Jamaica.”
A servant came to the door, and Mr. Banks asked eagerly, if Mr. and Mrs. Webb and the six little children were at home. The girl stared, but replied that Mr. and Mrs. Webb, and some of the children, were in the garden, and some of the younger ones were in the nursery; but that Miss Webb, the eldest daughter, was in the parlour. “Show me in, show me in,” said he; and into the room he nimbly stepped, winking aside to young Haywood, to express his glee. He seemed quite disappointed at seeing only a middle sized young lady sitting there. She arose on the old gentleman’s precipitate entrance, while he exclaimed, “I thought to find one of Mr. Webb’s tiny little children here.”
“I am Mr. Webb’s eldest daughter,” said the young lady, blushing, “my parents will be in presently—will you sit down?” and she presented each gentleman with a chair.
Never was man more amazed—this young lady his little niece’s daughter?—he certainly saw a likeness; but it was altogether a puzzle. At length he roused himself to say, “Why did not your mother write me word that they had a child as tall as you are? What is your name? Oh,—I remember—Colombe. It is a foolish name enough; but it might have been worse. Never mind, my dear, I will make you amends for your French name; better though than—but no matter; let me introduce you to Mr. Stephen Haywood.”
Just then the door opened, and his niece, with her husband, and the five children, made their appearance. But if Mr. Banks was amazed at seeing the respectable height of the eldest daughter, how much more so was he when he saw that there was not one of the diminutive stature of the parents. Even the youngest, a rosy little girl, just beginning to walk, bade fair to be as tall as her sisters.
Mrs. Webb enjoyed her uncle’s amazement; not without suspicion, however, that he was disappointed at bottom, because there were no dwarfs among them. But in a short time, the old gentleman’s good-natured eye glistened at the pictures of health, order and obedience of the children, and at the improved looks of the parents. He did not laugh once during his visit, which was of a week’s duration; and when he left them, he had the satisfaction of seeing that Stephen Haywood was following his advice; which was, to fall in love with his pretty pigeon as fast as possible.
THE BAKER’S DOZEN.
“Mrs. Bangs, look here,” said the cook, “look at this queer thing in the turkey’s craw; it looks for all the world like a brickbat.”