The train whistle blows shrilly, and is the only noise that disturbs the sweet drowsy stillness. Then the youngest Miss Litchfield saunters idlely off, vainly trying to coax the burnt tongue with sundry ripe peaches and pears.
Dolores laughs and works on; and as the sunlight glances through the boughs of the trees, lingering with a loving touch on her pretty hair, and sparkles and glistens in the tiny diamond earstuds, which had been Blondine's last Christmas gift. Dolores loved these, her only valuable trinkets, and wore them constantly: she even slept in her pretty eardrops. The little gate in the vegetable garden clicks, but the young lady perched on the wall never heeds it. She goes on placidly gathering her pears and peaches. Occasionally a more tempting one than the others finds its doom in her pretty mouth, but then the picker is always privileged.
"My eldest daughter is, as usual, busy, and where is my other daughter?"
It seems so natural that she should hear that voice; and those very words have been repeated so often that Dolores laughs softly, then she gives herself a little pinch to make sure she is awake, and not dreaming, then she looks down.
"Father." Slipping down into his arms.
"Hurrah! Aunt Adeline, father's home." Shouts the brilliant Miss Zoe, rushing up to fling her long arms around that beloved neck. She has witnessed the arrival from the very highest limb of a sweet bough apple tree, and has come down as quickly as possible, to the utter destruction of her dress sleeve, which looked now utterly innocent of ever being dignified by the name of sleeve. Nevertheless, her greeting was just as sincere, for Mr. Litchfield loved this, his youngest daughter, fondly; in fact, considered her a queen among women, no matter how she looked in other people's eyes. The fatted calf was certainly killed that day, in honor of the master's return. Aunt Adeline piled the tea-table with everything good, every imaginable luxury, to tempt her brother's appetite. And Zoe had a right royal feast, having three different kinds of preserves, and every variety of pie and cake, in which her longing heart delighted. It was a truly gala day.
CHAPTER XVII.
BLONDINE COMES OUT VICTORIOUS.
"He who builds according to every man's advice will have a crooked house."
—Danish Proverb.