They were all seated around the cheerful fire, laughing heartily, when again John threw open the door, and announced "Mr. Barraud." Immediately their mirth was checked, for to the younger folks this gentleman was a total stranger. Mr. Wilton advanced to greet his friend, and Mrs. Wilton and Grandy both appeared delighted to see him: they conversed together some time, until tea was ready, when the conversation became more general, and our little friends were occasionally required to give an opinion.
Before I proceed any farther, I should like to make you acquainted with Charles Dorning and Dora Leslie. Perhaps if I give you a slight sketch of their personal appearance, you could contrive to form a tolerably correct estimate of their characters from the conversations in which they both figured to such advantage at the evening meetings held in the drawing-room of Mr. Wilton's hospitable mansion.
Charles Dorning—No! We ought to describe the lady first. Dora Leslie was fourteen years of age; a gentle, quiet girl, with a meek yet intelligent countenance, which spoke of sorrow far beyond her years; and a decided expression of placidity, which none but the people of God wear, was stamped upon her delicate features and glowing in her mild blue eye. She had been in early childhood encompassed by the heavy clouds of worldly sorrow: she had wept over the tomb of both her parents; but now that she could think calmly of her afflictions, she could kiss the rod which chastened her, and praise God for thus testifying his exceeding love towards a sinful child. Her trials had indeed been sanctified to her; they had changed, but not saddened, her heart; for she was at the time of her visit to the Wiltons a cheerful, happy girl, delighting in the innocent amusements suitable to her age, though ever ready to turn all events to the advantage of her fellow-creatures, and the glory of her God. But I am telling you more than I intended. I was only to describe her person, and here I am giving a full, true, and particular account of the beauties of her mind also. Well, I trust you will excuse me; for the mind and the body are so nearly connected, that it is impossible to give a just idea of the graces of one without in some degree touching upon the merits of the other. I will now turn to Charles Dorning, as I think I have said enough of Dora Leslie to induce you to regard her with friendliness.
Charles Dorning was a fine romping boy of eleven years; he had no bright flaxen curls like our friend George, but straight dark hair, which, however, was so glossy and neat that no person thought it unbecoming. His eyes were the blackest I ever saw, and so sparkling when animated with merriment, that it was impossible to resist their influence, and maintain a serious deportment if he were inclined to excite your risibility. Charles was a merry boy, but so innocent in his mirth, that Mr. Wilton was always pleased to have him for his son's companion, knowing by observation that his mirth was devoid of mischief, and that he possessed a most inquiring mind, which urged George on to the attainment of much solid knowledge that would be greatly serviceable to him in after years.
I flatter myself you will, from this slight sketch, be able to form some idea of the "new members," and regard them as old acquaintances, as you already do Emma and George.
While they were drinking tea, there was an animated conversation, which still continued when the meal was over, until the tray had disappeared, and John had brushed the crumbs from the table; when Mrs. Wilton said, "Suppose we adjourn into the next room, and commence business"
There was a general move, and in a few moments the table was surrounded, and each person preparing to enjoy the evening's occupation. Miss Leslie seated George next to her, because she could assist him considerably in finding places on the maps; and Charles Dorning was gallant enough to offer to point out the localities for Emma. Thus they were arranged. Grandy only was away from the table: she was in her customary seat by the fire, with the pussy at her feet, and her fingers nimbly engaged on a par à tête, which she was knitting with extraordinary facility considering her age and impaired vision.
"Who is to commence?" inquired Mr. Wilton. "Emma, what have you prepared?"
EMMA. "Dora is to begin, papa, and my paper will be required presently."
MR. WILTON. "Very well. We are all ready, Dora, and most attentive. I think, as we have hitherto commenced with our own quarter of the world, it would be more systematic to do so now. Are you prepared for the seas of Europe?"