"Louise, bring some water at once," said Mrs. Parlin, sternly.
"O, mother," sobbed Louise, returning with the water, "I didn't mean to be so hasty; but you might have known I would: you should have sent me out of the room."
This was very much the way Prudy talked when she did wrong: she had a funny way of blaming other people.
It is always unsafe to tell even joyful news too suddenly; but Louise's thoughtlessness had not done so much harm as they all feared. Mrs. Clifford recovered from the shock, and in an hour or two was wonderfully calm, looking so perfectly happy that it was delightful just to gaze at her face.
She wanted the pleasure of telling the children the story with her own lips. Grace was fairly wild with joy, kissing everybody, and declaring it was "too good for anything." She was too happy to keep still, while as for Horace, he was too happy to talk.
"Then uncle Henry wasn't gone to heaven," cried little Prudy: "hasn't he been to heaven at all?"
"No, of course not," said Susy: "didn't you hear 'em say he'd be here to-night?—Now you've got on the nicest kind of a dress, and if you spot it up 'twill be awful."
"I guess," pursued Prudy, "the man that shooted found 'twas uncle Henry, and so he didn't want to kill him down dead."
How the family found time to do so many things that day, I do not know, especially as each one was in somebody's way, and the children under everybody's feet. But before night the pantry was full of nice things, the whole house was as fresh as a rose, and the parlors were adorned with autumn flowers and green garlands.
Not only the kerosene lamps, but all the old oil lamps, were filled, and every candle-stick, whether brass, iron, or glass, was used to hold a sperm candle; so that in the evening the house at every window was all ablaze with light. The front door stood wide open, and the piazza and part of the lawn were as bright as day. The double gate had been unlatched for hours, and everybody was waiting for the carriage to drive up.