Just then Charley brushed quickly past her and stood beside the Don.
“That’s not the way to use one of these long Toms,” interposed he, with quiet decision. “They need a rest. Here, take this pillar.”
With a bow of acknowledgment the Don obeyed.
Mary’s eyes followed Charley with a searching look, as he carelessly sauntered off to the other end of the piazza, muttering half a dozen notes of a popular song; but his serene face gave no sign.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
Friday came, and the Poythresses, having missed the Leicester Christmas festivities, were to dine with us that day. In the evening there was to be (no wonder my grandfather was out on the porch a dozen times, looking for the first oar-splash on the other side)—in the evening there was to be a quintet; and Mr. Whacker, who was as proud of Lucy as though she were his own daughter, wag eager to exhibit her prowess to the stranger. It must not be supposed, from my silence on this point, that we had had no music since Mr. Whacker’s discovery what a treasure he had in the Don. During this period we had had quartets, duets, solos innumerable. Christmas times, in fact, as understood at Elmington, had irresistible charms for Herr Waldteufel; and he had hardly left us for an hour.
And now the company at Elmington stood on the piazza watching the boat that, with measured stroke, approached the foot of the lawn.
“How charming to sail forth in a boat to dine!” said Alice.
“And then the moonlight row home,” added Mary; “it suggests Venice.”
As the boat neared the landing, there was a general movement from the piazza to meet the coming guests, my grandfather leading the way. He had not made many steps before he looked about him, and seeing the Don bringing up the rear, he slackened his pace. The Don came up biting his nails vigorously, with his eyes fixed upon the ground, but from time to time glancing nervously in the direction of the boat.