“We have invited the whole family, old and young,” began Mr. Whacker.
Mary, just in front, was drinking in with upturned face the soft nothings of some young man; but she chanced to turn her head sufficiently to catch the start with which the Don aroused himself from his revery at these words of his host.
“I thought you would like to see little Laura, too.”
“Ah, yes, little Laura; it was very thoughtful of you.”
“Have you ever heard the little thing sing? Upon my word, she promises to rival Lucy’s talent for music. They get it from their mother. But here they are.” And the old gentleman advanced with all the briskness of hospitality, if not of youth. Charley leaned forward, lifted Laura from the boat, and, kissing her, placed her upon the ground.
“Where is he?” cried she; “I don’t see him.” And she looked from face to face with shining eagerness.
“Yonder he is,” and away she skipped. “Here he is,” she shouted, twining her arms around his knees; “here is Don Miff, sister Lucy.”
There was a general smile, and he stooped and kissed her several times.
“And here is Mr. Fat-Whacker, sister Lucy,” cried she, running up and taking my hand.
“Sister Lucy,” her right hand held by one gentleman, her left by another, stood at this moment one foot on a seat, the other on the gunwale of the boat, balancing herself for a spring. It is certain that the color rose in her cheeks; but that may have been due to the rocking of the boat. Sister Lucy steadied herself for the leap.