At this the gigglers giggled uproariously.
“The simpletons!” sighed my grandfather, bending upon them a look wherein the glory of his dark eyes was veiled with a gentle pathos that ever dimmed them when he looked upon happiness and youth. “Laugh while you may! You will have plenty of time for tears in the journey of life, poor things. In this poor world, my daughters, the height of foolishness is often the summit of wisdom. Laugh on.” And he placed his hands upon their sunny heads, as though to bless them and to avert the omen. And they, with one accord, arose, and, throwing around his neck a tangle of shining arms, stood on tiptoe and kissed him. And he went his way, none the wiser,—went his way in that simplicity of age which is more touching than that of childhood; since it has known once—and forgotten. And between his departing form and their eyes, that laughed no longer, there arose a mist that seemed to lend a tender halo to his gray hairs—and they blessed him in turn.
“Mr. Frobisher,” said Alice, halting in front of the door, “I think we should go in.”
“Go in?” repeated Charley, with a rather dazed look.
Things were so interesting on the piazza!
“Yes, we must!”
Could he be mistaken? No, there was an unmistakable something in that pull upon his arm that said, Come with me.
“Not now; just one brief moment!”
“Yes, now. We might hurt Uncle Tom’s feelings.”
“We!” Did she mean it? Charley gave a quick, inquiring glance. She raised her eyes and met his with a kind of shrinking frankness.