First, Lucy thanked Charley, and then Mr. Poythress, coming up, and taking Charley’s hand in both his: “My boy, you are as true as steel,—I thank you.” And he strode stiffly out into the hall.
And instantly, as Alice’s quick eye noticed, the cloud which had lingered on her husband’s brow vanished. He drew a long, deep breath, and turning with a bright smile, chucked young Theodoric under the chin. “How do you like your name, young fellow?”
The corners of the young fellow’s mouth made for his ears, then snapped together beneath his nose.
“Your views vary with kaleidoscopic rap-p-p-pidity,” remarked the philosopher.
The son of the philosopher crowed.
“He says he rather likes his name,” said Charley; “but,” added he, drawing his handkerchief from his pocket, “those drops of water, at the corners of his eyes, look too much like—”
“Hush!” cried Alice, quickly; and she laid her hand on her husband’s mouth.
“Absit omen!” said he.
CHAPTER LXXVI.
On the morning following this christening, the papers contained a telegraphic account of our defeat at Cedar Creek. And, late in the afternoon of the same day, Lucy Poythress walked into the Carters’ back parlor. Her eyes were red and swollen.