‘At home, I told them not to come up; I thought—’
‘Well, we’ll walk down together! I’ve got you all to myself. I thought you had missed my telegram. Hollo, Will, how d’ye do? what, this thing to drive down in?’
‘I thought you were an invalid, Harry,’ said Dr. May, with a laughing yet tearful ring in his agitated tone, as he packed himself and his son in.
‘Ay! I wished I could have let you know sooner how well I had got over it,’ said Harry, in the deep full voice of strong healthy manhood. ‘I am afraid you have been very anxious.’
‘We are used to it, my boy,’ said the Doctor huskily, stroking the great firm fingers that were lying lovingly on his knee, ‘and if it always ends in this way, it ought to do us more good than harm.’
‘It has not done harm, I hope,’ said Harry, catching him up quick. ‘Not to old Mary?’
‘No, Mary works things off, good girl. I flatter myself you will find us all in high preservation.’
‘All—all at home! That’s right.’
‘Yes, those infants from Maplewood and all. You are sure you are all right, Harry?’
‘As sure as my own feelings can make me, and the surgeon of the Dexter to back them,’ said Harry. ‘I don’t believe my lungs were touched after all, but you shall all sit upon me when you like—Tom and all. It was a greater escape than I looked for,’ he added, in a lower voice. ‘I did not think to have had another Christmas here.’
The silence lasted for the few moments till the carriage drew up behind the limes; the doors were thrown open, and the Doctor shouted to the timid anxious figure that alone was allowed to appear in the hall, ‘Come and lift him out, Mary.’
The drawing-room was a goodly sight that evening; and the Doctor, as he sat leaning back in weary happiness, might be well satisfied with the bright garland that still clustered round his hearth, though the age of almost all forbade their old title of Daisies. The only one who still asserted her right to that name was perched on the sailor’s knee, insisting on establishing that there was as much room for her there as there had been three years ago; though, as he had seated himself on a low footstool, her feet were sometimes on the ground, and moreover her throne was subject to sudden earthquakes, which made her, nothing loth, cling to his neck, draw his arm closer round her, and lean on his broad breast, proud that universal consent declared her his likeness in the family; and the two presenting a pleasant contrasting similarity—the open honest features, blue eyes, and smile, expressive of hearty good-will and simple happiness, were so entirely of the same mould in the plump, white-skinned, rosy- cheeked, golden-haired girl, and in the large, powerful, bronzed, ruddy sailor, with the thick mass of curls, at which Tom looked with hostility as fixed, though less declared, than that of his Eton days.
Those were the idle members upon the hearth-rug. On the sofa, with a small table to herself, and a tall embroidery frame before her, nearly hiding her slight person, sat Mrs. Ernescliffe, her pretty head occasionally looking out over the top of her work to smile an answer, and her artistically arranged hair and the crispness of her white dress and broad blue ribbons marking that there was a step in life between her and her sisters; her husband sat beside her on the sofa, with a red volume in his hand, with ‘Orders,’ the only word visible above the fingers, one of which was keeping his place. Hector looked very happy and spirited, though his visage was not greatly ornamented by a moustache, sandier even than his hair, giving effect to every freckle on his honest face. A little behind was Mary, winding one of Blanche’s silks over the back of a chair, and so often looking up to revel in the contemplation of Harry’s face, that her skein was in a wild tangle, which she studiously concealed lest the sight should compel Richard to come and unravel it with those wonderful fingers of his.
Richard and Ethel were arranging the ‘sick albums’ which they had constructed—one of cheap religious prints, with texts and hymns, to be lent in cases of lingering illness; the other, commonly called the ‘profane,’ of such scraps as might please a sick child, pictures from worn-out books or advertisements, which Ethel was colouring— Aubrey volunteering aid that was received rather distrustfully, as his love of effect caused him to array the model school-children in colours gaudy enough, as Gertrude complained, ‘to corrupt a saint.’ Nor was his dilettante help more appreciated at a small stand, well provided with tiny drawers, and holding a shaded lamp, according to Gertrude, ‘burning something horrible ending in gen, that would kill anybody but Tom, who managed it,’ but which threw a beautiful light upon the various glass dishes, tubes, and slides, and the tall brass microscope that Tom was said to love better than all his kith and kin, and which afforded him occupation for his leisure moments.
‘I say, Harry,’ he asked, ‘did you get my letter?’
‘Your letter—of what date? I got none since Mary’s of the second of May, when every one was down in the fever. Poor old Ward, I never was more shocked; what is become of the young ones?’
‘Oh! you must ask Mary, Miss Ward is a bosom friend of hers.’
‘What! the girl that sang like the lark? I must hear her again. But she won’t be in tune for singing now, poor thing! What are they doing? Henry Ward taken to the practice? He used to be the dirtiest little sneak going, but I hope he is mended now.’
‘Ask my father,’ said mischievous Tom; and Dr. May answered not, nor revealed his day’s annoyance with Henry.
‘He is doing his best to make a home for his brother and sisters,’ said Richard.
‘My letter,’ said Tom, ‘was written in Whitsun week; I wish you had had it.’
‘Ay, it would have been precious from its rarity,’ said Harry. ‘What commission did it contain, may I ask?’
‘You have not by good luck brought me home a Chinese flea?’
‘He has all the fleas in creation,’ said Daisy confidentially, ‘cats’ and dogs’, and hedgehogs’, and human; and you would have been twice as welcome if you had brought one.’
‘I’ve brought no present to nobody. I’d got my eye on a splendid ivory junk, for Blanche’s wedding present, at Canton, but I couldn’t even speak to send any one after it. You have uncommon bad luck for a sailor’s relatives.’
‘As long as you bring yourself home we don’t care,’ said Blanche, treating the loss of the junk with far more resignation than did Tom that of the flea.
‘If you only had a morsel of river mud sticking anywhere,’ added Tom, ‘you don’t know the value the infusoria might be.’
‘I had a good deal more than a morsel sticking to me once,’ said Harry; ‘it was owing to my boat’s crew that I
