The next day was Sunday, always religiously kept by every family in the connection. They all met at church in the morning, and most of the Ion and Woodburn people again in the afternoon; first at the school-house on the captain’s estate, where an hour was spent in the instruction of the poor whites of the neighborhood, then in the Ion school-house appropriated to the same use for the colored race of the vicinity.

Mary Keith, Harold, Herbert, and their old friend Croly attended and took part in the exercises of both schools; for they were all earnest, active Christian workers, full of zeal for the Master’s cause and anxious to win souls for him.

Harold and Herbert dearly loved to talk over with their mother their plans for future usefulness and the necessary preparation for it, and, to their supreme content, contrived to get her to themselves for a time on their return from the scene of that afternoon’s labors. The call to tea broke up their conference.

The evening was spent in Bible study, religious conversation, and sacred song.

It had been a day of rest from earthly cares and pleasures, and all rose on Monday morning refreshed and strengthened in mind and body.

That day was spent at the Laurels, very much as Saturday had been at the Oaks; Tuesday at Fairview. Violet claimed her right to be the next entertainer of the connection, so all were invited to spend that day at Woodburn, where preparations for their entertainment had been going on for several days.

Eager, impetuous Lulu was almost wild with delight. “O papa,” she said, when she and Grace had exchanged with him their usual affectionate good-morning, “I do just hope we’ll give the folks the grandest good time they’ve had anywhere yet. It’s a splendid day, and our grounds never looked more beautiful. I could hardly get dressed for gazing at them through my bedroom windows, and I thanked the Lord over and over again for giving me such a lovely home and dear, kind father,” putting her arms round his neck and giving him a second ardent kiss.

“Yes, daughter,” he returned, holding her close, “the goodness of our heavenly Father to us is far, far beyond our deserts. I thank him every day for the ability he has given me to make such a delightful home for my wife and children.”

“Yes, papa,” said Grace, leaning up affectionately against him on his other side, and slipping a hand into his, “I often think how very, very good God has been to us children in giving us such a good, kind father, when so many poor children have cross, drunken fathers who beat and abuse them for just nothing at all, and don’t care whether they are comfortably fed and clothed or not.”

“It is a sad truth that there are such fathers in the world,” he replied, “and some who with all their efforts cannot comfortably feed and clothe their little ones.”

“And other poor little ones who have no father or mother,” added Grace. “Oh, I do hope God will let me keep my dear father as long as I live.”

“Do not allow yourself to be anxious and troubled about that, daughter,” the captain responded tenderly, “our heavenly Father knows and will do for each one of us just what is best.”

“Papa,” said Lulu coaxingly, “don’t you think you could excuse us from lessons to-day? There will be so much going on that I know I shall find it very difficult to give my mind to lessons, and I’m sure it will be just the same with the others.”

“If I thought it for your good, daughter,” he said in reply, “I should certainly say yes; but I do not. If you are diligent you can be ready to receive your young guests by eleven o’clock.”

“But I think it will be almost impossible to give my mind to tasks when it is so full of all that’s to be done and enjoyed through the day,” she sighed.

“I am sure you can if you will exercise sufficient determination,” he replied; “you have a strong will, and can put it to good use in forcing Lucilla Raymond to resolutely put aside distracting thoughts and give her mind for a time wholly to her appointed tasks. Show her that if she wants to do right and please her heavenly Father, she will do it for that reason; and if she loves her earthly one as dearly as she says, she will do it to gain his approbation and make his heart glad that he has so good and dutiful an eldest daughter.”

“So I will, papa,” she said, giving him another affectionate hug, “for oh, I do want to make you glad that I am your very own child, your very, very own, and don’t belong to anybody else in the whole world.”

“And that I am, papa,” Grace said, lifting to his eyes full of ardent filial love. “I am every bit as glad to belong to you as Lu is.”

“And I quite as glad to own you, my own darling little girl,” he responded, drawing them both closer into his embrace.

The breakfast-bell rang, and taking a hand of each, he led them down to the lower hall, where they met Violet coming in from the veranda where she and her two little ones had been taking the air.

Pleasant greetings were exchanged with them and with Mr. Lilburn and Marian, who presently joined the family in the breakfast-room. Then all seated themselves, the blessing was asked, and the meal began.

“Cousin Ronald,” said Violet, “I hope you will help to entertain our guests to-day by the exercise of your ventriloquial powers, which have not yet been discovered by either Cousin Mary Keith or Mr. Croly.”

“I should like to oblige you, cousin,” replied the old gentleman, “but I fear I cannot think of anything new in that line.”

“Well,” she said, “we will hope some bright thoughts may occur to you.”

“Perhaps you might borrow a bugle again, sir,” remarked Lulu with a little laugh. “I don’t believe they’ve found out yet who that bugler was who played near the lakelet at Ion, when they were in the boat on it.”

“No,” said Marian, “from something that was said yesterday, I am sure they have not.”

“Such being the case, perhaps the fellow may take it into his head to visit the wood here this afternoon or evening,” Mr. Lilburn remarked in a quiet tone.

“Oh, I hope he will!” exclaimed Lulu, “and that he’ll play longer than he did at Ion. I wonder if he couldn’t sing us a song too,” she added, smiling archly into Mr. Lilburn’s eyes.

“Now perhaps he may if I tell him that a daughter of our entertainers makes the request,” returned Mr. Lilburn gravely. “I’ll try my influence with him, my dear.”

“Oh, thank you, sir!” she exclaimed with a merry laugh. “I am quite sure he will not be able to resist that.”

“I just wish we had Maxie here,” said Grace, “for then we might have one sing and the other play at the same time.”

“That would be fine,” laughed her father, “but unfortunately we cannot have Max.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Marian with a look of surprise and pleasure, “now I know who was the ventriloquist at Minersville!”

“There now!” cried Grace with a look of dismay, “I ought to be ashamed. I never meant to tell that secret.”

“Don’t look so troubled, daughter,” said the captain, smiling kindly upon her, “there is no great harm done. Marian would probably have found it out before long without any help from you.”

“And I’ll try to make no bad use of my discovery,” added Marian.

“You and papa are very kind,” returned Grace, with a slight sigh of relief.

“I suppose this is to be a holiday for the children, captain?” remarked Violet with an inquiring look at her husband.

“Quite a mistake, my dear,” he returned pleasantly. “I do not think it good for my pupils to have too many holidays, and have no doubt they will enjoy play all the more for having done a little work first.”

“Yes, sir, no doubt we shall,” said Marian cheerfully, “and I for one should be very loath to miss the lessons. I enjoy them, and am very grateful to you for taking the trouble to teach me.”

“You are as welcome as possible,” he returned in the kindest of tones. “Your companionship in her studies is of advantage to my daughter Lulu, and makes very little more work for me.”

“You are very kind indeed to look at it in that light, sir,” was Marian’s response, while Lulu gave him a most grateful, loving look.

Then a voice that seemed to come from the doorway into the hall said: “You are the very best of fathers, sir, always ready to take any amount of trouble for the benefit of any of your children.”

“Maxie! where is you? Tum and det some breakfus,” exclaimed baby Ned, as he and all the others turned their heads in the direction of the sounds.

But no one was to be seen there.

“Where is Maxie?” queried Ned, almost ready to cry. “Papa tell Maxie tum eat his breakfus.”

“Maxie isn’t there, son,” said the captain pleasantly. “It was Cousin Ronald talking in Maxie’s voice.”

“Papa,” said little Elsie, “maybe Maxie is there, hiding behind the door.”

“Do you think so?” returned her father with a smile. “Well, you may go and look, if you wish, and if you find him tell him papa says for him to come immediately to his breakfast.”

At that Elsie made haste to get down from her chair, and ran to the door calling, “Maxie, Maxie, papa says, come right to your breakfus dis minute.”

Not finding Max at the door, she ran on down the hall, out upon the veranda, looking searchingly from side to side, back again and through the different rooms, calling, “Max, Max, where are you? Papa says, come to your breakfus.”

Then on into the breakfast-room she came again, saying with a bewildered look, “Papa, I can’t find Max. Where did he go?”

“Don’t you remember that papa told you he was not there, daughter?” returned the captain pleasantly. “It was Cousin Ronald who spoke, making his voice sound like Max’s.”

“Oh, I wish it was Maxie, ’cause I love him and want to see him,” returned the baby girl, tears springing to her eyes.

“Never mind, papa’s dear little girl,” the captain said, lifting her into her chair again; “we may hope to see dear brother Max here one of these days; and then how glad we shall all be!”

“Oh, yes, papa; please write Maxie a letter and tell him Elsie wants him to come soon,” she said, smiling through her tears.

The moment family worship was over, Marian, Lulu, and Grace hastened to the school-room, where they were joined a few minutes later by Evelyn Leland, Rosie and Walter Travilla. The lessons had all been thoroughly prepared, so that recitations proceeded rapidly, and by eleven o’clock all were dismissed with permission to spend the remainder of the day in such sports as suited their inclination.

The guests had already begun to arrive, and directly the most of them were scattered through the beautiful grounds exploring every nook and corner of them. Then games were played—lawn tennis, croquet, and others suited to different ages and tastes. A grand dinner followed in due season, after which they sat on the verandas or under the trees or wandered slowly through the wood and the shaded alleys.

Tea was over, the sun near his setting, and somewhat weary with their sports almost all were seated in or near the verandas, when the sound of a bugle broke the stillness, coming apparently from the wood where a number of the young people had been straying only a half-hour before.

“There he is again!” cried Croly, starting to his feet. “Harold, suppose we hurry out yonder and see if we can catch sight of the fellow.”

“Oh, not yet,” said Grandma Elsie; “let us enjoy his music for a little first. Hark! he is beginning the Star-spangled Banner.”

“Very well done,” commented Mr. Dinsmore as the last notes died away on the air. Croly looked at Harold and half rose from his chair; but the bugler began again. This time it was a Scottish air, and Marian absently, and scarcely above her breath, sang the words:

The notes of the bugle died away, and all was quiet for a moment; then Walter broke the silence:

“So that’s a Scotch tune, is it, Marian? I heard you singing Scotch words to it—about Wallace and Bruce—and there’s scarcely any story I feel more interest in—unless maybe tales of our own Revolution. They were brave fellows, and I like to think I come of the same stock on mamma’s side at least.”

“Yes, it’s a good stock to come of,” she answered, her eyes kindling; “none better in my esteem; they have always been a liberty-loving, God-fearing race—the great mass o’ them at least. But hark! there’s the bugler at it again; nearer, and playing quite another tune.”

It was a simple little air, played as a prelude, and presently the bugle ceased, and a man’s voice sang:

All had listened intently, and for a moment after the song ceased, no one moved or spoke. Then Croly started up, saying: “I’m bound to see that fellow. Come, Harold and Herbert, will you go with me, or must I search for him alone?”

“Oh, I have no objection to going with you,” returned Harold with a slight laugh. “I hardly think he can be dangerous, and if he is I must try to defend you, Will.”

“And in that case you may stand in need of my services also,” said Herbert, joining them as they hurried down the veranda steps and along the drive in the direction from which the sounds of the bugle and the voice had come.

“I hope they won’t find him a dangerous fellow,” remarked Rosie with a gleeful laugh.

“No, indeed, I hope not,” said Mary Keith, in a slightly anxious tone. “Have you gentlemen any idea who he may be?”

“The bugler, do you mean, cousin?” asked Edward Travilla. “I won’t say certainly, but I have an idea that he is a perfectly harmless old fellow who occasionally haunts this neighborhood.”

“A crazy man?” she asked.

“No, not that, but one who enjoys surprising and mystifying those who know little or nothing about him or his arts.”

“Well, I am glad to hear that he is harmless,” she said in a tone of relief, “for knowing that, one can enjoy listening to his playing and singing.”

“Do you think they will find him, Cousin Ronald?” asked Marian, in a tone that sounded slightly mirthful.

“I, lassie?” he returned; “what should I ken aboot the folks o’ this neighborhood?”

“Oh, you have visited here a good deal, and so I thought you might have gained some knowledge of so odd a character.”

“More than that possessed by any o’ these cousins who live in the neighborhood, lass?” he asked with a good-humored laugh. “Truly you are paying your auld kinsman a high compliment.”

“I could not possibly pay you one that would be higher than your deserts, Cousin Ronald,” she returned.

“Oh, hark!” exclaimed Rosie, “the bugler is at it again!” as a few notes floated on the air; then the same voice they had heard before sang again, apparently coming from a tree-top not many yards away:

“He seems to be very fond of the lasses, but has nothing to say of the lads,” laughed Walter.

“And they, it seems, can’t find him,” said Edward, as the three young men were seen returning toward the house. “Well, lads, what success?” he called to them.

“None as yet,” replied Harold, “but we are not quite in despair. Surely we heard his voice a moment since, nearer the house than when he gave us his Thimble song.”

“Yes, it seemed to me to come from the top of that magnolia, and he must be very quick in his movements if he has got down from it already.”

“What you doing? what you ’bout?” came just at that instant in a loud, harsh scream, apparently from the same tree-top. “Breakfast-time. Polly wants a cracker. Polly wants a cup of coffee.”

The three young men stepped close to the tree and gazed upward among its branches.

“The parrot again!” exclaimed Croly. “Do you see her, boys?”

“Not I,” replied Herbert, “but it is quite dark up there where the branches and leaves are so thick.”

“So it is,” said Croly. “Hi there, Polly! show yourself.”

“Go ’way!” screamed the harsh voice.

“Come down, Polly; we won’t hurt you,” said Harold.

“Polly’s hungry; Polly wants a cracker,” responded the harsh voice.

“Come down, and if you are the good bird you seem, you shall have a cracker and a cup of coffee,” he promised; but the only reply was a sound as of the fluttering and flapping of wings that seemed to leave the tree and go farther away till lost in the distance.

“Gone!” said Croly; “and I did not catch so much as a glimpse of her. Did anybody else?”

“And you haven’t found the bugler either,” remarked Mary Keith.

“No,” laughed Calhoun Conly, sitting beside her, “they are not very successful hunters.”

“Do you think you could do better, Cal?” asked Herbert, as he and his two companions came leisurely up the steps into the veranda.

“Well, I hardly think I should do worse,” returned Calhoun lightly.

“Then suppose you start out on the quest, find that bugler, and coax him to give us another tune.”

Some soft, low notes came to their ears at that moment, as if in reply; they seemed to issue from the depths of the wood, and the listeners almost held their breath to catch them. As they died away Croly spoke again.

“He seems to have made quite a circuit to escape us; and why on earth should he? for he surely has no reason to fear we would do him harm.”

“Bashful, perhaps,” suggested Edward. “But why care to see him? Is not hearing enough?”

“If Mr. Croly were a woman, I would suggest that he was probably actuated by curiosity,” laughed Mary Keith; “but since he belongs to the other sex, it must be supposed to be something else.”

“Dear me, Miss Keith, who would ever have dreamed you could be so severe? You who belong to the gentler sex?” returned Croly, in a feignedly mortified tone.

“Hark! there he is at it again!” exclaimed Maud Dinsmore, as distant bugle notes once more came softly to the ear. “If you want to catch him, I advise you to hasten in the direction of those sounds, Mr. Croly.”

“Hardly worth while, since he is so adroit at getting out of the way,” sighed Croly, sinking into a chair as if quite exhausted with the efforts already made.

“Never say die, Mr. Croly,” laughed Rosie Travilla. “Gather up your strength and pursue the investigation. ‘Try, try, try again,’ is an excellent motto.”

“Yes, Miss Rosie, in some cases, but perhaps not in this, where the game seems to be hardly worth the candle.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Walter, “the music seems to be coming nearer! Hadn’t you fellows better start out and try again to catch the player? You might be more successful this time. I wouldn’t like to give it up so if I were in your place.”

“Then suppose you put yourself in our place, and start out in quest of him,” suggested his brother Harold.

“I’ve no objections; I’m not afraid of him,” returned Walter, jumping up; “but if you’d like to go with me, Cousin Ronald?” turning toward the old gentleman, as if with a sudden thought, “I’d be very glad to have you.”

Mr. Lilburn rose as if to comply with the request, but Mrs. Travilla interposed.

“Oh, no, my son,” she said; “Cousin Ronald must feel tired after all the exertion he has made to-day.”

“And I offer myself as a substitute,” said Dr. Conly, rising. “If the fellow should happen to be vicious enough to knock you down, Walter, it might be well to have the doctor along to see to your hurts.”

“Pshaw! I’m not a bit afraid of him,” said Walter.

“But your lack of fear is no positive proof that he is entirely harmless; so I think it would be as well for you to have an elder brother along,” remarked Herbert, following them down the veranda steps.

“Oh, come along then, and if the fellow attacks us, I’ll do my best to defend you,” laughed Walter; and the three set off together for the wood.

“Is this the bugler’s first visit to your place, captain?” asked Croly.

“I really do not remember having heard his bugle about here before,” was the reply in a meditative tone, “but I do not imagine him a person likely to do any harm.”

“Why, there is the hack from Union turning in at the great gates!” exclaimed Lulu. “We must be going to have a visitor.”

It came rapidly up the drive and paused before the entrance; the door was thrown open, and a rather young-looking man alighted, the captain at the same time rising from his chair and stepping forward to greet him.

“Captain Raymond?” the stranger said inquiringly, lifting his hat as he spoke.

At that Mr. Lilburn sprang to his feet and came forward, exclaiming, “What, Hugh, my mon, is it you?” grasping the young man’s hand and giving it a hearty shake. “It’s one o’ my sons, captain,” turning glad, shining eyes upon his host. “I was not expecting him, for he had given me no warning of his coming.”

“You are very welcome, sir,” said the captain, taking the hand of the young man in a cordial grasp.

At that Grandma Elsie, Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore, and Violet hastened forward with like greetings and expressions of pleasure at seeing him again after the lapse of years since their weeks of friendly intercourse at the sea-shore.

“But you should be my guest, cousin,” said Mrs. Travilla. “We shall be going home presently, and will be most happy to have you accompany us.”

“Oh, no, mother, it will not do for you to rob us of our guest so promptly,” said Captain Raymond.

“No, indeed, mother dear, we must have Cousin Hugh here with his father, at least for the first few days,” Violet hastened to say; and so it was settled after a little more discussion, and a servant was dispatched to the village for Hugh’s baggage.

Just as that matter was fairly arranged, Dr. Conly, Herbert, and Walter returned to the house.

When they and Hugh had been introduced and had exchanged greetings, Croly inquired if they had succeeded in catching the bugler.

“No, we didn’t get so much as a glimpse of him,” returned Walter. “But then you see it was growing quite dark in the wood, so that it wasn’t so very difficult for a nimble-footed fellow to make his escape.”