In a little while, Hepsy came in from the kitchen, having finished her work, and, timidly drawing a chair near the whist-table, sat down to watch the game. "I don't want Hepsy looking over my shoulder!" exclaimed Lizzie, with an expression of disgust. "If you would let her tell you a little about the game, you would get along full as well," observed James, sarcastically. "I don't want her to tell me!" "Hepsy," spoke up Mrs. Royden, "why don't you take your sewing? You won't do any good there." "Do let her look on, if it interests her," said Mr. Royden, impatiently putting down his paper, and lifting his glasses. "Don't keep her at work all the time." But Hepsy, the moment Lizzie spoke, had shrank away from the table, with an expression of intense pain on her unattractive face. "Come here, Hepsy," said Chester, drawing a chair for her to his side; "you may look over my shoulder. Come!" The girl hesitated, while the big tears gathered in her eyes; but he extended his hand, and, taking hers, made her sit down. After he had played his card, he laid his arm familiarly across the back of her chair. Her face burned, and seemed to dry up the tears which had glistened, but did not fall. Mr. Royden took up his paper again with an air of satisfaction; his wife looked sternly reconciled, and plied her sewing vigorously. The play went on pleasantly; Lizzie feeling so thoroughly ashamed of her unkindness to Hepsy—which she would not have thought of but for Chester's rebuke—that she did not speak another disagreeable word during the evening. "Put the cards under the table,—quick!" suddenly exclaimed James. "What's the matter?" asked Sarah. "The minister is coming!" he added, in a fearful whisper. Footsteps were indeed heard approaching from the parlor. The young people were in a great flurry, and Sarah and Lizzie hastened to follow James' advice and example. But Chester would not give up his cards. "Let him come," said he. "If he never saw a pack of cards, it is time he should see one. It is your play, Sarah." Thus admonished, the children brought out their cards again, and recommenced playing, in a very confused manner. Chester's example was hardly sufficient to give them courage in the eyes of the minister. They heard the door open, and there was not a face at the table, except Chester's, but burned with consciousness of guilt. "Ah, how do you feel, after your journey?" asked Mr. Royden. "Hepsy, place a chair for Mr. Rensford." "No, no; do not trouble yourself, my child," said the old gentleman, smiling kindly upon the girl. "Let me help myself." He sat down in the seat she had vacated, behind Lizzie's chair. "I feel much rested," he added, cheerily. "That nice cup of tea, Sister Royden, has made a new man of me." Mrs. Royden acknowledged the compliment with a smile, and Mr. Royden proceeded to give his venerable relative a formal introduction to his son Chester. The young man arose proudly, and, holding the cards in his left hand, advanced to offer the other to the clergyman. "Ah! my young friend again!" cried the old gentleman, with a gleam of genuine sunshine on his face. "I hardly expected to meet you so soon." Chester's manner changed oddly. He recoiled a step, and, although he maintained his proud bearing, his eye fell, and his cheeks tingled with sudden heat. But, recovering himself almost immediately, he accepted the proffered hand, and murmured, "This is a surprise! My compliments to you, sir. I am glad to see you looking so well, after your tedious journey." "You have met before, I take it?" suggested Mr. Royden. "Only this morning, and that without knowing each other," replied the clergyman. He looked over Lizzie's shoulder. "What is this, my dear? Whist?" "Yes, sir," murmured the girl, feebly, and with a blush of shame. In her confusion she threw down the worst card she could have played. But James did not do much better; and the trick was Chester's. He smiled as he took it up, and gently admonished his sister to be more careful of the game. The old gentleman entered into conversation with the parents, and the children gradually recovered their nerves. But all were now anxious that the play should be brought to a close. It so happened that the victory, to Chester and Lizzie, depended upon one trick. She played wrong, and they lost it; when, to the astonishment of all, Mr. Rensford exclaimed, "Ah! that was a bad play, my dear! You should have led your ace, and drawn Sarah's queen, then your ten of trumps would have been good for the next trick. Don't you see?" "Yes, sir," murmured Lizzie, submissively. "One would say you were an old hand at the game," cried Chester. "O, as to that," replied the clergyman, smiling, "I used to be considered a good whist-player in my younger days." "Won't you take a hand now, sir?" "No, I thank you," laughing good-humoredly; "I gave up the amusement twenty years ago. But let me take the cards, if you are done with them, and I will show this little girl a pleasant trick, if I have not forgotten it." "Certainly, sir," said Chester. The family began to like the old gentleman already. Lizzie gave him her seat at the table, and looked over his shoulder. He sorted the cards with his thin, white fingers, and gave a number of them historical names, telling her to remember them. He called the game "The Battle of Waterloo." It proved eminently interesting to the older children, as well as to Lizzie; and, in such a simple, beautiful manner did the old man go through with the evolutions, that all, even the proud Chester, afterwards knew more about the last days of Napoleon's power than they had learned in all their lives. "There!" exclaimed the clergyman, "isn't that as good as whist?" "I like it better," answered Lizzie, who found herself already leaning fondly on his shoulder. "But what did they do with Napoleon?" "Would you like to know?" "O, yes! very much." "Well, then, I will tell you. Or, since it is getting late, suppose I lend you a little book in the morning, that relates all about it?" "I would like to read it," said Lizzie. "Then I will teach you the game, and you can teach it to your little brothers, when they get older," continued the clergyman. "Lizzie!" spoke up Mrs. Royden, "don't you know better than to lean upon your uncle's shoulder?" "I didn't think," replied the girl, the smiles suddenly fading from her warm, bright face. "O, I love to have her!" cried Mr. Rensford, putting his arm around her kindly. "But I thought you must be very weary," said Mrs. Royden. "It rests me to talk with happy children, at any time." "You are not much like me, then; for when I am tired I never want them round." "Ah! you lose a great deal of comfort, then!" softly observed the old gentleman, kissing Lizzie's cheek. "I had a little girl once, and her name was Lizzie, too," he added, his mild blue eyes beginning to glisten. "Where is she now?" asked Lizzie. "In heaven." The clergyman's voice was scarcely raised above a whisper; but so deep was the silence in the room, that he was heard distinctly. Hepsy's eyes swam with tears; and the rest of the family were more or less affected by the pathetic reply. "It is a comfort to think she is there, isn't it?" he continued, with a smile of happiness radiating his calm and hopeful countenance. "How good God is to us!" he exclaimed, fervently. Afterwards, he engaged in cheerful conversation with the parents; but soon expressed a wish to retire, and, kissing Lizzie again and shaking hands with all the rest, with a pleasant word for each, he took his candle, and withdrew. But he seemed to have left the warmth of his presence behind him. The family had never separated with happier faces and kinder words than on that night; and Sarah, James and Lizzie, went lovingly up-stairs together. Chester remained with his parents, to have a little private conversation before going to bed. Mrs. Royden broke the silence. "It is strange what has become of that boy, Samuel. It was time he was back, half an hour ago." "I've been thinking about him," replied Chester, with an anxious look. "If he is riding that horse all over creation, I wouldn't give much for him, in the morning." "I never knew the little rascal to do an errand without doing some mischief with it," added his father. "But he does not mean anything very bad. There's no danger of his doing much damage; so let us forget him for the present, Chester, and talk over your affairs." |