FullReads

“We must stir him up and hear these martial memories. I want some new incidents, and shall book all I can get, if I may.”

Here Randal was interrupted by Saul himself, who came in with an armful of wood for the fire.

“Anything more I can do for you, cousin?” he asked, surveying the scene with a rather wistful look.

“Only come and sit with us and talk over war times with Mr. Randal.”

“When I’ve foddered the cattle and done my chores I’d be pleased to. What regiment were you in?” asked Saul, looking down from his lofty height upon the slender gentleman, who answered briefly,–

“In none. I was abroad at the time.”

“Sick?”

“No, busy with a novel.”

“Took four years to write it?”

“I was obliged to travel and study before I could finish it. These things take more time to work up than outsiders would believe.”

“Seems to me our war was a finer story than any you could find in Europe, and the best way to study it would be to fight it out. If you want heroes and heroines you’d have found plenty of ’em there.”

“I have no doubt of it, and shall be glad to atone for my seeming neglect of them by hearing about your own exploits. Major.”

Randal hoped to turn the conversation gracefully, but Saul was not to be caught, and left the room, saying, with a gleam of fun in his eye,–

“I can’t stop now; heroes can wait, pigs can’t.”

The girls laughed at this sudden descent from the sublime to the ridiculous, and Randal joined them, feeling his condescension had not been unobserved.

As if drawn by the merry sound Aunt Plumy appeared, and being established in the rocking-chair fell to talking as easily as if she had known her guests for years.

“Laugh away, young folks, that’s better for digestion than any of the messes people use. Are you troubled with dyspepsy, dear? You didn’t seem to take your vittles very hearty, so I mistrusted you was delicate,” she said, looking at Emily, whose pale cheeks and weary eyes told the story of late hours and a gay life.

“I haven’t eaten so much for years, I assure you, Mrs. Basset; but it was impossible to taste all your good things. I am not dyspeptic, thank you, but a little seedy and tired, for I’ve been working rather hard lately.”

“Be you a teacher? or have you a ‘perfessun,’ as they call a trade nowadays?” asked the old lady in a tone of kindly interest, which prevented a laugh at the idea of Emily’s being anything but a beauty and a belle. The others kept their countenances with difficulty, and she answered demurely,–

“I have no trade as yet, but I dare say I should be happier if I had.”

“Not a doubt on’t, my dear.”

“What would you recommend, ma’am?”

“I should say dressmakin’ was rather in your line, ain’t it? Your clothes is dreadful tasty, and do you credit if you made ’em yourself.” and Aunt Plumy surveyed with feminine interest the simple elegance of the travelling dress which was the masterpiece of a French modiste.

“No, ma’am, I don’t make my own things, I’m too lazy. It takes so much time and trouble to select them that I have only strength left to wear them.”

“Housekeepin’ used to be the favorite perfessun in my day. It ain’t fashionable now, but it needs a sight of trainin’ to be perfect in all that’s required, and I’ve an idee it would be a sight healthier and usefuller than the paintin’ and music and fancy work young women do nowadays.”

“But every one wants some beauty in their lives, and each one has a different sphere to fill, if one can only find it.”

“‘Pears to me there’s no call for so much art when nater is full of beauty for them that can see and love it. As for ‘spears’ and so on, I’ve a notion if each of us did up our own little chores smart and thorough we needn’t go wanderin’ round to set the world to rights. That’s the Lord’s job, and I presume to say He can do it without any advice of ourn.”