When she reached the porch she was all trembling. There was her mother,
rather flushed, with her bonnet-strings untied, and her father appearing
from the dining-parlor, where the table was spread for the family
dinner, just as of old.
"This is as it should be; and how are you, my dear?" said Mr. Carnegie,
drawing her affectionately to him.
"Is there any need to ask, Thomas? Could she have looked bonnier if she
had never left us?" said his wife fondly.
Blushing, beaming, laughing, Bessie came in. How small the house seemed,
and how full! There was young Christie's picture of her smiling above
the mantelpiece, there was the doctor's old bureau and the old leathern
chair. Bridget and the younger branches appeared, some of them shy of
Bessie, and Totty particularly, who was the baby when she went away.
They crowded the stairs, the narrow hall. "Make room there!" cried
Jack, imperative amidst the fuss; and her mother conveyed the trembling
girl up to her own dear old triangular nest under the thatch. The books,
the watery miniatures, the Oriental bowl and dishes were all in their
places. "Oh, mother, how happy I am to see it again!" cried she. And
they had a few tears to wink away, and with them the fancied
forgetfulnesses of the absent years.
It was a noisy dinner in comparison with the serene dulness Bessie was
used to, but not noisier than it was entitled to be with seven children
at table, ranging from four to fourteen, for Sunday was the one day of
the week when Mr.
Pages:
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431