CHAPTER VI
THE SUNSET HOUR
The library windows stood open, and the soft little June winds played “peep” with the lace curtains, swaying them in and out, and letting the rose-laden air slip into the room. Outside the setting sun cast long slanting rays upon the lawn and foliage, lighting the world as it can only light it just before it slips away behind the hills to carry the promise of a new day to other lands. Within the library all was wonderfully peaceful and quiet. It was a very attractive room, pervaded with the home atmosphere that only a much-used, well-loved room can possess. A sort of individuality of each member of the family, as though even in their absence they left there something which could not fail to recall their presence. In the bay-window stood a monstrous leather-covered armchair. A motherly-fatherly sort of chair that said: “Come, snuggle within my inviting depths and tell me all your secrets, and whether they be joyful or sad, I’ll prove a comfort to you.”
It was five o’clock. As the cuckoo clock announced the fact to all who cared to know it, a stately pad, pad, pad, came stalking across the piazza, and a second later Sailor’s great head pushed aside the curtains and he looked into the room. That no one was visible did not seem to deter him in the least, for walking over to the fur rug which lay upon the floor beside the couch, he stretched himself at length upon it, and lay there with his head raised in a listening attitude. Pat, pat, pat, came the sound of small hurrying feet through the hall, and in ran Beauty Buttons with a “woof, woof,” by way of salutation. He, too, evidently expected others to follow, for, after settling himself comfortably between Sailor’s great front paws, he listened with ears erect.
But he must, indeed, have possessed acute hearing to have detected the footfalls of the next arrivals, for not until they had crossed the piazza, and slipped beneath the curtains, did they make the least sound. Then a warbly little “r-r-r-r-rwow” told that Hero wished to say “good-evening,” and Leander, who was never far away from his lady-love, echoed her greeting in deeper tones. Advancing toward the dogs with tails held straight up in the air, they rubbed against Sailor’s long hair and then sought the places they preferred in the library. Hero was soon perched upon the top of the big chair in the window, and Leander blinked at her from the luxurious billows of a bright red sofa-pillow which lay upon the couch near at hand. The two cats were so exactly alike that it would have been impossible to tell one from the other had not Denise tied a red ribbon upon Leander and a blue one upon Hero, which contrasted finely with their maltese coats.
Apparently the stage was now properly set for the “stars,” and a moment later Mrs. Lombard came into the room and took her seat in the big chair, stopping on her way to stroke the dogs and Leander.
As she sat down Hero welcomed her with a soft little warbly sound she reserved for those she loved, and, arching her back, rubbed her silky coat against Mrs. Lombard’s face.
“Dear old pussykins, are you glad that ‘cosy hour’ has come?” she asked the cat, as she stroked her. And Hero gave another little throaty meow, which no doubt meant that it was a very happy one for them all.
“Good-night! Come over early in the morning and we’ll get ready to launch it,” cried a happy voice at the foot of the piazza steps, and the next moment Denise’s merry face peered through the curtains.
“Oh, there you all are! Waiting for me, as usual. Oh, me, the days aren’t half long enough, are they, Moddie? Hart and I have so many plans for each one that we could never carry them all out if we lived to be a hundred. But, Moddie,” she added, as she slipped into the big chair, whose proportions were amply large for the accommodation of these two, and, placing her arm about her mother’s waist, snuggled her head upon the shoulder that had never failed her, “I am so glad you got it all so nicely settled about Hart going home at five o’clock. Of course, I couldn’t say a word, but I did so miss our cosy hour. Somehow, the day doesn’t seem finished without it, for every day is sure to have just one little kink come into it somewhere, and I don’t know how to get it out. But when we have our talk at the end of it, the kink flies away, and—it’s just my precious Moddie who sends it!” and Denise flung her other arm about her mother to hug her as hard as she could. There was a wonderfully tender light in Mrs. Lombard’s eyes as she held her impulsive little daughter close to her side, and answered:
“This is a sort of weather bureau, where we prophesy fair weather instead of foul, and try to set about providing it.”
“Yes, that is it, I guess,” answered Denise, falling back to her original position, and holding one of her mother’s hands in her own warm ones. “You see, now that the vacation has come, and I have the whole day in which to think of just nobody but Denise Lombard, I am afraid that I think about her and her good times entirely too much, and if I didn’t come in here once in a while I should grow just too selfish to live. Hart is lovely, and we do have splendid times, but he likes to do things his way, and I like to do them mine, and—well, if it wasn’t for a little Moddie who lives in a big armchair, I’m afraid that sometimes I’d be, yes—I’m very much afraid I’d be sort of mean. And then that ‘wise fairy’ which ever so long ago you told me lived way down in your heart, and helped you know what was best for me, pops out and flies to my shoulder, and whispers in my ear: ‘There is a little Moddie who lives in the armchair, and by and by you will have to talk with her, and tell her every little thing that has happened to-day, and if some of them are not pleasant to tell, then you will feel ashamed of yourself, and she—well she won’t say a single word, but her eyes will look sorry, and then you will feel just like a nasty little worm—all crawly and wriggly.’ Isn’t it funny, Moddie, that I sort of see you when such things happen? It doesn’t make any difference how far away you are. What makes it so?”
“I presume it is the same influence as that which frequently causes us to think exactly the same thoughts at the same moment—our great love and sympathy for each other, dear. Our lives are so closely identified that joy or sorrow, pleasure or pain, seem to be mutually shared.”
Denise thought a moment before replying, for, although but eleven and a half years of age, she had a thoughtful little head upon her shoulders, and liked to reason out her mother’s words, and see them in her own peculiar light. Presently she said:
“That is funny when you come to think of it, isn’t it? But I know it is true, too, because it so often happens so, and only yesterday, when I was out on the lawn with Ned I was thinking about that pink gingham dress that I used to wear last summer, and wondering if it would be too small for me this year, and just at that moment you whistled ‘Bob White,’ and when I answered you called me to come up and try it on. Wasn’t that odd? I didn’t know that you were even thinking about getting the dress out.”
“That is but one of many similar instances, Sweetheart. But apropos of those much shrivelled-up gowns, or is it that their owner has expanded?” asked Mrs. Lombard as she looked into Denise’s upturned face and smiled. “Will you be good enough to drive me over to Mary Murphy’s to-morrow morning, for I think that the little Murphys will fit into those garments to perfection.”
“Why, I promised Hart—” began Denise, and then stopped short and colored slightly.
“What did you promise him, dear?” asked Mrs. Lombard gently.
“Why, you see,” said Denise, somewhat embarrassed, “his new rowboat will be sent out this evening, and he wants me to christen it when it is launched, and I told him I would. Of course, I did not know that you wanted me to drive you up to the village, or I would not have promised.”
“Certainly you could not have known it, and now we must see what can be done to smooth out these little kinks that have been saucy enough to obtrude themselves upon us and upset our plans.”
“I know you can do it,” cried Denise. “There is only one Moddie like this one, and ‘I got her!’”
“There is only one such madcap of a daughter,” laughed Mrs. Lombard. “But now to continue. I particularly wish to have you go with me to-morrow, for there is a new little daughter at Mary’s house, and I think that there are many things which we may be able to do for her. She was a very faithful nurse to you during the first five years of your life, and it gives her great pleasure to have you visit her and do these little things yourself, for she is very proud of her nursling. So much for my reasons concerning Mary. Now for Hart. It is only a step over there, I know, but I think it would be more courteous if you were to sit down and write a little note to him explaining the situation. This may seem a trifle formal to you both when you are such jolly chums, but it is one of those little acts which, even though they seem uncalled for, serve to help you both. It shows Hart that you know what it is proper to do under the circumstances, and that even though you are both children, you do not wish to be found wanting in politeness to each other, and he will respect you all the more for doing this. John may take your note to him. On the other hand, it helps my girl to learn how to write a graceful note, and to excuse herself properly when she finds it impossible to keep an engagement. There! What do you think of all those ‘reasons why’?”
Denise did not reply for a moment or two, nor did Mrs. Lombard break the silence. The cuckoo opened his little door in the top of the clock and gave one toot, as though trying to break the silence. Way down in Denise’s heart lingered a strong desire to go with Hart in the morning, Mary Murphy and new babies, nevertheless, and notwithstanding. But eleven and a half years of the firmest, gentlest training led by this wise mother to do the right thing simply because it was right, and not because she had been ordered to do so by those who possessed the right and power to so order, had not been in vain, and this little girl had grown to regard the right way as the only one, and the wrong one as a reflection upon herself. It was often hard to give up, for the days were wonderfully happy ones. Presently she asked:
“When may I tell him that I will christen it?”
“The following morning, dear, if agreeable to him,” replied Mrs. Lombard without further comment, for the heart beside her was as plainly revealed to her as though glass instead of flesh covered it, and she well knew that a struggle was going on, not only to do what she wished, but to do it cheerfully and without regret—the true beauty of the doing.
“I’ll write it this minute,” cried Denise, springing so suddenly from the chair that Hero lost her balance upon the top and tumbled upon the floor. “Oh, dear! Isn’t that exactly like me? I’ve upset Hero and scared her nearly out of her wits besides. Poor pussy,” she said, as she picked the cat up and comforted her. “Your missie is a madcap, do you know that?” and then a merry laugh came to dispel the haze that had gathered, and the sun shone forth again. The note was written, and a wise woman had tact enough to say that it was charmingly done, and that she was delighted to see how prettily her little daughter could write, and how well she was able to express herself. Only a few words of praise, but they were dropped when most needed, and served as a wonderful balm to a slightly ruffled spirit. None of us are born saints, and we all like to have our own way. Mrs. Lombard did not add just then that she was much troubled at the thought of Denise going upon the river with Hart, or that she feared she must forbid it. It was not the moment for doing so, and would have seriously marred the beautiful harmony of the hour. Nevertheless, she had decided that she could not let her go until she had learned more of Hart’s seamanship and tested it herself. But that would all adjust itself later.
Just as the letter was finished the whistle of the incoming train told that Mr. Lombard would be with them presently, and by the time both had reached the entrance to the grounds, with two dogs and two cats as body-guard, Sunshine and Flash came spinning along the road and neighed aloud as Denise called out, “Oh, papa L., papa L.! here we are!” for these horses did not dread their driver, and loved the voices they knew so well. Mr. Lombard stepped from the carriage at the gate, and, slipping an arm about his wife and sunny little daughter, walked with them toward the house, the dogs and cats crowding about him and claiming the notice which they never claimed in vain. The peace of all the world lay upon that home.