Home Lights and Shadows Part 11

"And I have been good," eagerly answered the little fellow, lifting his swimming eyes to her face, "you may ask nurse if I havn't been good all the time."

"I'm sure you have," said Mrs. Herbert, touched by the manner of her child; "and yet, Eddy, I have not brought your book."

The tears, which had been ready to start, now gushed over his face, and a low cry pained the mother's ears.

"Eddy," said she, seriously, "let me tell you about it. You must listen to reason."

Reason! poor, disappointed little one! He had no ear for the comprehension of reasons.

"Now, Eddy! I can't have this!" Mrs. Herbert spoke firmly, for already the child was weeping bitterly. "Crying will do no good. I promised you the book, and you shall have it. I had no opportunity to get it this morning. Come now! you must stop at once, or I----"

Mrs. Herbert did not utter the threat which came to her lips; for her mind shrunk from the thought of punishing her child, especially as his fault was a consequence of her own actions. But, as he continued to cry on, and in a louder voice, she not only began to feel excessively annoyed, but deemed it her duty to compel a cessation of what could do no possible good, but rather harm.

"Eddy, you must stop this crying!" Firmness had changed to sternness.

The words might as well not have been spoken.

"Then you are not going to stop!" The tones were angry now; and, as Mrs. Herbert uttered them, she caught the arm of her child with a tight grip.

At this moment, the sound of the latch-key was heard in the street door. It was dinner time, and Mr. Herbert entered.

"Bless us! what's the trouble here?" the father of Eddy exclaimed, good-naturedly, as he presented himself in the parlor.

"The trouble is," said Mrs. Herbert, in a fretful voice, "that I promised to buy him a book, and forgot all about it."

"Oho! Is that all?" Mr. Herbert spoke cheerfully. "This trouble can soon be healed. Come, dear, and let us see what I can do for you."

And Mr. Herbert drew forth a small, square packet, and began untying the string, with which it was bound. Eddy ceased crying in an instant, while a rainbow light shone through his tears. Soon a book came to view. It was _the_ book. Singularly enough, Mr. Herbert had, that morning, observed it in a store, and thinking it would please his child, had bought it for him.

"Will that do?" he said, handing the book to Eddy.

What a gush of gladness came to the child's face. A moment or two he stood, like one bewildered, and then throwing his arms around his father's neck and hugging him tightly, he said, in the fullness of his heart,

"Oh! you are a dear good papa! I do love you so much!"

Ere the arms of Eddy were unclasped from his father's neck, Mrs.

Herbert had left the room. When, on the ringing of the dinner bell, she joined her husband and child at the table, her countenance wore a sober aspect, and there were signs of tears about her eyes. What her thoughts had been, every true mother can better imagine than we describe. That they were salutary, may be inferred from the fact that no promise, not even the lightest, was ever afterwards made to her child, which was not righteously kept to the very letter.

THE TWO HUSBANDS.

"Jane, how _can_ you tolerate that dull, spiritless creature? I never sat by his side for five minutes, without getting sleepy."

"He does not seem so very dull to me, Cara," replied her companion.

"It is a true saying, that there never was a Jack without a Jill; but I could not have believed that my friend Jane Emory would have been willing to be the Jill to such a Jack."

A slight change was perceptible in the countenance of Jane Emory, and for a moment the color deepened on her cheek. But when she spoke in reply to her friend's remark, no indication that she felt its cutting import, was perceptible.

"I am convinced, from close observation of Walter Gray," said Jane, "that he has in his character that which should ever protect him from jest or ridicule."

"And what is that, my lady Jane?"

"Right thoughts and sound principles."

"Fiddle stick!"

"These should not only be respected, but honored wherever found,"

said Jane, gravely.

"In a bear or a boor!" Cara responded, in a tone of irony.

"My friend Cara is ungenerous in her allusions. Surely, she will not a.s.sert that Walter Gray is a bear or a boor?"

"He is boorish enough, at any rate."

"There I differ with you, Cara. His manner is not so showy, nor his attentions to the many little forms and observances of social life, so prompt as to please the fastidious in these matters. These defects, however, are not defects of character, but of education. He has not mingled enough in society to give him confidence."

"They are defects, and are serious enough to make him quite offensive to me. Last evening, at Mrs. Clinton's party, I sat beside him for half an hour, and was really disgusted with his marked disregard of the little courtesies of social life."

"Indeed!" replied Jane, her manner becoming more serious, "and in what did these omissions consist?"

"Why, in the first place, while we were conversing,----"

"He could converse, then?" said Jane, interrupting her friend.

"O, no, I beg pardon! While we were _trying_ to converse--for among his other defects is an inability to talk to a lady on any subject of interest--I dropped my handkerchief, on purpose, of course, but he never offered to lift it for me; indeed, I doubt whether he saw it at all."

"Then, Cara, how could you expect him to pick it up for you, if he did not see it?"

"But he ought to have seen it. He should have had his eyes about him; and so should every gentleman who sits by or is near a lady. I know one that never fails."

"And pray, who is the perfect gentleman?" asked Jane smiling. "Is he one of my acquaintances?"

"Certainly he is. I mean Charles Wilton."

"He is, I must confess, different from Walter Gray," Jane remarked, drily.

"I hope he is!" said Cara, tossing her head, for she felt that something by no means complimentary was implied in the equivocal remark of her friend.

"But, seriously, Cara, I must, in turn, express regret that you allow yourself to feel interested in one like Charles Wilton. Trust me, my friend, he is unworthy of your regard."

"And pray, Miss," said Cara, warming suddenly, "what do you know of Charles Wilton, that will warrant your throwing out such insinuations against him?"

"Little beyond what I have learned by my own observation."