Mildred Keith

There were many lovely wild flowers springing up here and there, and Cyril, Don and Fan ran hither and thither gathering them, prattling merrily to each other the while, and now and then uttering a joyous shout as they came upon some new floral treasure.

"Be careful not to go too far away, children," Zillah called to them.

"No, we won't go far," they answered, Cyril adding, "And I'll take care of Fan."

In a little while they came running back with full hands.

"See, see!" they said, "so many and such pretty ones – blue, and white, and purple, and yellow. There, you take these and we'll pick some more for ourselves. And for mother and Aunt Wealthy; we'll make a big bunch for each of them," and away they ran again.

"Oh, aren't they pretty?" cried Ada. "Let's make a bouquet for mother out of these."

"She won't want two," said Zillah, "'specially just now when she's no place to put them. Let's make wreaths for Annis and Fan."

"Oh yes!" and they began sorting the flowers with eager interest, little Annis pulling at them too, crowing and chattering in sweet baby fashion.

Suddenly Zillah gave a start and laid a trembling hand on Ada's arm. Her face had grown very pale and there was a look of terror in her large blue eyes.

Ada turned quickly to see what had caused it, and was quite as much alarmed on beholding a tall Indian, with rifle in hand, tomahawk and scalping knife in his belt, standing within a few feet of them, evidently regarding them with curiosity.

He wore moccasins and leggins, and had a blanket about his shoulders; feathers on his head, too; but no war paint on his face.

Behind him was a squaw with a great bark basket full of wild berries, slung to her back.

The little girls were too terribly frightened to cry out or speak, they sat there as if turned to stone, while the Indian drew nearer and nearer still closely followed by his squaw.

Stopping close beside the children, he grunted out a word or two to her, and she slung her basket to the ground.

Taking up a double handful of the berries, he poured them into Zillah's lap, saying, "Pappoose!"

The squaw restored her basket to its place and the two walked leisurely away; happily not in the direction of Fan and the boys.

The little girls gazed at each other in blank astonishment; then burst out simultaneously, "Oh, weren't you frightened? I thought he was going to kill us!"

"But wasn't it good in him to give us the berries?"

"Yes; he meant them for baby; but mother doesn't let her have any, you know; so we mustn't give them to her."

"No, but I'll call the children to get some.'

"Yes, do."

"Where did you get em?" queried Cyril, devouring his share with zest.

"An Indian gave them to us."

"An Indian? why that was like a friend and colation! I shan't be 'fraid of 'em any more."

"I don't know," returned Ada with a wise shake of her head, "I'd rather not see 'em even with their berries."

The little feast was just ended when they espied a gentleman passing along the road beyond the grove. He turned and came toward them.

"Good-morning," he said, pleasantly. "These are Mr. Keith's children, I believe?"

"Yes, sir," answered Zillah.

"I'm glad to see you," shaking hands with them; "and I should like to make the acquaintance of your parents. Are they at home, in the house yonder?"

"Mother is, sir; but I saw father go away a little while ago."

"Do you think your mother could see me for a moment? My name is Lord."

Cyril opened his eyes very wide; gazing up into the gentleman's face with an odd expression of mingled curiosity and astonishment.

"I don't know, sir;" answered Zillah, "they're just cleaning the house and – Cyril, run and ask mother."

Away flew the child, rushing into the room where Miss Stanhope and Mrs. Keith were overseeing the opening of boxes and the unpacking of the household gear.

"Mother, mother," he cried breathlessly, "the Lord's out yonder and he wants to see you! Can he come in? shall I bring him?"

"The Lord! what can the child mean?" cried Aunt Wealthy, in her astonishment and perplexity nearly dropping a large china bowl which she held in her hand.

Mrs. Keith, too, looked bewildered for a moment, then a sudden light breaking over her face,

"Yes, bring him in," she said, and turning to her aunt as the child sped on his errand, "It must be the minister, auntie; I remember now that Stuart told me his name was Lord."

Mr. Lord, who was a very absent-minded man, came in apologizing for his "neglect in not calling sooner; he had been engaged with his sermon and the matter had slipped his mind."

"I think you are blaming yourself undeservedly, sir," Mrs. Keith said, giving him her hand with a cordial smile, "we arrived in town only yesterday. Let me introduce you to my aunt, Miss Stanhope."

The two shook hands, and Mr. Lord seating himself upon a box, instead of the chair that had been set for him, sprang up instantly with a hurried exclamation.

A portion of the contents of a paper of tacks had been accidentally spilt there.

The ladies were too polite to smile. Mrs. Keith offered the chair again, simply saying, "You will find this a more comfortable seat; please excuse the disorder we are in;" then plunged into talk about the town and the little church he had recently organized there.

Chapter Eighth

"Home is the sphere of harmony and peace,
The spot where angels find a resting place,
When bearing blessings, they descend to earth."

    – Mrs. Hale.
Cyril came running back carrying a covered basket.

"He's gone, girls. He wasn't the Lord at all; only a man; and he didn't stay long; I guess 'cause he sat down on the tacks and hurted himself.

"Here's our dinner. Mother says we may eat it out here under the trees and it'll be as good as a picnic."

"So it will. Let's see what it is," and Zillah took the basket and lifted the lid. "Oh that's nice! buttered biscuits and cold tongue and cheese and ginger bread – lots of it – and a turnover apiece."