They were never told that "children should be seen and not heard," but when no guests were present, were allowed to talk in moderation; a gentle word or look of reproof from papa or mamma being quite sufficient to check any tendency to boisterousness or undue loquacity.
"I think we should celebrate this anniversary, Elsie," remarked Mr. Travilla, stirring his coffee and gazing with fond admiration into the sweet face at the opposite end of the table.
"Yes, sir, though we are rather late in thinking of it," she answered smilingly, the rose deepening slightly on her cheek as delicately rounded and tinted as it had been ten years ago.
Little Elsie looked up inquiringly. "What is it, papa? I do not remember."
"Do you not? Ten years ago to-day there was a grand wedding at the Oaks, and your mamma and I were there."
"I too?" asked Eddie.
"Yes, course, Eddie," spoke up five year old Violet, "grandpa would 'vite you and all of us; and I b'lieve I 'member a little about it."
"Me too," piped the baby voice of Harold, "me sat on papa's knee."
There was a general laugh, the two little prattlers joining in right merrily.
"I really don't remember that part of it, Harold," said papa, while wee Elsie—as she was often called by way of distinguishing her from mamma, for whom she was named—shook her curly head at him with a merry "Oh, you dear little rogue, you don't know what you are talking about;" and mamma remarked, "Vi has perhaps a slight recollection of May Allison's wedding."
"But this one at the Oaks must have been before I was born," said Elsie, "because you said it was ten years ago, and I'm only nine. O, mamma, was it your wedding?"
"Yes, daughter. Shall we invite our friends for this evening, Edward?"
"Yes, wife; suppose we make it a family party, inviting only relatives, connections and very intimate friends."
After a little more discussion it was decided they would do so; also that the children should have a full holiday, and while their mother was giving orders and overseeing the necessary preparations for the entertainment, papa should take them all in the roomy family carriage and drive over to the Oaks, Roselands, Ashlands and Pinegrove to give the invitations. Beside these near friends only the minister and his wife were to be asked; but as Adelaide and her family were at this time paying a visit to Roselands, and Lucy Ross was doing the same at her old home, and all the younger generation except the mere babies, were to be included in the invitation, should all accept it would be by no means a small assemblage.
Early hours were named for the sake of the little ones; guests to come at six, refreshments to be served at eight, and the Ion children, if each would take a nap in the afternoon, to be allowed to stay up till nine.
How delighted they were: how the little eyes danced and sparkled, and how eagerly they engaged to fulfill the conditions, and not to fret or look cross when summoned at nine, to leave the drawing-room and be put to bed.
"O, mamma, won't you wear your wedding dress?" cried little Elsie; "do, dear mamma, so that we may all see just how you looked when you were married."
Elsie smiled, "You forget, daughter, that I am ten years older now, and the face cannot be quite the same."
"The years have robbed it of none of its beauty," said Mr. Travilla.
"Ah, love is blind," she returned with a blush and smile as charming as those of her girlhood's days. "And the dress is quite out of date."
"No matter for that. It would gratify me as well as the children to see you in it."
"Then it shall be worn, if it fits or can be altered in season."
"Veil and all, mamma," pleaded Elsie, "it is so beautiful—Mammy showed it to me only the other day and told me you looked so, so lovely; and she will put the orange blossoms in your hair and on your dress just as they were that night; for she remembers all about it."
The children, ready dressed for their drive, were gathered in a merry group on the veranda, Eddie astride of Bruno, waiting for papa and the carriage, when a horse came cantering up the avenue, and Mr. Horace Dinsmore alighted and stepped into their midst.
"Oh, grandpa, what you turn for?" cried Harold in a tone of disappointment, "we was dus doin to 'vite you!"
"Indeed!"
"Yes, grandpa, it's a 'versary to-day" explained Vi.
"And mamma's going to be married over again," said Eddie.
"No, no; only to have a party and wear her wedding dress," corrected Elsie.
"Papa, good morning," cried their mother, coming swiftly through, the hall, "I'm so glad, always so glad to see you."
"I know it," he said, pressing a fatherly kiss on the sweet lips, then holding her off for an instant to gaze fondly into the fair face. "And it is ten years to-day since I gave Travilla a share in my treasure. I was thinking of it as I rode over and that you should celebrate this anniversary at your father's house."
"No, no, Dinsmore, you must be our guest," said Travilla, coming out and shaking hands cordially with his old friend. "We have it all arranged,—a family gathering, and Elsie to gratify us by wearing her bridal robes. Do you not agree with me that she would make as lovely a bride to-day as she did ten years ago?"
"Quite. I relinquish my plan for yours; and don't let me detain you and these eager children."
"I thank you: I will go then, as the invitations will be late enough with all the haste we can make."
The carriage was at the door and in a trice grandpa and papa had helped the little ones in: not even Baby Herbert was left behind, but seated on his mammy's lap crowed and laughed as merrily as the rest.
"Ah, mamma, you come too!" pleaded the little voices, as their father took his place beside them. "Can't mammy and Aunt Dicey and the rest know what to do without you to tell them?"
"Not this time, dears; and you know I must make haste to try on the dress, to see if it fits."
"Oh, yes, mamma!" and throwing a shower of kisses, they drove off.
"A carriage load of precious jewels," Elsie said, looking after it as it rolled away: "how the ten years have added to my wealth, papa."
She stood by his side, her hand on his arm, and the soft sweet eyes lifted to his were full of a content and gladness beyond the power of words to express.
"I thank God every day for my darling's happiness," he said low and tenderly, and softly smoothing her shining hair.
"Ah, it is very great, and my father's dear love forms no small part of it. But come in, papa, I want to consult you about one or two little matters; Edward and I rely very much upon your taste and judgment."
"To Roselands first," was Mr. Travilla's order to the coachman.
The old home of the Dinsmores, though shorn of the glory of its grand old trees, was again a beautiful place: the new house was in every respect a finer one than its predecessor, of a higher style of architecture, more conveniently arranged, more tastefully and handsomely furnished; lawns, gardens and fields had become neat and trim as in the days before the war, and a double row of young, thrifty trees bordered the avenue.
Old Mr. Dinsmore now resided there and gave a home to his two widowed and impoverished daughters—Mrs. Louise Conly, and Mrs. Enna Johnson—and their families.
These two aunts loved Elsie no better than in earlier years: it was gall and wormwood to them to know that they owed all these comforts to her generosity; nor could they forgive her that she was more wealthy, beautiful, lovely and beloved than themselves. Enna was the more bitter and outspoken of the two, but even Louise seldom treated her niece to anything better than the most distant and frigid politeness.
In