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In Lanse's room Justin carefully locked the door. "It's all my fault, Celia's knee," he said, going straight to the point, as was his way. His voice shook a little, but he went steadily on. "She sent me down cellar after pickles, and I sat on the top of the stairs finishing up a banana before I went. I've been down there to look, and and the banana skin was there all mashed. It was what did it."
For an instant, only the similarity of the figure to Lanse's struck her, for the wavering walk and bandaged head, with hand pressed to the forehead, did not suggest her brother. At the next instant the man lifted a white face, and Charlotte gave a startled cry as she saw that it was John Lansing himself, in a sorry plight. She ran to him.
Birch, as charming as a girl herself in her pale gray silken gown: and little Ellen Donohue, a six-year-old protégée of the family, her hazel eyes wide with gazing at Charlotte, whom she hugged intermittently and adored without cessation. "You don't feel like a bride, eh?" was Lanse's reply to Charlotte's statement. "Well, I shouldn't think you would an infant like you.
The entire Birch family, Doctor Churchill, Lanse's friend, Mary Atkinson; Jeff's comrade, Carolyn Houghton; and Just's inseparable, Norman Carter Just scorned girls, and when asked to choose whom he would have as a guest for Captain Rayburn's picnic, mentioned Norman with an air of finality sat about a large rustic table upon a charming spot of greensward among the trees of a little island four miles down the river.
The hint of a laugh curved the corners of her lips as his smiled broadly. It was all the truce necessary. Charlotte's sulks never lasted longer than Lanse's impatience. They laid aside their instruments and gathered round their father.
It is astonishing what an amount of disturbance one small pair of lungs can produce. It was not long before the anxious nurse, listening with both ears for evidences that the family were aroused, heard the tap of Celia's crutches, which the invalid had just learned to use. And almost at the same moment Lanse's door opened and shut with a bang.
"Why, it's Annie Donohue's baby!" cried Celia, and shrieked the information into Lanse's ear. His expression of disfavour relaxed a degree, but he still looked preternaturally severe. Celia hobbled over to the baby, and sitting down in a rocking-chair, held out her arms. But Charlotte shook her head and motioned imperatively toward the door.
Shall we have some fun?" "Dear me, yes, Uncle Ray," Charlotte responded, promptly, "if you can think how!" "I can. Is there a birthday or anything that we may celebrate? "November yes. Why, we had forgotten all about it! Lanse's birthday is the fourth. That's " "Day after to-morrow. Good! Can you make him a birthday-cake? If not, I " "Oh, yes, I can!" cried Charlotte, eagerly.
The performers did, indeed, show their pleasure by arriving early, flannel-shrouded instruments under their arms. Doctor Churchill came in just as they were tuning. Since Lanse had been away, Andy, who was something of a violinist had taken up Lanse's viola, and was now able to occupy his brother-in-law's place. Celia, however, had been chosen to fill the vacant rôle of leadership.
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