thing simple,—for we mustn't be extravagant, you know, chicks. Rob is going to watch for us, and not be lonely one bit—are you, Bobbins?"
"Isn't the cup lovely?" said Claire, softly, creeping up to her mother.
"And isn't it lovely of papa?" said Elsie, clapping her hands. "Papa always thinks of the nice things."
Papa laughed an embarrassed laugh. "It is mamma who is the lovely one, you know," he said, bending down to caress them; "but at any rate papa's little girls love to flatter him."
Shelton had walked to the window. "There's a buggy," he said, in an odd voice. "Did you order one?"
"Oh, that's all right," said papa, genially. "The trolley only goes part way, and the chicks would be all played out. You know I have a pull with Sayer's, so the carriage costs me almost nothing. We'll have a drive too one of these days, won't we, old chap, when the doctor lets us?"
The child threw his arms about him again silently.
"My little boy loves his papa, doesn't he?" said papa, in a moved voice.
"So do we, papa," cried Elsie, stoutly.
Papa extricated himself from the bouquet of arms with a laugh, but his eyes were dim.
"Well, come along, chickabiddies," he said, gayly. "Good-by, old chap; you look out and we'll wave when we go—and the first thing coming back; and if it's our side that wins we'll tie Elsie's blue ribbon on the whip, so you can see it ever so far; but if it's the other, we'll tie my white handkerchief half-mast." And papa walked out of the room, each of the little girls with a hand in his, Robin leaned forward eagerly to watch the departure from the window. Papa helped Elsie and Claire into the buggy, then climbed in himself. Papa gathered up the reins; he waved a hand; the little fellow waved his energetically and fell back exhausted. It was the mother's arms which caught him.
"Darling papa," she heard him mutter.
Shelton picked up his hat. "I may as well go back to the shop," he said.
The Violet Meadow
NEVER a single shadow lay on the lovely meadow,
Only the April sunshine illumed it with perfect light.
As we went wandering through it where the beautiful violets blue it,
A million heavenly petals curling from cores of white.
They were bluer, bluer than heaven, bluer than child-eyes, even.
Sometimes the heart of a sapphire has hints of the violet's hue;
But ever elsewhere we lose it; all colors of earth refuse it.
Only sometimes, in a dream, the soul of one sees such blue.
Never a single shadow has lain on the lovely meadow.
Through the long nights coming and going, and the clouds that gather for rain;
Always gold suns illume it, and flowers of blue perfume it.
Whenever in dreams we wander the ways that are lost, again.
In the bluer, bluer than heaven, bluer than child-eyes, even.
More blue than the heart of a gem is, in dreams we are hidden deep.
And sometime no fate shall find us, no morrow of earth remind us,
Sometime, haply, my Heart, we never shall wake from sleep.
