Now they would draw their chairs near together in eager discussion of some new step in the dance, or the adjustment of some rich adornment.  Now they would start about him with excited comments to see the eldest fix a bunch of violets in his button-hole.  Now the twins would move down a walk after some unusual flower, and be greeted on their return with the high pitched notes of delighted feminine surprise.

As evening came on they would draw more quietly about their paternal centre.  Often their chairs were forsaken, and they grouped themselves on the lower steps, one above another, and surrendered themselves to the tender influences of the approaching night.  At such an hour the passer on the river, already attracted by the dark figures of the broad-roofed mansion, and its woody garden standing against the glowing sunset, would hear the voices of the hidden group rise from the spot in the soft harmonies of an evening song; swelling clearer and clearer as the thrill of music warmed them into feeling, and presently joined by the deeper tones of the father’s voice; then, as the daylight passed quite away, all would be still, and he would know that the beautiful home had gathered its nestlings under its wings.

And yet, for mere vagary, it pleased them not to be pleased.

“Arti!” called one sister to another in the broad hall, one morning,—­mock amazement hi her distended eyes,—­“something is goin’ to took place!”

“Comm-e-n-t?”—­long-drawn perplexity.

“Papa is goin’ to town!”

The news passed up stairs.

“Inno!”—­one to another meeting in a doorway,—­“something is goin’ to took place!”

“Qu’est-ce-que c’est!”—­vain attempt at gruffness.

“Papa is goin’ to town!”

The unusual tidings were true.  It was afternoon of the same day that the Colonel tossed his horse’s bridle to his groom, and stepped up to old Charlie, who was sitting on his bench under a China-tree, his head as was his fashion, bound in a Madras handkerchief The “old man” was plainly under the effect of spirits and smiled a deferential salutation without trusting himself to his feet.

“Eh, well Charlie!”—­the Colonel raised his voice to suit his kinsman’s deafness,—­“how is those times with my friend Charlie?”

“Eh?” said Charlie, distractedly.

“Is that goin’ well with my friend Charlie?”

“In de house,—­call her,”—­making a pretence of rising.

“Non, non! I don’t want,”—­the speaker paused to breathe—­“ow is collection?”

“Oh!” said Charlie, “every day he make me more poorer!”

“What do you hask for it?” asked the planter indifferently, designating the house by a wave of his whip.

“Ask for w’at?” said Injin Charlie.

“De house! What you ask for it?”

“I don’t believe,” said Charlie.

“What you would take for it!” cried the planter.