Christie sat some time longer, wondering what she had said to disturb him, and when the bell rang went in still perplexed.  But David looked as usual, and the only trace of disquiet was an occasional hasty shaking back of the troublesome lock, and a slight knitting of the brows; two tokens, as she had learned to know, of impatience or pain.

She was soon so absorbed in feeding the children, hungry and clamorous as young birds for their food, that she forgot every thing else.  When dinner was done and cleared away, she devoted herself to Mrs. Wilkins for an hour or two, while Mrs. Sterling took her nap, the infants played riotously in the lane, and David was busy with orders.

The arrival of Mr. Power drew every one to the porch to welcome him.  As he handed Christie a book, he asked with a significant smile:  “Have you found him yet?”

She glanced at the title of the new gift, read “Heroes and Hero-worship,” and answered merrily:  “No, sir, but I’m looking hard.”  “Success to your search,” and Mr. Power turned to greet David, who approached.

“Now, what shall we play?” asked Christie, as the children gathered about her demanding to be amused.

George Washington suggested leap-frog, and the others added equally impracticable requests; but Mrs. Wilkins settled the matter by saying: 

“Let’s have some play-actin’, Christie.  That used to tickle the children amazin’ly, and I was never tired of hearin’ them pieces, specially the solemn ones.”

“Yes, yes! do the funny girl with the baby, and the old woman, and the lady that took pison and had fits!” shouted the children, charmed with the idea.

Christie felt ready for any thing just then, and gave them Tilly Slowboy, Miss Miggs, and Mrs. Gummage, in her best style, while the young folks rolled on the grass in ecstasies, and Mrs. Wilkins laughed till she cried.

“Now a touch of tragedy!” said Mr. Power, who sat under the elm, with David leaning on the back of his chair, both applauding heartily.

“You insatiable people! do you expect me to give you low comedy and heavy tragedy all alone?  I’m equal to melodrama I think, and I’ll give you Miss St. Clair as Juliet, if you wait a moment.”

Christie stepped into the house, and soon reappeared with a white table-cloth draped about her, two dishevelled locks of hair on her shoulders, and the vinegar cruet in her hand, that being the first bottle she could find.  She meant to burlesque the poison scene, and began in the usual ranting way; but she soon forgot St. Clair in poor Juliet, and did it as she had often longed to do it, with all the power and passion she possessed.  Very faulty was her rendering, but the earnestness she put into it made it most effective to her uncritical audience, who “brought down the house,” when she fell upon the grass with her best stage drop, and lay there getting her breath after the mouthful of vinegar she had taken in the excitement of the moment.