"I suppose you are laughing," said Lucy, "and I wish you would not,
because it is so important. I am sure we are not meant only for the
holidays, and you don't really think so, Tom; and to take a child away
from his natural teachers, and those that love him best in the world, to
throw him among strangers! Oh, I cannot think that is the best way,
whatever Euclid may make you think."
At this Sir Tom laughed, as he generally did, though never
disrespectfully, at Lucy's decisions. He said, "That is a very just
expression, my dear, though Euclid never made us think so much as he
ought to have done. You are thinking of that little beggar. Wait till he
is out of long clothes."
"Which shows all you know about it. He was shortcoated at the proper
time, I hope," said Lucy, with some indignation, "do you call these long
clothes?"
_These_ were garments which showed when he sprawled, as he always did, a
great deal of little Tom's person, and as his mother was at that time
holding him by them, while he "felt his feet," upon the carpet, the
spectacle of two little dimpled knees without any covering at all
triumphantly proved her right. Sir Tom threw himself upon the carpet to
kiss those sturdy, yet wavering little limbs, which were not quite under
the guidance of Tommy's will as yet, and taking the child from his
mother, propped it up against his own person. "For the present, I allow
that fathers and mothers are the best," he said.
Lucy stood and gazed at them in that ecstasy of love and pleasure with
which a young mother beholds her husband's adoration for their child.
Though she feels it to be the highest pride and crown of their joint
existence, yet there is always in her mind a sense of admiration and
gratitude for his devotion. She looked down upon them at her feet, with
eyes running over with happiness. It is to be feared that at such a
moment Lucy forgot even Jock, the little brother who had been as a child
to her in her earlier days; and yet there was no want of love for Jock
in her warm and constant heart.
CHAPTER IV.
YOUNG MR. TREVOR.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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