Part 11 (1/2)

She stood with her hands clasped behind her as her gaze wandered from its pedals to the graceful curves of its tall frame. It shone like burnished gold in the soft firelight.

”Oh, gran'fathah!” she asked at last in a low, reverent tone, ”where did you get it? Did an angel leave it heah fo' you?”

He did not answer for a moment. Then he said, huskily, as he looked up at a portrait over the mantel, ”Yes, my darling, an angel did leave it here. She always was one. Come here to grandpa.”

He took her on his knee, and pointed up to the portrait. The same harp was in the picture. Standing beside it, with one hand resting on its s.h.i.+ning strings, was a young girl all in white.

”That's the way she looked the first time I ever saw her,” said the Colonel, dreamily. ”A June rose in her hair, and another at her throat; and her soul looked right out through those great, dark eyes--the purest, sweetest soul G.o.d ever made! My beautiful Amanthis!”

”My bu'ful Amanthis!” repeated the child, in an awed whisper.

She sat gazing into the lovely young face for a long time, while the old man seemed lost in dreams.

”Gran'fathah,” she said at length, patting his cheek to attract his attention, and then nodding toward the portrait, ”did she love my mothah like my mothah loves me?”

”Certainly, my dear,” was the gentle reply.

It was the twilight hour, when the homesick feeling always came back strongest to Lloyd.

”Then I jus' know that if my bu'ful gran'mothah Amanthis could come down out of that frame, she'd go straight and put her arms around my mothah an' kiss away all her sorry feelin's.”

The Colonel fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair a moment. Then to his great relief the tea-bell rang.

CHAPTER IX.

Every evening after that during Lloyd's visit the fire burned on the hearth of the long drawing-room. All the wax candles were lighted, and the vases were kept full of flowers, fresh from the conservatory.

She loved to steal into the room before her grandfather came down, and carry on imaginary conversations with the old portraits.

Tom's handsome, boyish face had the greatest attraction for her.

His eyes looked down so smilingly into hers that she felt he surely understood every word she said to him. Once Walker overheard her saying, ”Uncle Tom, I'm goin' to tell you a story 'bout Billy Goat Gruff.”

Peeping into the room, he saw the child looking earnestly up at the picture, with her hands clasped behind her, as she began to repeat her favourite story. ”It do beat all,” he said to himself, ”how one little chile like that can wake up a whole house. She's the life of the place.”

The last evening of her visit, as the Colonel was coming down-stairs he heard the faint vibration of a harp-string. It was the first time Lloyd had ever ventured to touch one. He paused on the steps opposite the door, and looked in.

”Heah, Fritz,” she was saying, ”you get up on the sofa, an' be the company, an' I'll sing fo' you.”

Fritz, on the rug before the fire, opened one sleepy eye and closed it again. She stamped her foot and repeated her order. He paid no attention. Then she picked him up bodily, and, with much puffing and pulling, lifted him into a chair.

He waited until she had gone back to the harp, and then, with one spring, disappeared under the sofa.

”N'm min',” she said, in a disgusted tone. ”I'll pay you back, mistah.”

Then she looked up at the portrait. ”Uncle Tom,” she said, ”you be the company, an' I'll play fo' you.”

Her fingers touched the strings so lightly that there was no discord in the random tones. Her voice carried the air clear and true, and the faint trembling of the harp-strings interfered with the harmony no more than if a wandering breeze had been tangled in them as it pa.s.sed.

”Sing me the songs that to me were so deah Long, long ago, long ago.