Miss Dexie. Stanford Eveleth
Thy name will we praise all the day long."
Not until she had finished did Dexie realize that she had so many listeners, but she turned a bright face to the group at the door.
"I did not know we had such an audience."
"Don't stop, friends," said Mr. Taylor, coming into the room. "Such music is quite a treat. I guess, Susan, there is more in that piano than you ever dreamed of. Let us hear something else."
Lancy rose from the music-stool, saying to Dexie:
"Play 'The Mocking Bird,' and I'll sing to your whistle."
A moment later Dexie's supple fingers were dancing over the keys in a delightful prelude. Then Lancy's voice filled the room as he sang the well-known song, accompanied by the exquisite notes of the southern mocking bird, and the continuous warble that poured from Dexie's throat during the chorus made her listeners start as if a veritable bird were concealed in the room.
"Well, that spoils the old proverb from this time forth," said Mr. Taylor, as he leaned back against the wall and thrust his thumbs into the armholes of his vest. "Whistling girls and crowing hens will hereafter have a chance to be heard. Old saws ain't always true, eh, Miss Sherwood?"
"Well, I never heard a hen crow yet, Mr. Taylor," and Dexie laughed softly, "and I do not know what is their usual fate, but the proverb does not alarm me in the least."
"Do whistle another piece, Miss Sherwood," said Susan. "It will give us great pleasure to hear you."
Lancy turned over the leaves of a book, then placed it on the piano, saying:
"Try that, Dexie, and I'll whistle with you."
It would be hard to express the pleasure that this exquisite bird-song gave to those who listened. All the songsters in the woods seemed let loose in the room, now singing together in full chorus, then singly or in pairs they twittered and trilled as Dexie's soft whistle followed or joined Lancy's stronger notes, while such bird-like notes came from the keys before her as might have deceived the very birds themselves.
"Nothing will surprise me after this," cried Susan, when the song had ended. "I heard my music-teacher play that once, and I thought it the tamest thing I had ever heard; of course he did not try to whistle it too, but the music itself sounded quite different."
"Perhaps your music-teacher never took the trouble to listen to the birds themselves; that makes a difference, you know," said Dexie.
Just then Mrs. Taylor came into the room, saying:
"I think you must come to dinner, but you must give us some more music afterwards. Really, Susan, that old piano is not such a poor affair, after all; is it, now?"
CHAPTER IX.
As was expected, they found there was much anxiety at home over their long absence. Mr. Sherwood was on the watch when the sleigh drove up, and was beside it in time to help the muffled figures alight, and anxious to hear the particulars of their protracted drive.
"Let me go into Mrs. Gurney's just a minute, papa," said Dexie, "and I will tell you all about it when I come back."
Then they found themselves pulled through the hall by the eager children, who had been watching for their appearance for hours, and into the sitting-room where Mrs. Gurney sat with a white, anxious face, waiting their arrival.
In a few minutes the story of their detention was told, Lancy telling his part and Elsie hers, Dexie finishing the story by confessing to the extreme measures used to keep Elsie awake, not sparing herself in the least when telling of the quarrel she had provoked, and there was a suspicious moisture in Mr. Gurney's eyes as he listened to the story.
"You have been in great peril," said he, as he drew the girls to his side. "Let us all kneel a moment and return thanks for the safety of these dear ones;" and all knelt, just as they were: Mr. Gurney with one arm around Elsie, the other around Dexie; Lancy with his fur coat still on, and the whip in his hand; the little ones, who had pressed into the room, dropped to their knees, their arms full of toys; Mrs. Gurney with the baby in her arms—all knelt, while a few earnest words went up from a father's grateful heart.
Mrs. Gurney insisted that Elsie should go up to bed at once, and be doctored for the cold she had evidently contracted, and pressing a kiss on Dexie's cheek, she followed her daughter upstairs.
But for all their care Elsie was confined to her room for several weeks, and her recovery was slow and tedious. They were all thankful, though, that nothing more serious resulted from exposure to the storm, which was the worst that had visited the country for several years.
Dexie had to tell the story over again when she went home; but she made light of it all, making much more fun out of their grand ride on horseback than either she or Elsie had experienced while partaking of it. But the whole story came out when Lancy came in during the evening, and Mr. Sherwood's look of tender solicitude contrasted strangely with the mother's apparent unconcern, as the story of their adventure was related at length.
"I am forgetting that I was sent in here with a message," Lancy said, a few minutes later. "Elsie has been asking to see you, Dexie, and mother wishes to know if you are too tired to run in a few minutes."
Dexie followed Lancy into his own door, and running swiftly up the stairs was soon bending over Elsie, who was wrapped up like a mummy.
"I did not want to see you for anything very particular," Elsie said, in answer to Dexie's inquiry. "But I could not go to sleep for thinking of last night. It seems so good to be in my own bed again, safe, after all my fears, that I wanted to tell you once more how sorry I am for being so cross with you; for I was awful cross, Dexie, when you talked so harshly to me."
"Now, Elsie! don't speak as if there were anything for you to be sorry for, or I shall have such qualms of conscience as will surely make me ill," was Dexie's laughing reply.
After a few minutes' chat, Dexie left the room to return home, but Lancy was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, and he drew her into the parlor, saying:
"Stay with me a little while, Dexie, do; no one will disturb us here, and I want to have a 'sing.' Your father or Gussie are sure to be in the parlor if we go into your house."
"Well, it will have to be a short 'sing,' Lancy, for the drive in the wind has made me sleepy."
When Mrs. Gurney passed the door a few minutes later, and peeped into the dimly lighted room to listen to the soft strains that met her ears, she smiled and softly withdrew, for Lancy was seated at the instrument, and Dexie stood by his side, her hand resting carelessly on his shoulder, while they sang what Mrs. Gurney knew was their private thanksgiving.
As the last notes died away, Lancy turned on the music-stool and took her hand; Dexie's thoughts had been so engrossed that, for the moment, she let it rest there, when she heard the low-spoken words: "I want to tell you something, Dexie."
Instantly Elsie's words flashed into her mind, and she tried to break away from the arm that encircled her waist.
"Let me go, Lancy," was the startled cry. "It is time I was home."
"I will take you home presently, Dexie; I want to talk to you a few minutes first," and catching her hands in his he held her close.
"But I do not want to be held here! Oh, Lancy! let go my hands. I must go home."
"Be quiet and listen to me a minute, Dexie; only a minute. I want to tell you that, when I left you both in the sleigh last night, I felt far worse about leaving you than my own sister. Do you know why, Dexie?"
"I don't want to know, Lancy. I don't want to hear another word."
"You can't get away from me, Dexie; so don't try. I want to tell you," he added, in a lower