Now she was by his side. He adored her
so that he could no longer _realize_ sorrow or disappointment to
come. They were uncertain--future. The light of her eyes, and voice,
and face, and noble presence were here; he basked in them.
He told her not to mind a word he had said. "It was all nonsense. I am
happier now--happier than ever."
At this Lucy looked grave and became silent.
David, to amuse her, told her there was "a singing dog aboard," and
would she like to hear him?
This was a happy diversion for Lucy. She assented gayly. David ran for
his fiddle, and then for Pepper. Pepper wagged his tail, but, strong
as his musical taste was, would not follow the fiddle. But at this
juncture Master Reginald dawned on the stable-yard with a huge slice
of bread and butter. Pepper followed him. So the party came on the
lawn and joined Lucy. Then David played on the violin, and Pepper
performed exactly as hereinbefore related. Lucy laughed merrily, and
Reginald shrieked with delight, for the vocal terrier was mortal
droll.
"But, setting Pepper aside, that is a very sweet air you are playing
now, Mr. Dodd. It is full of soul and feeling."
"Is it?" said David, looking wonderstruck; "you know best."
"Who is the composer?"
David looked confused and said, "No one of any note."
Lucy shot a glance at him, keen as lightning. What with David's
simplicity and her own remarkable talent for reading faces, his
countenance was a book to her, wide open, Bible print.
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