any generations,
the christening was to take place.
An altar had been raised; and upon it was the golden service, a little
apart the font, and upon either side of the long gallery were flowers
banked 'neath specially honoured portraits.
At the appointed hour the children defiled down the long room, then
came the other guests, and finally Sir Julian Pomphrey in his robe of
office--Father Pomphrey, so elegant, loving, good; a princely priest.
Then came Janet with little Lady Ann in her arms; the child appearing
like an Egyptian mummy in white bands. The Duke and Duchess looked
handsome and proud, And when the celebration was concluded, all form
was dissipated, the children gathering about the youngster for a
"peep," then scampered to the flowers. And as the elder folk looked
on, some one opined that the human nosegay was more gorgeous of
apparel and glow of cheek than the Ayrshire rose or the twisted
eglantine. Then suddenly the children gathered about a single portrait
of remarkable rich colouring, and little Lady Margaret came running
and saying with a lisp,--
"Come, see, Father; 'tis the prettiest picture here, and there are no
flowers 'neath it."
"What, no flowers?" and Father Pomphrey looked down in feigned
surprise.
"Why, here _is_ a flower!" and the child lifted a crushed immortelle
from the parquetry and gave it to the priest, who quickly made the
sign of the cross and said something almost inaudible about the flower
being prophetic; and then he leant close to the child's ear, saying,--
"Will Lady Margaret do something for Father Pomphrey?"
"Aye, anything--"
"Remember always to pray for the soul of Lady Constance Clarmot." Then
raising the flower, he said abstractedly,--"What gems of thought we
find in the Garden of Youth!"
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mistress Penwick, by Dutton Payne
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