"Let Laurence be the apostle," said Charley to himself, "and I will be the
captain."




Chapter IX


The children were now accustomed to assemble round Grandfather’s chair, at
all their unoccupied moments; and often it was a striking picture to
behold the white-headed old sire, with this flowery wreath of young people
around him. When he talked to them, it was the past speaking to the
present,—or rather to the future, for the children were of a generation
which had not become actual. Their part in life, thus far, was only to be
happy, and to draw knowledge from a thousand sources. As yet, it was not
their time to do.

Sometimes, as Grandfather gazed at their fair, unworldly countenances, a
mist of tears bedimmed his spectacles. He almost regretted that it was
necessary for them to know any thing of the past, or to provide aught for
the future. He could have wished that they might be always the happy,
youthful creatures, who had hitherto sported around his chair, without
inquiring whether it had a history. It grieved him to think that his
little Alice, who was a flower-bud fresh from paradise, must open her
leaves to the rough breezes of the world, or ever open them in any clime.
So sweet a child she was, that it seemed fit her infancy should be
immortal!