But every dull look vanished as the
father's step was heard, for his was one of those genial, warm-hearted,
caressing natures, which are calculated to dispel the chill of even an
old-fashioned Sunday. There was also a hearty brusqueness in the tone
of his voice, something of the sea in the swing of his gait, and even
in the movement of his full kindly gray eye, which could not fail to
inspire confidence. His children flew to him at once, laying violent
hands upon him, and clinging to his arms with decorously subdued
shrieks of merriment, as he walked briskly to and fro.
"Where's Edward?" he demanded of his eldest daughter, as they
approached that young lady, who was pensively reclining in a rustic
chair.
"Not up yet, papa," she dreamily responded, uplifting her face for his
morning salutation.
"Not _awake_ yet," corrected Herbert, with a boy's unmistakable
contempt for the luxurious habits of his elders.
"Lazy dog!" commented the Commodore, in a voice whose irateness was
wholly assumed. "If I had come down late to breakfast when I was young
I would have been sent back to bed again."
"That is what Ed.
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