CHAPTER XIX
"The angels sang in heaven when she was born."
Longfellow.
"Thank God, the danger is past!" came in a low-breathed exclamation from Mr. Dinsmore's lips. "Ah, my darling, did I wake you?" as he perceived the soft brown eyes of his little daughter gazing lovingly into his.
"No, papa dear, I have been awake a good while, but have not dared to move for fear of disturbing you," she said, lifting her head from his breast to put her arms about his neck, and kissing him again and again.
"Did you sleep well, daughter?" he asked, fondly stroking her hair and returning her loving caresses.
"Yes, papa, I don't believe I moved once after we stopped talking last night. I hope you too have had a good sleep?"
"Yes, and feel greatly refreshed. Our heavenly Father has been very good to us. Let us kneel down and thank him for the light of this new day and for our spared lives."
They landed in safety, breakfasted at a hotel, and took the stage for Pleasant Plains; glad to find they had it to themselves – they and their two servants.
It was a lovely October day; the roads were good, the woods gay with autumn tints, the sun shone brightly after the rain, and the air was sweet, pure, and invigorating.
Elsie sat by her father's side gay and happy as a bird – chatting, singing, laughing; plying him with intelligent questions about everything she saw that was new and strange, and about the cousins whom they were going to visit; he answering her with a patient kindness that never wearied.
He had neglected her in her babyhood, and once – only a year ago – his tyrannical severity had brought her to the borders of the grave: he could not forget it; he felt that he could never fully atone to her for it by any amount of the tenderest love and care; but she should have all he could lavish upon her.
A joyous welcome awaited them on their arrival. Mrs. Keith embraced her cousin with sisterly, his child with motherly affection, and Mildred wept for joy as she folded Elsie to her heart.
Indeed Elsie's beauty, her sweet, loving looks and smiles as she accepted and returned their greetings, won all hearts; while all presently esteemed "Cousin Horace" far more agreeable and lovable than he had been on his former visits; there was less of pride and hauteur about him, more of gentleness and thought for the comfort and happiness of others.
Mildred and her mother were especially delighted with the ardent affection evidently subsisting between him and his little girl; neither seemed willing to lose sight of the other for a single hour; she hovered about him, being almost always close at his side or on his knee, he caressing her now and then, half unconsciously, as he talked, or his hand toying with her curls.
Mrs. Keith remarked upon it to him as they sat alone together the day after his arrival, expressing her heartfelt joy in beholding it.
Elsie had just left the room with Annis, her father's eyes following her as she went, with the wonted expression of parental pride and tenderness.
"Yes," he said with a sigh, "she is the very light of my eyes. Ah, Marcia, I shall never cease to regret not having followed your advice on my last visit, by taking immediate possession of my child! I have lost by that mistake eight years of the joy of fatherhood to the sweetest child ever parent had. And yet it has, perhaps, been better for her, for I should have made her very worldly-minded instead of the sweet little Christian I found her."
"You have at all events escaped the loss I feared for you," Mrs. Keith said, with a sympathizing smile.
"Of her filial love and obedience? Yes, she could not be more dutiful or affectionate than she is. And yet there was at one time a terrible struggle between us; but for which, I now see, that I alone was to blame. It was my severity, my determination to enforce obedience to commands that conflicted with the dictates of her enlightened conscience, that caused the almost mortal illness of which I wrote you. Yes, a year ago I had nearly been written childless. At one time I thought she was gone, and never, never can I forget the unutterable anguish of that hour." His voice had grown husky, his features worked with emotion, and tears filled his eyes.
But recovering himself he went on to give her a somewhat detailed account of the whole affair, as it is to be found in the Elsie books; she listening to the recital with intense, often tearful interest.
The little girls were in Mildred's room dressing dolls and chatting together the while, Mildred, busied with some sewing, overhearing the most of their talk with both interest and amusement. Elsie was describing the Oaks and her home-life there, in reply to inquiries from Annis.
"What a lovely place it must be! and how delightful to have a pony of your own and ride it every day!" exclaimed the latter.
"Yes, it's very nice; but the best of all, I think, is living in papa's house with him. You know we used to live at Roselands, with Grandpa Dinsmore and the rest."
"But I should think you'd often feel lonesome in that big house with nobody but Cousin Horace and the servants. Don't you wish you had a mother like ours and brothers and sisters?"
A bright, eager, joyous look came into Elsie's face at that question; she opened her lips as if to speak, then closed them again. "Oh, wait a minute till I ask papa something!" she said, laying down the doll she had in her hands, and running from the room.
Mr. Dinsmore was just finishing his sad story of her illness as the little girl came in. She heard his last, self-reproachful sentence, and coming softly to his side, put her arm about his neck and her lips to his cheek. "Dear, dear papa, I love you so much!" she whispered. "Aunt Marcia," turning to Mrs. Keith, "I think I have the best, kindest father in the world. He was so, so good to me when I was sick, and he always is. To be sure, he punishes me when I'm naughty; but that's being good to me, isn't it?"
"I think so," Mrs. Keith answered with a smile; then excused herself and left the room for a moment.
"Papa," said Elsie, taking possession of his knee, "may I tell my cousins about Miss Rose?"
"I never forbade you to speak of her, did I?" he returned, in a playful tone, smiling on her and stroking her hair with caressing hand.
"No, sir; but I would like to tell them that – that she is going to be my mamma soon; if I may – if you would like me to?"
"You may tell them; I do not object; but it was quite right to ask permission first," he answered; and with a joyful "Thank you, sir," she skipped away.
When Mrs. Keith rejoined him he had another story for her ear – a brighter, cheerier one than the last; the same that Elsie was gleefully rehearsing to her cousins up-stairs.
"Miss Rose was so nice, so good, so kind," she had been saying.
"Is she pretty too?" asked Annis.
"Yes, but not nearly so beautiful as my own mamma," Elsie said, drawing from the bosom of her dress a lovely miniature set in gold and precious stones.
Annis exclaimed at the extreme beauty of both the face and its setting, while Mildred gazed upon the former with eyes full of a mournful tenderness.
"It's almost prettier than your gold watch," Annis said, "though I thought that was as beautiful as anything could be. Your rings too."
"They were presents from papa and Mr. Travilla," said Elsie, glancing down at them, "and the watch was mamma's. Papa had it done up for me this summer, and gave me the chain with it."
"Such a beauty as it is, too! Did you ever go to school, Elsie?"
"No, we had a governess at Roselands; now papa teaches me himself."
"Do you like that?"
"Yes, indeed! He explains everything so nicely and makes my lessons so interesting. He often tells me a nice story to illustrate, and is never satisfied till I understand every word of my tasks."
"There!" cried Annis looking out of the window, "Zillah is motioning for me to come over. Will you come with me, Elsie?"
"If papa gives permission. I'll run and ask him."
"Why, can't you go across the street without asking leave?" exclaimed Annis in surprise.
"No, I'm not allowed to go anywhere without leave."
"Now, that's queer! Your papa pets you so that I really supposed you could do exactly as you pleased."
"How Enna would laugh to hear you say that," returned Elsie, laughing herself. "She thinks papa is the strictest person she ever saw, and says she wouldn't be ruled as I am for any money."
"How do you mean? He seems so fond of you, and you of him too."
"Yes, indeed, we're ever so fond of each other; but papa will always be obeyed the instant he speaks, and without any teasing, fretting, crying, or sour looks, and he is sure to punish the slightest act of disobedience, never taking forgetfulness of his orders as any excuse."
"Then he is strict," remarked Annis, shrugging her shoulders.
The two went down-stairs together, Elsie asked and received the desired permission, and they hastened to inquire what Zillah wanted.
"I've been baking some jumbles," she said. "I know Annis is very fond of them hot from the oven, and I hope you are too, Elsie. And here is a paper of candy Wallace bought last night. There, sit down and help yourselves."
Elsie looked a little wishfully at the offered dainties, but politely declined them. Both Zillah and Annis urged her to partake, the latter adding, "I'm sure you can't help liking them, for nobody makes better jumbles than Zillah."
"They look very tempting," Elsie answered, "and I have no doubt are very nice, but I think they are richer than papa would approve; and besides he does not allow me to eat between meals, unless it is some very simple thing that I will eat only if quite hungry."
"But the candy; you can eat some of that, can't you?"
"No, Cousin Zillah, I must never eat that unless papa gives it to me himself. Once in a long while he gives me a very little."
"Dear me! I begin to almost think Enna's right," Annis said laughingly.
"Oh, no, no!" cried Elsie, reddening and the tears starting to her eyes; "papa is very, very kind to me; he forbids only what he thinks injurious to my health."
"Certainly," said Zillah, "and it shows that he is a good father; and you are a good daughter to be so ready to stand up for him and so obedient."
She went out of the room, leaving the little girls alone for a short time.
"Annis, here is a note I want Wallace to have at once," she said, coming back. "Will you take it to the office for me?"
"Yes, if Elsie will go with me?"
"I will go and ask papa if I may," Elsie said, tying on her hat. "Ah, there he is now coming out of the gate with Aunt Marcia."
She ran to him and preferred her request, Annis following close behind.
"Yes," he said; "Aunt Marcia and I are going to walk down the street, and you may run on before with Annis. I shall keep you in sight."
"Are you to wait for an answer, Annis?" asked her mother.
"No, ma'am."
"Then you and Elsie can join us as soon as you have handed Wallace the note. I am going to show Cousin Horace a part of the town he hasn't seen yet. Run on ahead, and we will meet you at the office door as you come out."
Eager for the walk with their parents, the little girls made haste to obey.
"There! my shoe-string is untied," cried Annis, suddenly stopping short within a few yards of their destination. "Here, Elsie, won't you run in with the note while I'm tying it?"
Elsie obligingly complied.
The door stood open, and stepping in, she caught sight of a strangely uncouth figure: that of a man, coatless and hatless, wearing green goggles, a red flannel shirt with a white bosom tied on over it, and sitting sidewise in Mr. Keith's office chair, with his legs over the arm, dangling in air; a full set of false teeth twirling about in his fingers, while he gave vent to the most dismal sighs and groans.
One sweeping glance showed the child that this was the only occupant of the room, and springing back in terror, she turned and fled, flying with swift feet to the shelter of her father's arms.
He was not far away, and in a moment she was clinging to him, pale and almost speechless with fright.
"My darling, what is it?" he asked, stooping to take her in his arms. "You are trembling like a leaf. What has alarmed you so?"
"Papa, papa," she gasped, "there's a crazy man in Uncle Stuart's office."
"Never mind, he shall not hurt you, daughter," Mr. Dinsmore answered in soothing tones.
Mrs. Keith and Annis were looking on and listening in surprise and bewilderment; then the former, seeing a tall form issuing from the office door, a coat over one arm, a hat in that hand, while the other seemed to be employed in settling his teeth, burst into a laugh, not loud but very mirthful, saying, "Not a lunatic, dear, but our very odd and absent-minded minister."
He was walking away in the direction to take him farther from them. They saw Wallace meet him and stop to shake hands and exchange a few sentences. Then the two parted, Mr. Lord walked on, and Wallace hurried to meet them.
The thing was soon explained. Mr. Lord had come in heated by a long walk, and finding no one in the office, had pulled off his coat and settled himself to rest and grow cool while waiting for the return of Mr. Keith or Wallace.
But Elsie, with nerves still weak from her severe illness, could not recover immediately from the effects of her sudden fright; she still trembled and was very pale. So a carriage was sent for and a drive substituted for the intended walk; much to the delight of Annis, to whom it was an unusual treat.
CHAPTER XX
"She was the pride
Of her familiar sphere – the daily joy
Of all who on her gracefulness might gaze,
And in the light and music of her way
Have a companion's portion." – Willis.
Wallace Ormsby was not behind his wife in admiration and liking for Frank Osborne; he enjoyed his sermons, too, and was desirous that Mr. Dinsmore should hear the young preacher, and make his acquaintance; therefore had persuaded him and Mr. Lord to an exchange of pulpits on the morrow, which was Sunday, and invited Frank to be his and Zillah's guest. Wallace was hospitably inclined, and not a little proud of his young wife's housekeeping.
The invitation was accepted, and the visit extended a day or two by urgent request. Of course the time was not all spent on the one side of the street, and Mr. Dinsmore, who was not lacking in observation, soon perceived how matters were tending between Ada and the young clergyman.
He spoke to his cousin about it, saying that "he was pleased with Mr. Osborne, finding him agreeable, well-informed, and an able sermonizer for his years; but surely his lack of means was an objection to the match, or would be if Ada were his daughter."
"Yes," she said, "but 'the blessing of the Lord, it maketh rich, and he addeth no sorrow with it.' If there is mutual love we will raise no barrier to their union. But I should greatly prefer to keep my dear daughter with me for some years yet."
"Yes; I do not doubt that. I am glad indeed that it must be many years before I am called to part with mine to some other man. But, Marcia, how is it that Mildred is still single? So sweet and attractive as she is in every way, it must certainly be her own fault."
In reply Mrs. Keith told him how it had been between Mildred and Charlie Landreth, and how six long years had now passed with no word from or of the wanderer.
He was deeply touched. "It would be well if she could forget him and bestow her affections upon another," he said, "for surely if still living, he is unworthy of her. I knew and liked him as a boy, but it is long since I have seen or heard of him. He and his uncle made a disastrous failure in business, though I understood that no blame attached to either; then the uncle died, and Charlie disappeared from our neighborhood, where nothing has been heard of him since, so far as I have learned. But I will make inquiries on my return, and may possibly be able to trace him. However, rest assured that I will do nothing to compromise Mildred," he added, noticing a doubtful look on his cousin's face.
"Thank you," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I can trust you, I know, Horace; and I cannot tell you how glad I should be to have my dear, patient child relieved of this torturing suspense."
This visit of their cousins was a grand holiday for all the younger Keiths, Fan and Annis more especially; they were excused from lessons, and had delightful daily walks and drives.
Every morning Elsie would take her Bible into her papa's room and spend a little while there with him, before they were called to breakfast. He sent her to bed regularly at half past eight, so that she was ready to rise betimes.
One evening when she came to bid him good-night, he kissed her several times, saying, "I shall probably not see you in the morning; very likely not until to-morrow evening, as I am going hunting with your uncle, and we expect to start very early."
"Oh, I wish little girls could go too!" Elsie exclaimed, clinging to him. "But mayn't I get up in time to see you before you go, papa?"
"I don't think you will be awake, daughter. We start before sunrise."
"But if I am, papa, mayn't I run into your room and kiss you good-by?"
"Yes; but try not to feel disappointed if you should miss the opportunity. And don't shed any tears over papa's absence," he added half jestingly.
"No, sir; but it will be a long day without you," she sighed, with her arm about his neck, her cheek to his.
"I think you will find the time pass much more rapidly than you expect," he said cheerily; "but whether or no, you must try to be bright and pleasant for the sake of those around you. Don't indulge selfishness, even in little things, darling."
"I will try not to, papa," she answered, giving and receiving a final hug and kiss.
No one was near enough at the moment to observe or overhear what passed between them, and no one knew anything about the few quiet tears Elsie shed as she went up the stairs to her Cousin Mildred's room where she was to sleep that night. Ada, Fan, and Annis had all had their turn – because all wanted the sweet little cousin for a bed-fellow – and now it was Mildred's. But she found her mammy waiting to prepare her for bed, and her little trouble was soon forgotten in sound, sweet sleep.
Mildred came up an hour later, and stepping softly to the bedside, stood for a minute or two gazing tenderly down upon the sweet little sleeping face. Its expression brought to her mind the lines – read she could not remember where —
"I want to be marked for thine own —
Thy seal on my forehead to wear."
"Dear little girlie," she whispered, bending over the child, "you wear it if ever mortal did! No wonder you are the very idol of your father's heart!"
Half an hour before sunrise Mildred was again moving quietly about, careful not to disturb her little room-mate while making a neat, though rapid toilet.
Going out, she left the door slightly ajar. Her cousin was just issuing from his, seemingly in full readiness for his expedition. They exchanged a pleasant, low-toned good morning.
"I did not know you were so early a riser," he said.
"I claimed the privilege of pouring out the coffee for you and father," she returned with a smile. Then pointing to the door, "Go in, if you like. I know you want to kiss your baby before you start; she's there asleep."
"Thank you."
He stole softly in and bent over the loved sleeper for a moment, his eyes devouring the sweet, fair face; he stooped lower, and his moustache brushed the round, rosy cheek.
"Papa," she murmured in her sleep; but a second kiss, upon her lips, awoke her.
Instantly her arm was round his neck. "O papa, I'm so glad you came! Please, may I get up and see you start?"
"No; lie still and take another nap, my pet. We'll be off before you could dress. There, good-by, darling. Don't expose yourself to the sun in the heat of the day, or to the evening air. Though I expect to be back in time to see to that last."
"I hope so, indeed, papa; but you know I will obey you just the same if you are not here to see."
"I don't doubt it in the least," he said.
Then the door closed on him, and the little girl, accustomed to implicit obedience, turned over and went to sleep again.
When Mildred came up a little before the usual breakfast hour, she found her dressed and reading her Bible.
"You love that book, Elsie dear?" she said.
"Yes, indeed, cousin. And I do love to have my papa read it with me. This is the first morning he has missed doing so since – since I was so very sick." The voice sounded as if tears were not far off.
"How nice to have such a good, kind father," Mildred remarked in a cheery tone.
"Oh it is so, cousin!" Elsie answered, her whole face lighting up. "I used to be continually longing for papa while he was away in Europe. I'd never seen him, you know, and have no mother or brother or sister – and now I just want to hold fast to him all the time: – my dear, dear papa!"
"And you are missing him now? Well, dear, take comfort in the thought that he is probably enjoying himself, and will soon return to his little pet daughter. I think he never forgets you – he asked what we could do with you to-day in his absence, and I told him my plan for the morning. He approved, and now shall I tell it to you?"
"Oh, yes, cousin! if you please," returned the child with a very interested look.
"Our sewing society meets this afternoon, and as we – mother, my sisters, and I – have some work to finish before we go, we will have to be busy with our needles. One generally reads aloud while the others sew, and we would like to have you join us; taking your turn at both sewing and reading, if you choose."
"Very much, cousin, if – if the book is one that papa approves; he never allows me to read anything without being sure of that."
"Ah, that was why he said 'Tell Elsie I say she may read or listen to anything her Aunt Marcia pronounces suitable for her.' We have some very nice books that may be new to you."
"Oh, then I think it will be ever so nice!"
"Well then," said Mildred, "we will take a short walk soon after breakfast, then spend the rest of the morning as I have proposed. Your papa says you can read aloud very nicely, and use your needle well, too."
"I don't know whether you will think so, cousin," Elsie returned modestly, "but I am willing to try, and shall do my very best."
They carried out their plans with only a short interruption from a caller. After dinner Annis was left to entertain Elsie for a few hours while the others attended the meeting of the society.
It was an almost sultry afternoon, and Annis proposed taking the dolls to a grotto her brothers had made for her and Fan, near the spring that bubbled up at the foot of the high river bank, and was reached by a flight of steps that led down from the garden behind the house.
The grotto was tastefully adorned with moss, pebbles, and shells, and had a comfortable rustic seat, artistically formed of twigs and the smaller branches of trees with the bark still on them.
It was a pleasant place to sit and dream on a summer afternoon, with the clear bright water of the river lapping the pebbly shore almost at your feet, the leafy branches of a grape-vine overhead nearly concealing you from the view of any one on the further bank or in a passing boat. A pleasant place, too, for children to play, and not at all a dangerous one; the little Keith girls went there whenever they chose.
Elsie and Annis were congenial spirits, enjoyed each other's society, and had spent an hour or more very agreeably together in this cool retreat, when the sound of dipping oars near at hand drew their attention, and peering out from behind the leafy screen of the grape-vine, they saw a canoe approaching propelled by the strong young arms of Cyril and Don, now grown to be lads of sixteen and fourteen.
"Hello! we thought we'd find you here, girls," Cyril called to them. "Don't you want to take a row?"
"Oh yes, yes indeed!" cried Annis, jumping up and clapping her hands with delight. "Come, Elsie, there couldn't be anything nicer, I'm sure!"
Elsie rose as if to comply, her face full of eager delight also, but its expression changed suddenly.
"I'm afraid I ought not, Annis," she said; "papa might not be willing, and I can't ask him, you know, because he is away."
The boys had now brought the canoe close up, and Cyril reached out his hand to help her in.
"Come, little coz," he said in his most persuasive tones, "I'm sure your father would not object; there isn't a particle of danger. I'm used to rowing on this river, as well as to fishing and swimming in it – and it's not deep or swift, except in mid-current, and I promise to keep near the shore."
"But papa is very strict and particular," Elsie said, hanging back, though with a longing look in her lovely brown eyes.
"But he likes to have you enjoy yourself, surely?" put in Don.
"Indeed, he does, when it's quite safe and right," Elsie returned with warmth; "he loves me dearly."
"Then he wouldn't like you to miss this pleasure," said Cyril. "The canoe is a borrowed one, and it isn't every day I can get it."
"And if you don't go I can't," remarked Annis.
"Oh, yes, you can," Elsie said; "don't stay for me. I'll go up to the house and amuse myself with a book till you come back."
"No, no, I couldn't think of leaving my company; it wouldn't be at all polite; and I couldn't enjoy it without you; yet I want to go ever so much. O Elsie, do come!"
"I want to, I'm sure; both to oblige you, Annis, and for my own pleasure," Elsie answered. "Oh I wish I were quite sure papa would be willing!"
"Take it for granted," said Cyril, "it's the best you can do, under the circumstances; so he surely can't be much displeased."
Still Elsie hesitated.
"Ah," said Cyril, mischievously, "is Cousin Horace so very severe! Are you afraid he will whip you?"
"No," Elsie said, reddening; "do you think so meanly of me as to suppose I obey my father only from fear of punishment?"
"No; and I beg your pardon. I know you're fond of him, too, and that you want to do right. But I have noticed that he is very polite and considerate of others, and don't you think he wishes you to be the same?"
"I know he does."
"Then surely he would tell you to go with us; because your refusal will spoil all our pleasure."
"Yes, Elsie; it was all for your sake we borrowed the canoe," said Don; "and if you refuse to go it will be a great disappointment. We wouldn't urge you if it would be disobedience; but did your father ever say you mustn't row with us on the river?"
"No, Don; but perhaps that was only because he never thought of your asking me."
"O Elsie, Elsie, do go!" entreated Annis. "I won't go without you, and I can't bear to lose the row."
"Didn't Cousin Horace leave you in mother's care!" asked Cyril.
"Yes."
"Well, then, what need of hesitation? Mother lets Annis go, and of course she would let you."
Elsie stood for a moment, silently weighing the question in her mind. Certainly her papa had great confidence in "Aunt Marcia's" opinion, for had he not said she might read whatever Aunt Marcia recommended? and he had left her in her care; also, he did teach her to be considerate of the wishes of others; he had told her only last night not to be selfish in little things. Surely he would not have her spoil the afternoon's pleasure of these three cousins.
Ah, but he was never willing to have her exposed to unnecessary danger! But Cyril said there was really no danger, and – she did so want to go! it looked so pleasant on the water!
The scales were almost evenly balanced, and finally she allowed inclination to decide her, gave Cyril her hand, and was quickly seated in the canoe with the delighted Annis by her side.