CHAPTER III.
"Revenge, at first though sweet,Bitter, ere long, back on itself recoils."
MILTON'S PARADISE LOST.
"Tis easier for the generous to forgive,Than for offence to ask it."
THOMSON'S EDMUND AND ELEONORA.
The last day of the old year had come; the afternoon was bright and warmfor the season, and the little folks at Roselands were unanimously infavor of a long walk. They set out soon after dinner, all in high goodhumor except Arthur, who was moody and silent, occasionally casting anangry glance at Elsie, whom he had not yet forgiven for her refusal tolend him money; but no one seemed to notice it, and for some time nothingoccurred to mar their enjoyment.
At length, some of the older ones, seeing that the sun was getting low,called to the others that it was time to return, and all turned theirfaces homeward, walking more soberly and silently along than at first,for they were beginning to feel somewhat fatigued.
They were climbing a steep hill. Elsie and Caroline Howard reached thetop first, Arthur and Harry Carrington being but a few steps behind.
Elsie stooped to pick up a pebble, and Arthur, darting quickly past her,managed to give her a push that sent her rolling down the bank. She gaveone frightened cry as she fell, and the next instant was lying pale andmotionless at the bottom.
All was now terror and confusion among the children; the little ones,who all loved Elsie dearly, began to scream and cry. Harry, Lucy,Carry, and Mary, rushed down the path again as fast as they could, andwere soon standing pale and breathless beside the still form of theirlittle companion. Carry was the only one who seemed to have any presenceof mind. She sat down on the ground, and lifting Elsie's head, laid iton her lap, untied her bonnet-strings, and loosened her dress.
"Jim," she said to the black boy, who stood blubbering by her side, "runquickly for the doctor. And you, Harry Carrington, go for her father, asfast as you can. Lucy, crying so won't do any good. Haven't some of youa smelling-bottle about you?"
"Yes, yes, here, here! quick! quick! Oh, Carry, say she isn't dead!"cried Mary Leslie, diving into her pocket and bringing out a small bottleof smelling salts that some one had presented her as a Christmas gift.
"No, she is not dead, Mary; see, she is beginning to open her eyes,"replied Carry, now bursting into tears herself.
But Elsie opened them only for an instant, moaned as if in great pain,and relapsed again into insensibility, so like death that Carry shudderedand trembled with fear.
They were not more than a quarter of a mile from the house, but itseemed almost an age to the anxious Carry before Mr. Dinsmore came;although it was in reality but a few moments, as Harry ran very fast,and Mr. Dinsmore sprang into the carriage--which was at the door, someof the party having just returned from a drive--the instant he heard thenews, calling to Harry to accompany him, and bidding the coachman drivedirectly to the spot, with all speed.
The moment they were off he began questioning the boy closely as to thecause of the accident. Harry could not tell much about it. "She hadfallen down the hill," he said, "but he did not see what made her fall."
"Was she much hurt?" Mr. Dinsmore asked, his voice trembling a little inspite of himself.
Harry "did not know, but feared she was pretty badly injured."
"Was she insensible?"
"Yes, she was when I left," Harry said.
Mr. Dinsmore leaned back in the carriage with a groan and did not speakagain.
In another moment they had stopped, and flinging open the door, he sprangto the ground, and hurried toward the little group, who were stillgathered about Elsie just as Harry had left them; some looking on withpale, frightened faces, others sobbing aloud. Walter was crying quitebitterly, and even Enna had the traces of tears on her cheeks. As forArthur, he trembled and shuddered at the thought that he was perhapsalready a murderer, and frightened and full of remorse, shrank behindthe others as he saw his brother approach.
Elsie still lay with her head in Carry's lap.
Hastily pushing the others aside, Mr. Dinsmore stooped over her, sorrowand intense anxiety written in every line of his countenance.
Again Elsie opened her eyes, and smiled faintly as she saw him bendingover her.
"My precious one," he murmured in a low, moved tone, as he gently liftedher in his arms; "are you much hurt? Are you in pain?"
"Yes, papa," she answered feebly.
"Where, darling?"
"My ankle, papa; it pains me terribly; and I think I must have hit myhead, it hurts me so."
"How did she come to fall?" he asked, looking round upon the littlegroup.
No one replied.
"Please, papa, don't ask," she pleaded in a faint voice.
He gave her a loving, pitying look, but paid no other heed to herremonstrance.
"Who was near her?" he asked, glancing sternly around the little circle.
"Arthur," said several voices.
Arthur quailed beneath the terrible glance of his brother's eye, as heturned it upon him, exclaiming bitterly: "Yes, I understand it all, now!I believe you will never be satisfied until you have killed her."
"Dear papa, please take me home, and don't scold poor Arthur," pleadedElsie's sweet, gentle voice; "I am not so very badly hurt, and I am surehe is very sorry for me."
"Yes, darling," he said, "I will take you home and will try to do sowithout hurting you;" and nothing could exceed the tenderness with whichhe bore her to the carriage, supported her in his arms during the shortride, and on their arrival carried her up to her room and laid her downupon a sofa.
Jim had brought the doctor, and Mr. Dinsmore immediately requested him tomake a careful examination of the child's injuries.
He did so, and reported a badly sprained ankle, and a slight bruise onthe head; nothing more.
"Are you quite sure, doctor, that her spine has sustained no injury?"asked the father anxiously, adding, "there is scarcely anything I shouldso dread for her as that."
"None whatever," replied the physician confidently, and Mr. Dinsmorelooked greatly relieved.
"My back does not hurt me at all, papa; I don't think I struck it," Elsiesaid, looking up lovingly into his face.
"How did you happen to fall, my dear?" asked the doctor.
"If you please, sir, I would rather not tell," she replied, while thecolor rushed over her face, and then instantly faded away again, leavingher deathly pale. She was suffering great pain, but bearing it bravely.
The doctor was dressing the injured ankle, and her father sat by the sofaholding her hand.
"You need not, darling," he answered, kissing her cheek.
"Thank you, papa," she said, gratefully, then whispered, "Won't you staywith me till tea-time, if you are not busy?"
"Yes, daughter, and all the evening, too; perhaps all night."
She looked her happiness and thanks, and the doctor praised her patienceand fortitude; and having given directions concerning the treatment ofthe wounded limb, bade his little patient good-night, saying he wouldcall again in the morning.
Mr. Dinsmore followed him to the door.
"That's a sweet child, Mr. Dinsmore," he remarked. "I don't know how anyone could have the heart to injure her; but I think there has been foulplay somewhere, and if she were mine I should certainly sift the matterto the bottom."
"That I shall, you may rest assured, sir; but tell me doctor, do youthink her ankle very seriously injured?"
"Not permanently, I hope; indeed, I feel quite sure of it, if she iswell taken care of, and not allowed to use it too soon; but these sprainsare tedious things, and she will not be able to walk for some weeks.Good-night, sir; don't be too anxious, she will get over it in time,and you may be thankful it is nothing worse."
"I am, indeed, doctor," Mr. Dinsmore said, warmly grasping the hand thekind-hearted physician held out to him.
Everybody was asking what the doctor had said, and how much Elsie wasinjured, and Mr. Dinsmore stepped into the drawing-room a moment toanswer their in
quiries, and then hastened back to his child again.
She looked so glad to see him.
"My poor little pet," he said, pityingly, "you will have a sad New Year'sDay, fastened down to your couch; but you shall have as much of mycompany as you wish."
"Shall I, papa?--then you will have to stay by me all day long."
"And so I will, dearest," he said, leaning fondly over her, and strokingback the hair from her forehead. "Are you in much pain now, darling?" heasked, as he noticed a slight contraction of her brow, and an almostdeadly pallor around her mouth.
"Yes, papa, a good deal," she answered faintly; "and I feel so weak.Please take me in your arms, papa, I want to lay my head against you."
He raised her up gently, sat down on the end of the couch where her headhad been, lifted her to his knee, and made Chloe place a pillow for thewounded limb to rest upon.
"There, darling, is that better?" he asked, soothingly, as she laid herhead wearily down on his breast, and he folded his arms about her.
"Yes, papa; but, oh, it aches very much," she sighed.
"My poor little daughter! my poor little pet!" he said, in a deeplycompassionate tone, "it is so hard to see you suffer; I would gladly takeyour pain and bear it for you if I could."
"Oh, no, dear papa, I would much rather bear it myself," she answeredquickly.
The tea-bell rang, and Elsie half started up.
"Lie still, dearest," her father said. "I am in no hurry for my tea, soyou shall have yours first, and I will hold you while you eat it. Whatwill you have? You may ask for anything you want."
"I don't know, papa; whatever you please."
"Well, then, Aunt Chloe, go down and bring up whatever good things arethere, and she can take her choice. Bring a cup of hot tea, too, I thinkit may do her good to-night."
"Thank you, dear papa, you are so kind," Elsie said, gratefully.
When the carriage had driven off with Mr. Dinsmore and Elsie, the restof the young party at once turned their steps toward the house; Arthurskulking in the rear, and the others eagerly discussing the accident asthey went.
"Arthur pushed her down, I am _sure_ he did," said Lucy, positively. "Ibelieve he hates her like poison, and he has been at her about somethingthe several days past--I know it just by the way I've seen him look ather--yes, ever since the morning after the Carleton party. And now Iremember I heard his voice talking angrily in her room that very morning.I went to get a book I had left in there, and when I tried the door itwas locked, and I went away again directly."
"But what has that to do with Elsie's fall?" asked Mary Leslie.
"Why, don't you see that it shows there was some trouble between them,and that Arthur had a _motive_ for pushing her down," returned Lucy,somewhat impatiently. "Really, Mary, you seem quite stupid sometimes."
Mary looked hurt.
"I don't know how any one could be so wicked and cruel; especially tosuch a dear, sweet little girl as Elsie," remarked Carry Howard.
"No, nor I," said Harry; "but the more I think about it the more certainI feel that Arthur did really push her down; for now I rememberdistinctly where she stood, and it seems to me she could not possiblyhave fallen of herself. Besides it was evident enough that Arthur feltguilty from the way he acted when Mr. Dinsmore came, and when he spoketo him. But perhaps he did not do it quite on purpose."
"Oh!" exclaimed Mary, "I do think I should be frightened to death if Mr.Dinsmore should look at me as he did at Arthur."
"Looks can't hurt," observed Harry, wisely; "but I wouldn't be inArthur's shoes just now for considerable; because I'll venture to say Mr.Dinsmore will do something a good deal worse than _look_, before he isdone with him."
When they reached the house Lucy went directly to her mamma's room.Herbert, who was more ailing than usual that day, lay on a sofa, whilehis mamma sat by his side, reading to him. They had not heard of theaccident, and were quite startled by Lucy's excited manner.
"Oh, mamma!" she cried, jerking off her bonnet, and throwing herselfdown on a stool at her mother's feet, "we have had such a dreadfulaccident, or hardly an _accident_ either, for I feel perfectly certainArthur did it on purpose; and I just expect he'll kill her some day,the mean, wicked boy!" and she burst into tears. "If I were Mr. DinsmoreI'd have him put in jail, so I would," she sobbed.
"Lucy, my child, what _are_ you talking about?" asked her mother with alook of mingled surprise and alarm, while Herbert started up asking, "Isit Elsie? Oh! Lucy, is she much hurt?"
"Yes," sobbed Lucy, "we all thought she was dead, it was so long beforeshe spoke, or moved, or even opened her eyes."
Herbert was crying, too, now, as bitterly as his sister.
"But, Lucy dear," said her mother, wiping her eyes, "you haven't toldus anything yet. Where did it happen? What did Arthur do? And where ispoor little Elsie now?"
"Her papa brought her home, and Jim went for the doctor, and they'redoing something with her now in her own room--for Pomp said Mr. Dinsmorecarried her right up there! Oh I mamma, if you had seen him look atArthur!"
"But what did Arthur do?" asked Herbert anxiously.
"He pushed her down that steep hill that you remember you were afraid totry to climb the other day; at least we all think he did."
"But surely, he did not do it intentionally," said Mrs. Carrington,"for why should he wish to harm such a sweet, gentle little creatureas Elsie?"
"Oh! mamma," exclaimed Herbert, suddenly matching hold of her hand and hegrew very pale, and almost gasped for breath.
"What is it, Herbert dear, what is it?" she asked in alarm; for he hadfallen back on his pillow, and seemed almost ready to faint.
"Mamma," he said with a shudder, "mamma, I believe I know. Oh! why didn'tI speak before, and, perhaps, poor little Elsie might have been saved allthis."
"Why, Herbert, what can _you_ know about it?" she asked in extremesurprise.
"I will tell you, mama, as well as I can," he said, "and then you musttell me what I ought to do. You know, mamma, I went out to walk with therest the afternoon after that party at Mr. Carleton's; for if youremember, I had stayed at home the night before, and gone to bed veryearly, and so I felt pretty well and able to walk. But Elsie was notwith us. I don't know where she could have been; she always thinks of mylameness, and walks slowly when I am along, but this time they all walkedso fast that I soon grew very tired, indeed, with trying to keep up. SoI sat down on a log to rest. Well, mamma, I had not been there very longwhen I heard voices near me, on the other side of some bushes, that, Isuppose, must have prevented them from seeing me. One voice was Arthur's,but the other I didn't know. I didn't want to be listening, but I was tootired to move on; so I whistled a little, to let them know I was there;they didn't seem to care, though, but went on talking quite loud, so loudthat I could not help hearing almost every word; and so I soon learnedthat Arthur owed Dick Percival a gambling debt--a debt of _honor_, theycalled it--and had sent this other boy, whom Arthur called Bob, to try tocollect it. He reminded Arthur that he had promised to pay that day, andsaid Dick must have it to pay some debts of his own.
"Arthur acknowledged that he had promised, expecting to borrow the moneyfrom somebody. I didn't hear the name, and it never struck me until thismoment who it was; but it must have been Elsie, for I recollect he saidshe wouldn't lend him anything without telling Horace all about it, andthat, you know, is Mr. Dinsmore's name; and I have found out that Arthuris very much afraid of him; almost more than of his father, I think.
"He talked very angrily, saying he knew that was only an excuse, becauseshe didn't wish to do him a favor, and he'd pay her for it some day. Thenthey talked about the debt again, and finally the boy agreed that Dickwould wait until New Year's Day, when Arthur said he would receive hismonthly allowance, and so would certainly be able to pay it.
"Now, mamma," concluded Herbert, "what ought I to do? Do you think it ismy duty to tell Arthur's father?"
"Yes, Herbert, I do," said Mrs. Carrington, "because it is very importanttha
t he should know of his son's evil courses, that he may put a stop tothem; and besides, if Arthur should escape punishment this time, Elsiemay be in danger from him again. I am sorry it happened to be you ratherthan some other person who overheard the conversation; but it cannot behelped, and we must do our duty always, even though we find it difficultand disagreeable, and feel afraid that our motives may be misconstrued."
Herbert drew a deep sigh.
"Well, mamma, must I go just now, to tell him?" he asked, looking paleand troubled.
Mrs. Carrington seemed to be considering the matter for a moment.
"No, my dear," she said; "I think we had better wait a little. ProbablyMr. Dinsmore will make an investigation, and perhaps he may be able toget at the truth without your assistance; and if not, as the mischief isalready done, it will be time enough for your story to-morrow."
Herbert looked a good deal relieved, and just then they were summoned totea.
The elder Mr. Dinsmore had been out all the afternoon, and not returninguntil just as the bell rang for tea, heard nothing of Elsie's injuryuntil after he had taken his seat at the table.
The children had all reported that Arthur had pushed her down, and thusthe story was told to his father. The old gentleman was very angry, forhe had a great contempt for such cowardly deeds; and said before all theguests that if it were so, Arthur should be severely punished.
Mr. Horace Dinsmore came down as the rest were about leaving the table.
"I should like to have a few moments' conversation with you, Horace, whenyou have finished your tea," his father said, lingering behind theothers.
"It is just what I wish, sir," replied his son; "I will be with youdirectly. Shall I find you in the library?"
"Yes. I hope the child was not hurt, Horace?" he added, inquiringly,stepping back again just as he had reached the door.
"Pretty badly, I am afraid," said Mr. Dinsmore, gravely; "she issuffering a good deal."
Mr. Dinsmore was not long at the table, for he was anxious to get back tohis child; yet his father, whom he found striding back and forth acrossthe library, in a nervous, excited way, hailed him with the impatientexclamation, "Come at last, Horace, I thought you would never have doneeating."
Then throwing himself into a chair, "Well, what is to be done about thisbad business?" he asked. "Is it true that Arthur had a hand in it?"
"I have not a doubt of it myself, sir," replied his son. "They all agreethat he was close to her when she fell, and neither he nor she deniesthat he pushed her; she only begs not to be forced to speak, and hesays nothing.
"And now, father, I have fully made up my mind that either that boymust be sent away to school, or I must take Elsie and make a home forher elsewhere."
"Why, Horace! that is a sudden resolution, is it not?"
"No, father, not so much as it seems. I have suspected, for some timepast, that Elsie had a good deal to bear from Arthur and Enna--to saynothing of an older person, to whom Enna is continually carrying tales.Elsie is too generous to tell tales, too meek and patient to complain,and so it has been only very gradually that I have learned how much ofpetulance, tyranny, and injustice she has had to endure from those fromwhom she certainly had a right to expect common kindness, if notaffection.
"Yesterday afternoon she came to me in such a state of nervous excitementas convinced me that something had gone very much amiss with her, butwhat it was I did not know, for she seemed unwilling to tell, and I wouldnot force her to do so.
"However, by putting a few questions to some of the little guests, I havesince learned enough to fill me with indignation at the treatment towhich my child has been subjected, even during the last two weeks; andnow the occurrences of this afternoon have put the finishing stroke toall this, and I cannot any longer feel that my child is safe where Arthuris. It is a great mercy that she escaped being killed or crippled forlife," and he dropped his face into his hands and shuddered.
"Don't, Horace, my son," his father said kindly, laying his hand on hisshoulder. "I don't like to see you give way so. It is not worth whiletroubling ourselves about what _might_ have been, and we will takemeasures to prevent such occurrences in the future.
"But you mustn't think of leaving us to set up a separate establishment,unless you are intending to marry again, and I don't believe you are."
Mr. Dinsmore shook his head.
"Nothing of the kind," he said; "but I must protect my child; she has noone else to look to for protection, or sympathy, or love--my poor littleone!--and it would be hard indeed if she could not have them from me."
"So it would, Horace, certainly. I am afraid we have none of us treatedthe poor little thing quite as kindly as we might, but I really was notaware that she had been so much abused, and shall certainly speakto Mrs. Dinsmore about it. And Arthur shall be sent away to school, asyou have suggested. It is what I have been wanting to do for some time,for he is getting quite beyond Miss Day; but his mother has alwaysopposed it, and I have foolishly given up to her for peace sake. I setmy foot down now, however, and he _shall go_. He deserves it richly, theyoung rascal! such a base, cowardly act as to attack a little girl, big,strong boy that he is! I'm ashamed of him. You, Horace, were a wild,headstrong fellow, but I never knew you do a _mean_ or _cowardly_ thing;you were always above it."
"I hope so, indeed, sir. But now, to go back to the present business, doyou not think it would be well to call all the young people together andhave a thorough investigation of this affair? I have promised Elsie thatshe shall not be forced to speak, but I hope we may be able to learn fromthe others all that we need to know."
"Yes, yes, Horace, we will do so at once!" replied his father, ringingthe bell. "They must be all through with their tea by this time, and wewill invite them into the drawing-room, and cross-question them until weget to the bottom of the whole thing."
A servant answered the bell, and received directions to request--on hismaster's behalf--all the guests, both old and young, as well as everymember of the family, to give their attendance in the drawing-room fora few moments.
"Stay, father," said Horace, "possibly Arthur might be induced toconfess, and so spare himself and us the pain of a public exposure; hadwe not better send for him first?"
His father assented, and the servant was ordered to go in search ofArthur, and bring him to the library.
Arthur had been expecting such a summons, and had quite made up his mindwhat to do.
"Confess!" he said to himself; "no, indeed, I'll not! nobody but Elsieknows that I did it, and she'll never tell; so I'll stick to it that itwas only an accident."
He came in with a look of sullen, dogged determination on hiscountenance, and stood before his father and brother with folded arms,and an air of injured innocence. He was careful, however, not to meethis brother's eye.
"Arthur," began his father, sternly, "this is shameful, cowardlybehavior, utterly unworthy of a son of mine--this unprovoked assaultupon a defenceless little girl. It has always been considered a cowardlyact to attack one weaker than ourselves."
"I _didn't_ do it! she slipped and fell of herself," replied the boyfiercely, speaking through his clenched teeth.
"Arthur," said his brother, in a calm, firm tone, "the alternative beforeyou is a frank and full confession here in private, or a disgraceful,public exposure in the drawing-room. You had better confess, for I havenot the least doubt of your guilty because I well know that Elsie wouldhave asserted your innocence, had she been able to do so with truth."
"She _wouldn't_; she hates me," muttered the boy; "yes, and I hate her,too," he added, almost under his breath. But his brother's quick earcaught the words.
"Yes," he answered, bitterly; "you have given full proof of that; but_never_, while I live, shall you have another opportunity to wreak yourhellish rage upon her."
But threats and persuasions were alike powerless to move Arthur'sstubborn will; for, trusting to their supposed inability to prove hisguilt, he persisted in denying it; and at length, much agains
t hisinclination, was forced to accompany his father and brother to thedrawing-room, where the entire household was already assembled.
There was a good deal of excitement and whispering together, especiallyamongst the younger portion of the assembly, and many conjectures as tothe cause of their being thus called together; nearly all giving it astheir decided opinion that Elsie's accident had something to do with it.
Herbert was looking pale and nervous, and kept very close to his mamma,Harry Carrington and Carrie Howard were grave and thoughtful, whileLucy and Mary seemed restless and excited, and the lesser ones full ofcuriosity and expectation. There was quite a little buzz all over theroom as the two gentlemen and Arthur entered, but it died away instantly,and was succeeded by an almost death-like stillness, broken the nextmoment by the elder Mr. Dinsmore's voice, as he briefly stated his objectin thus calling them together, and earnestly requested any one presentwho could throw the least light on the subject, to speak.
He paused, and there was a moment of profound silence.
"Who was nearest to Elsie when she fell?" he asked; "can any one tellme?"
"Arthur, sir," replied several voices.
Another pause.
"Who else was near her?" he asked. "Miss Carrie Howard, I have noticedthat you and Elsie are usually together; can you tell me if she couldhave fallen of herself? Were you near enough to see?"
Carrie answered reluctantly: "Yes, sir; I had stepped from her side atthe moment she stooped to pick up something, and feel quite certain thatshe was not near enough to the edge to have fallen of herself."
"Thank you for your frank reply. And now, Master Harry Carrington, Ithink I heard some one say you were quite close to Arthur at the time ofElsie's fall; can you tell me what he did to her? You will confer a greatfavor by answering with equal frankness."
"I would much rather have been excused from saying anything, sir,"replied Harry, coloring and looking as if he wished himself a thousandmiles away; "but since you request it, I will own that I was close toArthur, and think he must have pushed Elsie in springing past her, butit may have been only an accident."
"I fear not," said the old gentleman, looking sternly at his son. "Andnow, does any one know that Elsie had vexed Arthur in any way, or thathe had any unkind feelings toward her?"
"Yes, papa," Walter spoke up suddenly. "I heard Arthur, the otherday, talking very crossly about Elsie, and threatening to pay her forsomething; but I didn't understand what."
Mr. Dinsmore's frown was growing darker, and Arthur began to tremble andturn pale. He darted a fierce glance at Walter, but the little fellow didnot see it.
"Does any one know what Elsie had done?" was the next question.
No one spoke, and Herbert fidgeted and grew very pale. Mr. HoraceDinsmore noticed it, and begged him if he knew anything to tell it atonce; and Herbert reluctantly repeated what he had already told hismother of the conversation in the woods; and as he concluded, Loradrew a note from her pocket, which she handed to her father, saying thatshe had picked it up in the school-room, from a pile of rubbish whichArthur had carelessly thrown out of his desk.
Mr. Dinsmore took it, glanced hastily over the contents, and with agroan, exclaimed: "Is it possible!--a gambler already! Arthur, has itreally come to this?
"Go to your room, sir," he added, sternly, "there to remain in solitaryconfinement until arrangement can be made to send you to school at adistance from the home which shall be no longer polluted by yourpresence; for you are unworthy to mingle with the rest of the family."
Arthur obeyed in sullen silence, and his father, following, turned thekey upon him, and left him to solitude and his own reflections.
"Did my little daughter think papa had quite forgotten his promise?"asked Mr. Horace Dinsmore, as again he stood by Elsie's couch.
"No, papa," she said, raising her eyes to his face with a grateful,loving look; "it seemed very long, but I knew you would come as soon asyou could, for I know you never break your word."
Her confidence pleased him very much, and with a very gratified look heasked whether he should sit by her side or take her again upon his knee.
"Take me on your knee again, if you please, papa," she said, "and thenwill you read a little to me? I would like it so much."
"I will do anything that will give my little girl pleasure," he replied,as he once more lifted her gently, and placed her in the desiredposition.
"What shall the book be?" he asked; "one of the new ones I bought you theother day?"
"Not that, to-night; if you please, papa; I would rather hear a littlefrom an old book," she answered, with a sweet smile lighting tip herlittle pale face; "won't you please read me the fifty-third chapter ofIsaiah?"
"If you wish it, dearest; but I think something lively would be muchbetter; more likely to cheer you up."
"No, dear papa; there is nothing cheers me up like the Bible, it is sosweet and comforting. I do so love to hear of Jesus, how he bore ourgriefs and carried our sorrows."
"You are a strange child," he said, "but you shall have whatever you wantto-night. Hand me that Bible, Aunt Chloe, and set the light a littlenearer."
Mr. Dinsmore was an uncommonly fine reader, and Elsie lay listening tothat beautiful passage of Holy Writ, as one might listen to strains ofthe softest, sweetest music.
"Now, dear papa, the twenty-third of Luke, if you please," she said, whenhe had finished.
He turned to it, and read it without any remark.
As he closed the book and laid it aside, he saw that tears were tremblingon the long, silken lashes that rested on the fair young cheek; for hereyes were closed, and but for those tell-tale drops he would have thoughther sleeping.
"I feared it would make you sad, darling," he said, brushing them away,and kissing her fondly.
"No, dear papa, _oh, no_!" she answered, earnestly; "thank you very muchfor reading it; it has made me feel a great deal better."
"Why did you select those particular passages?" he asked, with somecuriosity.
"Because, papa, they are all about Jesus, and tell how meekly andpatiently he bore sorrow and suffering. Oh, papa, if I could only belike him! I am not much like him, but it makes it easier to forgive andto be patient, and kind, and gentle, when we read about him, how good hewas, and how he forgave his murderers."
"You are thinking of Arthur," he said. "_I_ shall find it very hard toforgive him; can _you_ do so?"
"Yes, papa, I think I can. I have been praying for him, and have askedGod to help me to forgive and love him."
"He has treated you very badly; I know all about it now."
And then, in answer to her surprised, inquiring look, he proceeded togive her an account of all that had taken place that evening in thelibrary and drawing-room.
"And he hates me, papa," she said, mournfully, the tears filling hereyes; "why should he feel so? I have always tried to be kind to him."
"Yes, I know it," he replied, "you have often done him kindnesses, andI know of no other cause for his enmity, unless it is that you havesometimes been obliged to bear witness against him."
"Yes, papa, on several occasions when he was putting all the blame of hisnaughty deeds on little Walter, or poor Jim."
"You were perfectly right," he said, caressing her; "and he will not haveanother opportunity to vent his spite upon you, as he is to be sent awayto boarding-school immediately."
"Oh, papa!" she exclaimed, "I am so sorry for him, poor fellow! It mustbe so dismal to go off alone among strangers. Dear papa, _do_ ask grandpato forgive him, just this once; and I don't believe he will ever behaveso again."
"No, daughter, I shall not do anything of the kind," he answered,decidedly. "I think it will be for Arthur's own good to be sent away,where he will not have his mother to spoil him by indulgence; andbesides, I cannot feel that _you_ are safe while he is about the house,and I consider it my first duty to take care of you; therefore, I haveinsisted upon its that either _he_ must be sent away, or you and I mustgo and make a home for ours
elves somewhere else."
"Oh, papa, how delightful that would be, to have a home of our own!" sheexclaimed eagerly; "_will_ you do it some day?"
"Should you like it so much?" he asked.
"Oh, yes, papa, so very, _very_ much! When will you do it, papa?"
"I don't know, darling; some day, if we both live; perhaps when you areold enough to be my housekeeper."
"But that will be such a long, long time to wait, papa," she said--theeager, joyous expression fading away from her face, and the pale, weariedlook coming back again.
"Perhaps we will not wait for that, darling; I did not say that wewould," he replied, in a soothing tone, as he passed his hand caressinglyover her hair and cheek.
Then he added, a little mischievously, "I think, possibly, I might induceMiss Stevens to keep house for us. Shall I ask her?"
"Oh, papa, no; that would spoil it all," she said, with a blush and alook of surprise; "and besides, I'm sure Miss Stevens would feel insultedif anybody should ask her to go out as housekeeper."
"No, I think not, if _I_ asked her," laughed Mr. Dinsmore; "but you neednot be alarmed; I have no notion of doing it.
"Now, daughter, I shall bathe your ankle with that liniment again, andput you in bed, and you must try to go to sleep."
"My prayers first, papa, you know," she replied, making an effort to getdown upon the floor.
But he held her fast.
"No, daughter, you are not able to kneel to-night," he said, "andtherefore it is not required; the posture makes but little difference,since God looks not at it, but at your heart."
"I know that, papa, but I ought to kneel if I can; and if I may, I wouldmuch rather try."
"No, I shall not allow you to do so; it would not be right," he replieddecidedly; "you may say them here, while I have you in my arms, or afterI have put you in bed."
"Then I will say them in my bed, papa," she answered submissively.
She was very patient and quiet while her father and nurse dressed herankle, and prepared her for bed, and when he had laid her in and coveredher up, he sat down beside her and listened to the low, murmured words ofher prayer.
"I think you prayed for me as well as for Arthur," he remarked when shehad done; "what did you request for me?"
"I asked, as I always do, that you might love Jesus, papa, and be veryhappy, indeed, both in this world and the next."
"Thank you," he said, "but why are you so anxious that I should love him?It would not trouble _me_ if _you_ did not, so long as you loved andobeyed me."
A tear trickled down her cheek and fell upon the pillow as she answered,in a half tremulous tone: "Because I know, papa, that no one can go toheaven who does not love Jesus, nor ever be really happy anywhere, forthe Bible says so. Papa, you always punish me when I am disobedient toyou, and the Bible says God is our Father and will punish us if we do notobey him; and one of his commands is: Thou shalt love the Lord thy God;and in another place it says: Every one that loveth him that begat lovethhim also that is begotten of him."
He did not reply, and his countenance was almost stern in its deepgravity.
Elsie feared she had displeased him.
"Dear papa," she said, stretching out her little hand to him, "I amafraid I have said things to you that I ought not; are you angry withme?"
"No, daughter," he replied, as he bent down and kissed her cheek; "butyou must not talk any more to-night. I want you to shut your eyes and goto sleep."
She threw her arm around his neck and returned his caress, saying,"Good-night, dear, _dear_ papa; I do love you _so_ much;" then turnedaway her face, shut her eyes, and in a few moments was sleeping sweetly.
The next morning quite a number of the little folks begged leave to goin after breakfast to see Elsie, and as she seemed much better--indeed,quite well, except that she could not put her foot to the floor--Mr.Dinsmore gave a ready consent.
They found Elsie dressed and lying upon a sofa, with the lame foot on apillow. She seemed very glad to see them, looked as smiling and cheerfulas if nothing ailed her; and to all their condolences replied that shedid not mind it very much; she was doing nicely--papa and everybody elsewas so kind--and the doctor said he hoped she would be able to run aboutagain in a few weeks.
They were all around her, talking and laughing in a very animated way,when Mr. Dinsmore came in, and going up to her couch, said, "Elsie,daughter, I have an errand to the city this morning; but, as I havepromised to give you all you want of my company to-day, I will commissionsome one else to do it, if you are not willing to spare me for a coupleof hours; do you think you could do without your papa that long? It shallbe just as you say."
"You know I love dearly to have you by me, papa," she answered, smilingup into his face; "but I will be quite satisfied with whatever you do,because you always know best."
"Spoken like my own little girl," he said, patting her cheek. "Well, thenI will leave these little folks to entertain you for a short time; and Ithink you will not be sorry, when I return, that you left it to me to doas I think best. Kiss papa good-bye, darling. Aunt Chloe, take good careof her, and don't let her be _fatigued_ with company."
He turned to look at her again, as he reached the door, and Elsie gailykissed her hand to him.
Before long, Chloe, seeing that her young charge was beginning to lookweary, sent away all the little folks except Herbert, who, at Elsie'srequest, remained with her, and seated in her little rocking-chair,close by her side, did his best to amuse her and make her forget herpain, sometimes reading aloud to her, and sometimes stopping to talk.
Many an hour Elsie had spent by his couch of suffering, reading, talkingor singing to him, and he rejoiced now in the opportunity afforded him toreturn some of her past kindness.
They had always been fond of each other's society, too, and the timepassed so quickly and pleasantly that Mr. Dinsmore's return, only a verylittle sooner than he had promised, took them quite by surprise.
Herbert noticed that he had a bundle in his hand, and thinking it wasprobably some present for Elsie, and that they might like to be alone,slipped quietly away to his mamma's room.
"What is that, papa?" Elsie asked.
"A New Year's gift for my little girl," he answered, with a smile, as helaid it down by her side. "But I know you are tired lying there; so Iwill take you on my knee, and then you shall open it."
She looked quite as eager and interested as he could have wished, as hesettled her comfortably on his knee, and laid the bundle in her lap. Herhands trembled with excitement and haste, as she untied the string, andwith an exclamation of joyful surprise, brought to light a large and verybeautiful wax doll.
"Oh, _papa_, how _pretty_!" she cried, in ecstasy. "And it is as largeas a real, live baby, and has such a sweet, dear little face, and suchpretty little hands, just like a real baby's--and the dearest littletoes, too," she added, kissing them. "I love it already, the little dear!and how prettily it is dressed, too, like a little baby-girl."
He enjoyed her pleasure intensely.
"But you have not come to the bottom of your bundle yet," he said; "seehere!" and he showed her quite a pile of remnants of beautiful lawns,muslins, silk, etc., which he had bought to be made up into clothing forthe doll.
"I did not buy them ready made," he said, "because I thought you wouldenjoy making them yourself."
"Oh, how nice, papa. Yes, indeed, I shall enjoy it, and you are so _very_good and kind to me," she said, holding up her face for a kiss. "Now,with you beside me, and plenty to do making pretty things for this dearnew dolly, I think I shall hardly mind at all having to stay in the houseand keep still. I'll call her Rose, papa, mayn't I? for dear MissAllison."
"Call it what you like, darling; it is all your own," he replied,laughing at the question.
"I'm its mother, ain't I?--and then you must be its grandfather!" sheexclaimed, with a merry laugh, in which he joined her heartily.
"You ought to have some gray hairs, papa, like other grandfathers," shewent on,
running her fingers through his hair. "Do you know, papa, CarryHoward says she thinks it is so funny for me to have such a young father;she says you don't look a bit older than her brother Edward, who has justcome home from college. How old are you, papa?"
"You are not quite nine, and I am just about eighteen years older; canyou make that out now?"
"Twenty-seven," she answered, after a moment's thought; then, shaking herhead a little, "that's pretty old, I think, after all. But I'm glad youhaven't got gray hairs and wrinkles, like Carry's papa," she added,putting her arms around his neck, and laying her head down on his breast."I think it is nice to have such a young, handsome father."
"I think it is very nice to have a dear little daughter to love me," hesaid, pressing her to his heart.
Elsie was eager to show her new doll to Carry and Lucy, and presentlysent Chloe to invite them to pay her another visit.
"Bring Mary Leslie, too, mammy, if she will come; but be sure not to tellany of them what I have got," she said.
Chloe found them all three in the little back parlor, looking as ifthey did not know what to do with themselves, and Elsie's invitationwas hailed with smiles and exclamations of delight.
They all admired the doll extremely, and Carry, who had a great tastefor cutting and fitting, seized upon the pile of silks and muslins,exclaiming eagerly, that she should like no better fun than to helpElsie make some dresses.
"Oh, yes!" cried Lucy, "let us all help, for once in my life I'm tired todeath of play, and I'd like to sit down quietly and work at these prettythings."
"I, too," said Mary, "if Elsie is willing to trust us not to spoil them,"
"Indeed, _I'll_ not spoil them, Miss Mary; I've made more dolls' clothesthan a few," remarked Carry, with a little toss of her head.
"I am not at all afraid to trust you, Carry, nor the others either,"Elsie hastened to say; "and shall be very glad of your assistance."
Work-boxes were now quickly produced, and scissors and thimbles set inmotion.
Mr. Dinsmore withdrew to the other side of the room, and took up a book;thus relieving the little ladies from the constraint of his presence,while at the same time he could keep an eye upon Elsie, and see that shedid not over-fatigue herself with company or work.
"What a nice time we have had," remarked Mary Leslie, folding up herwork as the dinner-bell rang. "May we come back this afternoon, Elsie?I'd like to finish this apron, and I'm to go home to-morrow."
Mr. Dinsmore answered for his little girl, "When Elsie has had an hour torest, Miss Mary, she will be glad to see you all again."
"Yes, do come, girls," Elsie added, "if you are not tired of work. I amsorry that you must go to-morrow, Mary. Carry and Lucy, _you_ are not toleave us so soon, are you?"
"No," they both replied, "we stay till Saturday afternoon. And intend tomake dolly two or three dresses before we go, if her mother will let us,"Carry added, laughingly, as she put away her thimble and ran after theothers.
All the guests left the next morning, excepting the Carringtons andCaroline Howard, and the house seemed very quiet--even in Elsie's room,where the little girls were sewing--while Harry and Herbert took turns inreading aloud; and in this way they passed the remainder of their visitvery pleasantly, indeed.
Elsie felt her confinement more when Sabbath morning came, and she couldnot go to church, than she had at all before. Her father offered to stayat home with her, remarking that she must feel very lonely now that allher little mates were gone; but she begged him to go to church, sayingthat she could employ herself in reading while he was away, and thatwould keep her from being lonely, and then they could have all theafternoon and evening together. So he kissed her good-bye, and left herin Chloe's care.
She was sitting on his knee that evening; she had been singing hymns--heaccompanying her sweet treble with his deep bass notes; then for a whileshe had talked to him in her own simple, childlike way, of what she hadbeen reading in her Bible and the "Pilgrim's Progress," asking him aquestion now and then, which, with all his learning and worldly wisdom,he was scarcely as capable of answering as herself. But now she had beenfor some minutes sitting perfectly silent, her head resting upon hisbreast, and her eyes cast down, as if in deep thought,
He had been studying with some curiosity the expression of the littleface, which was much graver than its wont, and at length he startled herfrom her reverie with the question, "What is my little girl thinkingabout?"
"I was thinking, papa, that if you will let me, I should like very muchto give Arthur a nice present before he goes away. May I?"
"You may if you wish," he said, stroking her hair.
"Oh, thank you, papa," she answered joyously, "I was half afraid youwould not let me; then, if you please, won't you, the next time you go tothe city, buy the very handsomest pocket Bible you can find?--and then,if you will write his name and mine in it, and that it is a token ofaffection from me, I will be so much obliged to you, dear papa."
"I will do so, daughter, but I am afraid Arthur will not feel muchgratitude to you for such a present."
"Perhaps he may like it pretty well, papa, if it is _very handsomely_bound," she said, rather doubtfully; "at any rate I should like to try.When does he go, papa?"
"Day after to-morrow, I believe."
"I wish he would come in for a few minutes to see me, and say good-bye;do you think he will, papa?"
"I am afraid not," replied her father, shaking his head; "however, I willask him. But why do you wish to see him?"
"I want to tell him that I am not at all vexed or angry with him, andthat I feel very sorry for him, because he is obliged to go away allalone amongst strangers, poor fellow!" she sighed.
"You need not waste any sympathy on him, my dear," said her father, "forI think he rather likes the idea of going off to school."
"Does he, papa? Why, how strange!" exclaimed the little girl, lost inastonishment.
As Mr. Dinsmore had predicted, Arthur utterly refused to go near Elsie;and, at first, seemed disposed to decline her gift; but at length, onLora suggesting that he might require a Bible for some of his schoolexercises, he accepted it, as Elsie had thought he might, on account ofthe handsome binding.
Elsie was hurt and disappointed that he would not come to see her; sheshed a few quiet tears over his refusal, because she thought it showedthat he still disliked her, and then wrote him a little note, breathingforgiveness, sisterly affection, and regard for his welfare. But the notewas not answered, and Arthur went away without showing any signs ofsorrow for his unkind treatment of her; nor, indeed, for any of his badconduct.
Miss Day had returned, and the rest of her pupils now resumed theirstudies; but Elsie was, of course, quite unable to attend in theschool-room, as her ankle was not yet in a condition to be used in theleast. Her father said nothing to her about lessons, but allowed her toamuse herself as she liked with reading, or working for the doll. She,however, was growing weary of play, and wanted to go back to her books.
"Papa," she said to him one morning, "I am quite well now, excepting mylameness, and you are with me a great deal every day, may I not learn mylessons and recite them to you?"
"Certainly, daughter, if you wish it," he replied, looking much pleased;"I shall consider it no trouble, but, on the contrary, a very greatpleasure to teach you, if you learn your lessons well, as I am sure youwill."
Elsie promised to be diligent, and from that day she went on with herstudies as regularly as if she had been in school with the others.
She felt her confinement very much at times, and had a great longing forthe time when she could again mount her pony, and take long rides andwalks in the sweet fresh air; but she was not often lonely, for her papamanaged to be with her a great deal, and she never cared for any othercompanion when he was by. Then, Mr. Travilla came in frequently to seeher, and always brought a beautiful bouquet, or some fine fruit from hishot-house, or some other little nicety to tempt an invalid's appetite, orwhat she liked, even better still, a new book. Her
aunts Adelaide andLora, too, felt very kindly toward her, coming in occasionally to ask howshe was, and to tell her what was going on in the house; and sometimesWalter brought his book to ask her to help him with his lessons, whichshe was always ready to do, and then he would sit and talk a while,telling her what had occurred in the school-room, or in their walks orrides, and expressing his regret on account of the accident thatprevented her from joining them as usual.
Her doll, too, was a great source of amusement to her, and she valuedit very highly, and was so extremely careful of it that she hardlyfelt willing to trust it out of her own hands, lest it should be broken.Especially was she annoyed when Enna, who was a very careless child,wished to take it; but it was a dangerous thing to refuse Enna'srequests, except when Mr. Dinsmore was by, and so Elsie always endeavoredto get the doll out of sight when she heard her coming.
But one unfortunate afternoon Enna came in quite unexpectedly, just asElsie finished dressing it in a new suit, which she had completed only afew moments before.
"Oh, Elsie, how pretty it looks!" she cried. "Do let me take it on my lapa little while. I won't hurt it a bit."
Elsie reluctantly consented, begging her to be very careful, "because,Enna," she said, "you know if you should let it fall, it would certainlybe broken."
"You needn't be afraid," replied Enna, pettishly, "I guess I can takecare of a doll as well as you."
She drew up Elsie's little rocking-chair, as she spoke, and taking thedoll from her, sat down with it in her arms.
Elsie watched nervously every movement she made, in momentary dread of acatastrophe.
They were alone in the room, Chloe having gone down to the kitchen onsome errand.
For a few moments Enna was content to hold the doll quietly in her arms,rocking backwards and forwards, singing to it; but ere long she laid itdown on her lap, and began fastening and unfastening its clothes, pullingoff its shoes and stockings to look at its feet--dropping them on thefloor, and stooping to pick them up again, at the same time holding thedoll in such a careless manner that Elsie expected every instant to seeit scattered in fragments on the floor.
In vain she remonstrated with Enna, and begged her to be more careful;it only vexed her and made her more reckless; and at length Elsie sprangfrom her couch and caught the doll, just in time to save it, but in sodoing gave her ankle a terrible wrench.
She almost fainted with the pain, and Enna, frightened at her pale face,jumped up and ran out of the room, leaving her alone.
She had hardly strength to get back on to her couch; and when her fathercame in, a moment after, he found her holding her ankle in both hands,while the tears forced from her by the pain were streaming down over herpale cheeks.
"Why, my poor darling, what is it?" he exclaimed, in a tone of mingledsurprise and alarm.
"Oh, papa," she sobbed, "Enna was going to let my doll fall, and I jumpedto catch it, and hurt my ankle."
"And what did you do it for?" he said angrily. "I would rather havebought you a dozen such dolls than have had your ankle hurt again. Itmay cripple you for life, yet, if you are not more careful."
"Oh, papa, please don't scold me, please don't be so angry with me," shesobbed. "I didn't have a minute to think, and I won't do it again."
He made no reply, but busied himself in doing what he could to relieveher pain; and Chloe coming in at that moment, he reproved her sharply forleaving the child alone.
The old nurse took it very meekly, far more disturbed at seeing how herchild was suffering than she could have been by the severest rebukeadministered to herself. She silently assisted Mr. Dinsmore in hisefforts to relieve her; and at length, as Elsie's tears ceased to flow,and the color began to come back to her cheeks, she asked, in a tone fullof loving sympathy, "Is you better now, darlin'?"
"Yes, mammy, thank you; the pain is nearly all gone now," Elsie answeredgently; and then the soft eyes were raised pleadingly to her father'sface.
"I'm not angry with you, daughter," he replied, drawing her head down tohis breast, and kissing her tenderly. "It was only my great love for mylittle girl that made me feel so vexed that she should have been hurt intrying to save a paltry toy."
After this Mr. Dinsmore gave orders that Enna should never be permittedto enter Elsie's room in his absence, and thus she was saved all furtherannoyance of that kind; and Chloe was careful never to leave her aloneagain until she was quite well, and able to run about. That, however, wasnot for several weeks longer, for this second injury had retarded herrecovery a good deal; and she began to grow very weary, indeed, of herlong confinement. At length, though, she was able to walk about her rooma little, and her father had several times taken her out in the carriage,to get the fresh air, as he said.
It was Saturday afternoon. Elsie was sitting on her sofa, quietlyworking, while her nurse sat on the other side of the room, knittingbusily, as usual.
"Oh, mammy!" exclaimed the little girl, with sigh, "it is such a long,long time since I have been to church. How I wish papa would let me goto-morrow! Do you think he would, if I should ask him?"
"Dunno, darlin'! I'se 'fraid not," replied the old woman, shaking herhead doubtfully. "Massa Horace berry careful ob you, an' dat ankle notwell yet."
"Oh! but, mammy, I wouldn't need to walk, excepting just across thechurch, for you know papa could carry me down to the carriage," said thelittle girl eagerly.
Mr. Dinsmore came in soon afterwards, and, greeting his little girlaffectionately, sat down beside her, and, taking a newspaper from hispocket, began to read.
"Papa, mayn't I sit on your knee?" she asked softly, as he paused in hisreading to turn his paper.
He smiled, and without speaking lifted her to the desired position, thenwent on reading.
She waited patiently until there was another slight pause; then asked inher most coaxing tone, "Papa, may I go to church to-morrow?"
"No," he said, decidedly, and she dared not say another word; but she wassadly disappointed, and the tears sprang to her eyes, and presently onerolled down and fell upon her lap.
He saw it, and giving her a glance of mingled surprise and displeasure,put her back upon the sofa again, and returned to his paper.
She burst into sobs and tears at that, and laying her head down upon thecushion, cried bitterly.
Her father took no notice for a little while; then said, very gravely,"Elsie, if you are crying because I have put you off my knee, that is notthe way to get back again. I must have _cheerful_ submission from mylittle girl, and it was precisely _because_ you were crying that I putyou down."
"Please take me again, papa, and I won't cry any more," she answered,wiping her eyes.
He took her in his arms again, and she nestled close to him, and laid herhead down on his breast with a sigh of satisfaction.
"You _must_ learn not to cry when I do not see fit to acquiesce in yourwishes, my daughter," he said, stroking her hair. "I do not think youquite well enough yet to go to church; and to-morrow bids fair to be astormy day. But I hope by next Sabbath you may be able to go."
Elsie tried to submit cheerfully to her father's decision, but she lookedforward very anxiously all the week to the next Sabbath. When it came, toher great delight, she was permitted to attend church, and the nextmorning she took her place in the school-room again.
She was far from enjoying the change from her father's instructionto Miss Day's; yet Arthur's absence rendered her situation far morecomfortable than it had formerly been, and she still continued severalstudies with her father, and spent many happy hours with him every day.And thus everything moved on quite smoothly with the little girl duringthe remainder of the winter.