Books: Elsie Dinsmore
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Martha Finley >> Elsie Dinsmore
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The sound of his voice pronouncing her name aroused her.
"You are tired and sleepy," said he; "if you would like to go to
bed you may do so."
"Thank you, papa," she replied, rising to her feet.
"Well," he said, seeing her hesitate, "speak, if you have anything
to say."
"I am very sorry I was naughty, papa. Will you please forgive me?"
The words were spoken very low, and almost with a sob.
"Will you try not to meddle in future, and not to cry at the
table, or pout and sulk when you are punished?" he asked in a
cold, grave tone.
"Yes, sir, I will try to be a good girl always," said the humble
little voice.
"Then I will forgive you," he replied, taking the handkerchief off
her hand.
Still Elsie lingered. She felt as if she could not go without some
little token of forgiveness and love, some slight caress.
He looked at her with an impatient "Well?" Then, in answer to her
mute request, "No," he said, "I will not kiss you to-night; you
have been entirely too naughty. Go to your room at once."
Aunt Chloe was absolutely frightened by the violence of her
child's grief, as she rushed into the room and flung herself into
her arms weeping and sobbing most vehemently.
"What's de matter, darlin'?" she asked in great alarm.
"O mammy, mammy!" sobbed the child, "papa wouldn't kiss me! he
said I was too naughty. O mammy! will he ever love me now?"
CHAPTER SEVENTH
"The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on."
--SHAKESPEARE, _Richard III_.
"A blossom full of promise is life's joy,
That never comes to fruit. Hope, for a time,
Suns the young flow'ret in its gladsome light,
And it looks flourishing--a little while--
'Tis pass'd, we know not whither, but 'tis gone."
--MISS LANDON.
It was Miss Day's custom to present to the parents of her pupils a
monthly report of their conduct and recitations. The regular time
for this had occurred once since Mr. Horace Dinsmore's return,
when she, of course, handed Elsie's to him.
It was very satisfactory, for Elsie was a most diligent scholar,
carrying her religious principles into that as well as everything
else; and disposed as Miss Day was to find fault with her, she
could seldom see any excuse for so doing, in either her conduct or
recitations.
Mr. Dinsmore glanced over the report and handed it back, saying,
"It is all very good; very satisfactory indeed. I am glad to see
that she is industrious and well behaved, for I wish her to grow
up an intelligent and amiable woman."
Elsie, who was standing near, heard the words, and they sent a
glow of pleasure to her cheeks. She looked up eagerly; but her
father turned and walked away without taking any notice of her,
and the glow of happiness faded, and the soft eyes filled with
tears of wounded feeling.
It was now time for a second report; but alas! the past month had
been a most unfortunate one for the little girl; the weather was
very warm, and she had felt languid and weak, and so much were her
thoughts occupied with the longing desire to gain her father's
love, so depressed were her spirits by her constant failure to do
so, that she often found it impossible to give her mind to her
lessons.
Arthur, too, during much of the time before and since the week of
his imprisonment, had been more than usually annoying, shaking her
chair and jogging her elbow so frequently when she was writing,
that her copy-book presented by no means so good an appearance as
usual; and never had Miss Day made out so poor a report for her.
She carried it with much secret satisfaction to the little girl's
father, and entered a long complaint of the child's idleness and
inattention.
"Send her to me," he said, angrily. "She will find me in my own
room."
Miss Day had left Elsie in the school-room putting her desk in
order after the day's work, and she found her still there on her
return.
"Elsie," said she, with a malicious smile, "your father wishes to
see you immediately. He is in his room."
The child turned red and pale by turns, and trembled so violently
that for a moment she was quite unable to move; for she guessed
from Miss Day's countenance what was probably in store for her.
"I advise you to go at once," said that lady, "for no doubt the
longer you wait the worse it will be for you."
At the same moment Mr. Dinsmore's voice was heard calling in a
stern, angry tone, "Elsie!"
Making a violent effort to control her feelings, she started up
and hastened to obey.
The door of his room stood open, and she walked in, asking in a
trembling voice, "Did you call me, papa?"
"Yes," said he, "I did. Come here to me."
He was sitting with the copy-book and report in his hand, and
there was much severity in both tone and look as he addressed her.
She obeyed instantly, but trembling violently, and with a face
pale as death, and eyes filled with tears. She lifted them
pleadingly to his face; and, touched by her evident terror and
distress, he said in a tone somewhat less stern, "Can you tell me,
Elsie, how it happens that your teacher brings me so bad a report
of your conduct and lessons during the past month? She says you
have been very idle; and the report tells the same story; and this
copy-book presents a shameful appearance."
The child answered only by tears and sobs.
They seemed to irritate him.
"Elsie," he said, sternly, "when I ask a question, I require an
answer, and that instantly."
"O papa!" she answered, pleadingly, "I couldn't study. I'm very
sorry--I'll try to do better--only don't be very angry with me,
dear papa."
"I am angry with you; very angry, indeed," said he in the same
severe tone, "and very strongly inclined to punish you. You
_couldn't_ study, eh? What reason can you assign, pray? Were
you not well?"
"I don't know, sir," sobbed the little girl.
"You don't _know_? Very well, then, I think you could not be
very ill without knowing it, and so you seem to have no excuse at
all to offer? However, I will not inflict any punishment upon you
_this_ time, as you seem to be really sorry, and have promised to do
better; but beware how you let me see such a report as this, or hear such
complaints of idleness again, unless you wish to be _severely punished_;
and I warn you that unless your next copy-book presents a better
appearance than this, I certainly shall punish you.
"There are a number of pages here that look quite well," he
continued, turning over the leaves; "that shows what you
_can_ do, if you choose; now there is an old saying, 'A bird
that _can_ sing, and _won't_ sing, must be _made_ to sing.'
Hush!" as Elsie seemed about to speak; "not a word. You
may go now." And throwing himself back in his easy-chair, he took up a
newspaper and began to read.
Yet Elsie lingered; her heart so yearned for one word or look of
sympathy and love; she so longed to throw herself into his arms
and tell him how dearly, how _very_ dearly she loved him; she
did so hunger and thirst for one fond caress--ah! how could she go
away without it now, when for the very first time she found
herself alone with him in his own room, where she had never
ventured before, but where she had often been in her brightest
dreams.
And so she lingered, trembling, hoping, fearing; but presently he
looked up with a cold "Why do you stand there? I gave you
permission to go; go at once." And with a sinking heart she turned
away and sought the solitude of her own room, there to weep, and
mourn, and pray that she might one day possess the love she so
pined for, and bitterly to reproach herself for having by the
failures of the past month put it farther from her.
And soon a thought came to her which added greatly to her
distress. If Arthur continued his persecutions, how could she make
the next copy-book more presentable? and in case it were not, her
father had said positively that he would punish her; and oh! how
could she bear punishment from him, when a word or look of
displeasure almost broke her heart?
Miss Day seldom remained in the school-room during the whole of
the writing hour, and sometimes the older girls were also absent,
so that Arthur had ample opportunity to indulge his mischievous
propensities; for Elsie was above the meanness of telling tales,
and had she not been, Arthur was so great a favorite with his
mother that she would have brought a great deal of trouble upon
herself by so doing.
She therefore saw no escape from the dreaded punishment, unless
she could persuade the perverse boy to cease his annoyances; and
of that there was little hope.
But she carried her trouble to her Heavenly Father, and asked Him
to help her. She was still on her knees, pouring out her sobs and
prayers, when some one knocked at the door.
She rose and opened it to find her Aunt Adelaide standing there.
"Elsie," she said, "I am writing to Miss Rose; have you any word
to send? You may write a little note, if you choose, and I will
enclose it in my letter. But what is the matter, child?" she
suddenly exclaimed, kindly taking the little girl's hand in hers.
With many tears and sobs Elsie told her the whole story, not
omitting her papa's threat, and her fear that she could not, on
account of Arthur's persecutions, avoid incurring the punishment.
Adelaide's sympathies were enlisted, and she drew the sobbing
child to her side, saying, as she pressed a kiss on her cheek,
"Never mind, Elsie, I will take my book or needle-work to the
school-room every day, and sit there during the writing hour. But
why don't you tell your papa about it?"
"Because I don't like to tell tales, Aunt Adelaide, and it would
make your mamma so angry with me; and besides, I can't tell papa
anything."
"Ah, I understand! and no wonder; he is strangely stern to the
poor child. I mean to give him a good talking to," murmured
Adelaide, more as if thinking aloud than talking to Elsie.
Then, kissing the little girl again, she rose hastily and left the
room, with the intention of seeking her brother; but he had gone
out; and when he returned he brought several gentlemen with him,
and she had no opportunity until the desire to interfere in the
matter had passed from her mind.
"And it shall come to pass, that before they call, I will answer,
and while they are yet speaking, I will hear." The promise had
been fulfilled to Elsie, and help had been sent her in her
trouble.
When her Aunt Adelaide left her, Elsie--first carefully locking
the door to guard against a surprise visit from Enna--went to her
bureau, and unlocking a drawer, took out a purse she was knitting
for her father, to replace the one she had given to Miss Allison.
She had commenced it before his return, and having spent upon it
nearly every spare moment since, when she could feel secure from
intrusion, she now had it nearly completed. Ah! many a silent tear
had fallen as she worked, and many a sigh over disappointed hopes
had been woven into its bright meshes of gold and blue.
But now she had been much comforted and encouraged by her aunt's
sympathy and kind promise of assistance, and, though there were
still traces of tears upon it, the little face looked quite bright
and cheerful again as she settled herself in her little sewing
chair, and began her work.
The small white fingers moved right briskly, the bright shining
needles glancing in and out, while the thoughts, quite as busy,
ran on something in this fashion: "Ah! I am so sorry I have done
so badly the past month; no wonder papa was vexed with me. I don't
believe I ever had such a bad report before. What has come over
me? It seems as if I _can't_ study, and must have a holiday.
I wonder if it is all laziness? I'm afraid it is, and that I ought
to be punished. I wish I could shake it off, and feel industrious
as I used to. I will try _very_ hard to do better this month,
and perhaps I can. It is only one month, and then June will be
over, and Miss Day is going North to spend July and August, and
maybe September, and so we shall have a long holiday. Surely I can
stand it one month more; it will soon be over, though it does seem
a long time, and besides, this month we are not to study so many
hours, because it is so warm; and there's to be no school on
Saturdays; none to-morrow, so that I can finish this. Ah! I wonder
if papa will be pleased?" and she sighed deeply. "I'm afraid it
will be a long, long time before he will be pleased with me again.
I have displeased him twice this week--first about the bird, and
now this bad report, and that shameful copy-book. But oh! I will
try _so_ hard next month, and dear Aunt Adelaide will keep
Arthur from troubling me, and I'm determined my copy-book shall
look neat, and not have a single blot in it.
"I wonder how I shall spend the vacation? Last summer I had such a
delightful visit at Ashlands; and then they were here all the rest
of the time. It was then poor Herbert had such a dreadful time
with his hip. Ah! how thankful I ought to be that I am not lame,
and have always been so healthy. But I'm afraid papa won't let me
go there this summer, nor ask them to visit me, because he said he
thought Lucy was not a suitable companion for me. I _was_
very naughty when she was here, and I've been naughty a great many
times since. Oh! dear, shall I never, never learn to be good? It
seems to me I am naughty now much oftener than I used to be before
papa came home. I'm afraid he will soon begin to punish me
severely, as he threatened to-day. I wonder what he means?"
A crimson tide suddenly swept over the fair face and neck, and
dropping her work, she covered her face with her hands. "Oh! he
couldn't, _couldn't_ mean that! how could I ever bear it! and
yet if it would make me really good, I think I wouldn't mind the
pain--but the shame and disgrace! oh! it would break my heart. I
could never hold up my head again! Oh! _can_ he mean that?
But I must just try to be so very good that I will never deserve
punishment, and then it will make no difference to me what he
means." And with this consolatory reflection she took up her work
again.
"Mammy, is papa in his room?" asked Elsie, the next afternoon, as
she put the finishing touches to her work.
"No, darlin', Marster Horace he rode out wid de strange gentlemen
more than an hour ago."
Elsie laid her needles away in her work-basket, and opening her
writing-desk, selected a bit of note-paper, on which she wrote in
her very best hand, "A present for my dear papa, from his little
daughter Elsie!" This she carefully pinned to the purse, and then
carried it to her papa's room, intending to leave it on his
toilet-table.
Fearing that he might possibly have returned, she knocked gently
at the door, but receiving no answer, opened it, and went in; but
she had not gone more than half way across the room when she heard
his voice behind her, asking, in a tone of mingled surprise and
displeasure, "What are you doing here in my room, in my absence,
Elsie?"
She started, and turned round, pale and trembling, and lifting her
eyes pleadingly to his face, silently placed the purse in his
hand.
He looked first at it, and then at her.
"I made it for you, dear papa," she said, in a low, tremulous
tone; "do please take it."
"It is really very pretty," he said, examining it; "is it possible
it is your work? I had no idea you had so much taste and skill.
Thank you, daughter; I shall take it, and use it with a great deal
of pleasure."
He took her hand as he spoke, and sitting down, lifted her to his
knee, saying, "Elsie, my child, why do you always seem so afraid
of me? I don't like it."
With a sudden impulse she threw her arms round his neck, and
pressed her lips to his cheek; then dropping her head on his
breast, she sobbed: "O papa! _dear_ papa, I _do love_ you so
_very_ dearly! will you not love me? O papa! love me a _little_.
I know I've been naughty very often, but I will _try_ to be good."
Then for the first time he folded her in his arms and kissed her
tenderly, saying, in a moved tone, "I _do_ love you, my darling, my
own little daughter."
Oh! the words were sweeter to Elsie's ear than the most delicious
music! her joy was too great for words, for anything but tears.
"Why do you cry so, my darling?" he asked, soothingly, stroking
her hair, and kissing her again and again.
"O papa! because I am so happy, so _very_ happy," she sobbed.
"Do you indeed care so very much for my love?" he asked; "then, my
daughter, you must not tremble and turn pale whenever I speak to
you, as though I were a cruel tyrant."
"O papa! I cannot help it, when you look and speak so sternly. I
love you so dearly I cannot bear to have you angry with me; but I
am not afraid of you now."
"That is right," he said, caressing her again. "But there is the
tea-bell," he added, setting her down. "Go into the dressing-room
there, and bathe your eyes, and then come to me."
She hastened to do his bidding, and then taking her hand he led
her down and seated her in her usual place by his side.
There were visitors, and all his conversation was addressed to
them and the older members of the family, but he now and then
bestowed a kind look upon his little girl, and attended carefully
to all her wants; and Elsie was very happy.
Everything now went on very pleasantly with our little friend for
some days; she did not see a great deal of her father, as he was
frequently away from home for a day or two, and, when he returned,
generally brought a number of visitors with him; but whenever he
did notice her it was very kindly, and she was gradually
overcoming her fear of him, and constantly hoping that the time
would soon come when he would have more leisure to bestow upon
her. She was happy now, and with a mind at ease, was able to learn
her lessons well; and as her Aunt Adelaide faithfully kept her
promise, and thus freed her from Arthur's annoyances, she was
enabled to do justice to her writing. She took great pains, her
copy-book showed a marked improvement in her penmanship, and its
pages had not yet been defaced by a single blot, so that she was
looking forward with pleasing anticipations to the time when her
report should again be presented to her father.
But, alas! one unfortunate morning it happened that Miss Day was
in a very bad humor indeed--peevish, fretful, irritable, and
unreasonable to the last degree; and, as usual, Elsie was the
principal sufferer from her ill-humor. She found fault with
everything the little girl did; scolded her, shook her, refused to
explain the manner of working out a very difficult example, or to
permit her to apply to any one else for assistance, and then
punished her because it was done wrong; and when the child could
no longer keep back her tears, called her a baby for crying, and a
dunce for not understanding her arithmetic better.
All this Elsie bore meekly and patiently, not answering a word;
but her meekness seemed only to provoke the governess the more;
and finally, when Elsie came to recite her last lesson, she took
pains to put her questions in the most perplexing form, and
scarcely allowing the child an instant to begin her reply,
answered them herself; then, throwing down the book, scolded her
vehemently for her bad lesson, and marked it in her report as a
complete failure.
Poor Elsie could bear no more, but bursting into tears and sobs,
said: "Miss Day, I _did_ know my lesson, every word of it, if
you had asked the questions as usual, or had given me time to
answer."
"_I_ say that you did _not_ know it; that it was a
complete failure," replied Miss Day, angrily; "and you shall just
sit down and learn it, every word, over."
"I _do_ know it, if you will hear me right," said Elsie,
indignantly, "and it is very unjust in you to mark it a failure."
"Impudence!" exclaimed Miss Day, furiously; "how _dare_ you
contradict me? I shall take you to your father."
And seizing her by the arm, she dragged her across the room, and
opening the door, pushed her into the passage.
"Oh! don't, Miss Day," pleaded the little girl, turning toward
her, pale and tearful, "don't tell papa."
"I will! so just walk along with you," was the angry rejoinder, as
she pushed her before her to Mr. Dinsmore's door. It stood open,
and he sat at his desk, writing.
"What is the matter?" he asked, looking up as they appeared before
the door.
"Elsie has been very impertinent, sir," said Miss Day; "she not
only accused me of injustice, but contradicted me flatly."
"Is it _possible!_" said he, frowning angrily. "Come here to
me, Elsie, and tell me, is it _true_ that you contradicted
your teacher?"
"Yes, papa," sobbed the child.
"Very well, then, I shall certainly punish you, for I will never
allow anything of the kind."
As he spoke he picked up a small ruler that lay before him, at the
same time taking Elsie's hand as though he meant to use it on her.
"O papa!" she cried, in a tone of agonized entreaty.
But he laid it down again, saying: "No, I shall punish you by
depriving you of your play this afternoon, and giving you only
bread and water for your dinner. Sit down there," he added,
pointing to a stool. Then, with a wave of his hand to the
governess, "I think she will not be guilty of the like again, Miss
Day."
The governess left the room, and Elsie sat down on her stool,
crying and sobbing violently, while her father went on with his
writing.
"Elsie," he said, presently, "cease that noise; I have had quite
enough of it."
She struggled to suppress her sobs, but it was almost impossible,
and she felt it a great relief when a moment later the dinner-bell
rang, and her father left the room.
In a few moments a servant came in, carrying on a small waiter a
tumbler of water, and a plate with a slice of bread on it.
"Dis am _drefful_ poor fare, Miss Elsie," he said, setting it
down beside her, "but Massa Horace he say it all you can hab; but
if you say so, dis chile tell ole Phoebe to send up somethin'
better fore Massa Horace gits through his dinner."
"Oh! no, thank you, Pompey; you're very kind, but I would not
disobey or deceive papa," replied the little girl, earnestly; "and
I am not at all hungry."
He lingered a moment, seeming loath to leave her to dine upon such
fare.
"You had better go now, Pompey," she said gently; "I am afraid you
will be wanted."
He turned and left the room, muttering something about
"disagreeable, good-for-nothing Miss Day!"
Elsie felt no disposition to eat; and when her father returned,
half an hour afterward, the bread and water were still untouched.
"What is the meaning of this?" he asked in a stern, angry tone;
"why have you not eaten what I sent you?"
"I am not hungry, papa," she said humbly.
"Don't tell me that," he replied, "it is nothing but stubbornness;
and I shall not allow you to show such a temper. Take up that
bread this moment and eat it. You shall eat every crumb of the
bread and drink every drop of the water."
She obeyed him instantly, breaking off a bit of bread and putting
it in her mouth, while he stood watching her with an air of stern,
cold determination; but when she attempted to swallow, it seemed
utterly impossible.
"I cannot, papa," she said, "it chokes me."
"You _must_," he replied; "I am going to be obeyed. Take a
drink of water, and that will wash it down."
It was a hard task, but seeing that there was no escape, she
struggled to obey, and at length every crumb of bread and drop of
water had disappeared.
"Now, Elsie," said her father, in a tone of great severity, "never
_dare_ to show me such a temper as this again; you will not
escape so easily next time; remember I am to be obeyed _always_;
and when I send you anything to eat, _you are to eat it_."
It had not been temper at all, and his unjust severity almost
broke her heart; but she could not say one word in her own
defence.
He looked at her a moment as she sat there trembling and weeping;
then saying, "I forbid you to leave this room without my
permission; don't venture to disobey me, Elsie; sit where you are
until I return," he turned to go.
"Papa," she asked, pleadingly, "may I have my books, to learn my
lessons for to-morrow."
"Certainly," he said; "I will send a servant with them."
"And my Bible too, please, papa."
"Yes, yes," he answered impatiently, as he went out and shut the
door.
Jim was just bringing up Elsie's horse, as Mr. Dinsmore passed
through the hall, and he stepped out to order it back to the
stable, saying that Miss Elsie was not going to ride.
"What is the trouble with Elsie?" asked his sister Adelaide, as he
returned to the drawing-room and seated himself beside her.
"She has been impertinent to her governess, and I have confined
her to my room for the rest of the day," he replied, rather
shortly.
"Are you _sure_, Horace, that Elsie was so much to blame?"
asked his sister, speaking in a tone too low to reach any ear but
his. "I am certain, from what Lora tells me, that Miss Day is
often cruelly unjust to her; more so than to any other of her
pupils."
He looked at her with a good deal of surprise.
"Are you not mistaken?" he asked.
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