Books: Elsie Dinsmore
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Martha Finley >> Elsie Dinsmore
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"She is not, however, as it happens, though I can tell you that
even _she_ could not save you now," replied his brother, as
he opened the bedroom door, and pushing him in, locked it upon
him, and put the key in his pocket.
Mr. Horace Dinsmore had almost unbounded influence over his
father, who was very proud of him; the old gentleman also utterly
despised everything mean and underhanded, and upon being made
acquainted by Horace with Arthur's misdemeanors he inflicted upon
him as severe a punishment as any one could have desired.
CHAPTER NINTH
"Keep the Sabbath day to sanctify it, as the Lord thy God
hath commanded thee."
--_Deut._ v. 12.
"She is mine own;
And I as rich in having such a jewel
As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl,
The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold."
--SHAKESPEARE, _Two Gentlemen of Verona._
And now happy days had come to the little Elsie. Her father
treated her with the tenderest affection, and kept her with him
almost constantly, seeming scarcely willing to have her out of his
sight for an hour. He took her with him wherever he went in his
rides and walks and visits to the neighboring planters.
She was much admired for her beauty and sweetness of disposition,
much caressed and flattered, but, through it all, lost none of her
native modesty, but was ever the same meek, gentle little girl.
She felt grateful for all the kindness she received, and liked to
visit with her papa; but her happiest days were spent at home on
those rare occasions when they were free from visitors, and she
could sit for hours on his knee, or by his side, talking or
reading to him, or working at her embroidery, or knitting and
listening while he read. He helped her with all her studies,
taught her something of botany and geology in their walks, helped
her to see and correct the faults of her drawings, sang with her
when she played, bought her quantities of new music, and engaged
the best masters to instruct her--in short, took a lively interest
in all her pursuits and pleasures, gave her every indulgence, and
lavished upon her the tenderest caresses. He was very proud of her
beauty, her sweetness, her intelligence, and talent; and nothing
pleased him better than to hear them spoken of by others in terms
of praise.
And Elsie was very happy; the soft eyes grew bright with
happiness, and the little face lost its pensive expression, and
became as round, rosy and merry as Enna's.
Miss Day went North, expecting to be absent several months, and
Elsie's papa took her traveling, spending some time at different
watering-places. It was her first journey since she had been old
enough to care for such things, and she enjoyed it exceedingly.
They left home in July, and did not return until September, so
that the little girl had time to rest and recruit, both mentally
and physically, and was ready to begin her studies again with zeal
and energy; yet it was so pleasant to be her papa's constant
companion, and she had so enjoyed her freedom from the restraints
of the school-room, that she was not at all sorry to learn, on
their arrival at Roselands, that the governess would still be
absent for some weeks.
"How bright and happy the child looks!" was Adelaide's remark on
the day of their return, as, from the opposite side of the room,
she watched the speaking countenance of the little girl, who was
giving Enna and the boys an animated description of her journey.
"Yes," said Lora, "and how entirely she seems to have overcome her
fear of her father!" for at that instant Elsie suddenly left the
little group, and running to him, leaned confidingly on his knee,
while apparently urging some request, which he answered with a
smile and a nod of acquiescence; when she left the room, and
presently returned carrying a richly bound book of engravings.
Yes, Elsie had lost her fear of her father, and could now talk to
him, and tell him her feelings and wishes, as freely as ever Enna
did; and no wonder, for in all these weeks he had never given her
one harsh word or look; but indeed he had had no occasion to do
so, for she was always docile and obedient.
It was Sabbath afternoon--the first Sabbath after their return--
and Elsie was in her own room alone with the books she loved best
--her Bible, hymnbook, and "Pilgrim's Progress."
She had spent a very happy hour in self-examination, reading and
prayer, and was singing to herself in a low tone her favorite
hymn,
"I lay my sins on Jesus,"
while turning over the leaves of her Bible to find the story of
Elijah, which she had promised to read to Chloe that afternoon,
when a child's footsteps were heard coming down the hall, the
handle of the door was turned hastily, and then, as it refused to
yield, Enna's voice called out in a fretful, imperious tone, "Open
this door, Elsie Dinsmore. I want in, I say."
Elsie sighed, as she thought, "There is an end to my nice
afternoon," but she rose at once, and quickly crossing the room,
opened the door, asking pleasantly, "What do you want, Enna?"
"I _told_ you I wanted to come _in_," replied Enna,
saucily, "and now you've got to tell me a story to amuse me; mamma
says so, because you know I've got a cold, and she won't let me go
out."
"Well, Enna," said Elsie, patiently, "I am going to read a very
beautiful story to mammy, and you are quite welcome to sit here
and listen."
"I sha'n't have it read! I said you were to _tell_ it. I
don't like to hear reading," replied Enna in her imperious way, at
the same time taking quiet possession of Elsie's little rosewood
rocking-chair--a late present from her papa, and highly prized by
the little girl on that account--and beginning to scratch with her
thumb nail upon the arm.
"Oh! don't scratch my pretty new chair, Enna!" Elsie entreated;
"it is papa's present, and I wouldn't have it spoiled for a great
deal."
"I will; who cares for your old chair?" was the reply in a
scornful tone, as she gave another and harder dig with her nail.
"You're a little old maid--so particular with all your things--
that's what mamma says you are. Now tell me that story."
"I will tell you a story if you will stop scratching my chair,
Enna," said Elsie, almost with tears in her eyes, "I will tell you
about Elijah on Mount Carmel or Beishazzar's feast, or the
children in the fiery furnace, or----"
"I sha'n't hear any of those! I don't want any of your old Bible
stories," interrupted Enna, insolently, "You must tell me that
pretty fairy tale Herbert Carrington is so fond of."
"No, Enna; I cannot tell you that _to-day_," replied Elsie,
speaking gently, but very firmly.
"I say you _shall!_" screamed Enna, springing to her feet.
"I'll just go and tell mamma, and she'll make you do it."
"Stay, Enna," said Elsie, catching her hand to detain her; "I will
tell you any story I know that is suitable for the Sabbath; but I
cannot tell the fairy tale to-day, because you know it would be
wrong. I will tell it to you to-morrow, though, if you will wait."
"You're a _bad_ girl, and I'll just tell mamma of you,"
exclaimed Enna, passionately, jerking her hand away and darting
from the room.
"Oh! if papa was only at home," sighed Elsie, sinking into her
rocking-chair, pale and trembling; but she knew that he had gone
out riding, and would probably not return for some time; he had
invited her to accompany him, but she had begged to be allowed to
stay at home, and he had let her have her wish.
As she feared, she was immediately summoned to Mrs. Dinsmore's
presence.
"Elsie," said that lady, severely, "are you not ashamed of
yourself, to refuse Enna such a small favor especially when the
poor child is not well. I must say you are the most selfish,
disobliging child I ever saw."
"I offered to tell her a Bible story, or anything suitable for the
Sabbath day," replied Elsie, meekly, "but I cannot tell the fairy
tale, because it would be wrong."
"Nonsense! there's no harm at all in telling fairy tales to-day,
any more than any other day; that is just an excuse, Elsie," said
Mrs. Dinsmore, angrily.
"I don't want her old Bible stories. I won't have them. I want
that pretty fairy tale," sobbed Enna passionately; "_make_
her tell it, mamma."
"Come, come, what is all this fuss about?" asked the elder Mr.
Dinsmore, coming in from an adjoining room.
"Nothing," said his wife, "except that Enna is not well enough to
go out, and wants a fairy story to pass away the time, which Elsie
alone is acquainted with, but is too lazy or too self-willed to
relate."
He turned angrily to his little granddaughter.
"Ah! indeed, is that it? Well, there is an old saying. 'A bird
that _can_ sing, and _won't_ sing, must be _made_ to sing.'"
Elsie was opening her lips to speak, but Mrs. Dinsmore bade her be
silent, and then went on. "She pretends it is all on account of
conscientious scruples. 'It isn't fit for the Sabbath,' she says.
Now _I_ say it is a great piece of impertinence for a child
of her years to set up her opinion against yours and mine; and I
know very well it is nothing but an excuse, because she doesn't
choose to be obliging."
"Of _course_ it is; nothing in the _world_ but an
excuse," responded Mr. Dinsmore, hotly.
Elsie's face flushed, and she answered a little indignantly,
"No, grandpa, indeed it is _not_ merely an excuse, but--"
"Do you _dare_ to contradict me, you impertinent little
hussy?" cried the old gentleman, interrupting her in the middle of
her sentence; and catching her by the arm, he shook her violently;
then picking her up and setting her down hard upon a chair, he
said, "Now, miss, sit you there until your father comes home, then
we will see what _he_ thinks of such impertinence; and if he
doesn't give you the complete whipping you deserve, I miss my
guess."
"Please, grandpa, I--"
"Hold your tongue! don't dare to speak another word until your
father comes home," said he, threateningly. "If you don't choose
to say what you're wanted to, you shall not talk at all."
Then, going to the door, he called a servant and bade him tell
"Mr. Horace," as soon as he returned, that he wished to see him.
For the next half-hour--and a very long one it seemed to her--
Elsie sat there wishing for, and yet dreading her father's coming.
Would he inflict upon her the punishment which her grandfather
evidently wished her to receive, without pausing to inquire into
the merits of the case? or would he listen patiently to _her_
story? And even if he did, might he not still think her deserving
of punishment? She could not answer these questions to her own
satisfaction. A few months ago she would have been certain of a
very severe chastisement, and even now she trembled with fear; for
though she knew beyond a doubt that he loved her dearly, she knew
also that he was a strict and severe disciplinarian, and never
excused her faults.
At last her ear caught the sound of his step in the hall, and her
heart beat fast and faster as it drew nearer, until he entered,
and addressing his father, asked, "Did you wish to see me, sir?"
"Yes, Horace, I want you to attend to this girl," replied the old
gentleman, with a motion of the head toward Elsie. "She has been
very impertinent to me."
"What! _Elsie_ impertinent! is it possible? I certainly
expected better things of her."
His tone expressed great surprise, and turning to his little
daughter, he regarded her with a grave, sad look that brought the
tears to her eyes; dearly as she loved him, it seemed almost
harder to bear than the old expression of stern severity.
"It is hard to believe," he said, "that my little Elsie would be
guilty of such conduct; but if she has been, of course she must be
punished, for I cannot allow anything of the kind. Go. Elsie, to
my dressing-room and remain there until I come to you."
"Papa--" she began, bursting into tears.
"Hush!" he said, with something of the old sternness; "not a word;
but obey me instantly."
Then, as Elsie went sobbing from the room, he seated himself, and
turning to his father, said, "Now, sir, if you please, I should
like to hear the whole story; precisely what Elsie has done and
said, and what was the provocation; for _that_ must also be
taken into the account, in order that I may be able to do her
justice."
"If you do her _justice_, you will whip her well," remarked
his father in a tone of asperity.
Horace colored violently, for nothing aroused his ire sooner than
any interference between him and his child; but controlling
himself, he replied quite calmly, "If I find her deserving of
punishment, I will not spare her; but I should be sorry indeed to
punish her unjustly. Will you be so good as to tell me what she
has done?"
Mr. Dinsmore referred him to his wife for the commencement of the
trouble, and she made out as bad a case against Elsie as possible;
but even then there seemed to her father to be very little to
condemn; and when Mrs. Dinsmore was obliged to acknowledge that it
was Elsie's refusal to humor Enna in her desire for a particular
story which Elsie thought it not best to relate on the Sabbath, he
bit his lip with vexation, and told her in a haughty tone, that
though he did not approve of Elsie's strict notions regarding such
matters, yet he wished her to understand that _his_ daughter
was not to be made a slave to Enna's whims. If she _chose_ to
tell her a story, or to do anything else for her amusement, he had
no objection, but she was never to be _forced_ to do it against
her inclination, and Enna must understand that it was done as a favor,
and not at all as her right.
"You are right enough there, Horace," remarked his father, "but
that does not excuse Elsie for her impertinence to me. In the
first place, I must say I agree with my wife in thinking it quite
a piece of impertinence for a child of her years to set up her
opinion against mine; and besides, she contradicted me flatly."
He then went on to repeat what he had said, and Elsie's denial of
the charge, using her exact words, but quite a different tone, and
suppressing the fact that he had interrupted her before she had
finished her sentence.
Elsie's tone, though slightly indignant, had still been
respectful, but from her grandfather's rehearsal of the scene her
father received the impression that she had been exceedingly
saucy, and he left the room with the intention of giving her
almost as severe a punishment as her grandfather would have
prescribed.
On the way up to his room, however, his anger had a little time to
cool, and it occurred to him that it would be no more than just to
hear _her_ side of the story ere he condemned her.
Elsie was seated on a couch at the far side of the room, and as he
entered she turned on him a tearful, pleading look, that went
straight to his heart.
His face was grave and sad, but there was very little sternness in
it, as he sat down and took her in his arms.
For a moment he held her without speaking, while she lifted her
eyes timidly to his face. Then he said, as he gently stroked the
hair back from her forehead, "I am very sorry, _very sorry
indeed_, to hear so bad an account of my little daughter. I am
afraid I shall have to punish her, and I don't like to do it."
She answered not a word, but burst into tears, and hiding her face
on his breast, sobbed aloud.
"I will not condemn you unheard, Elsie," he said after a moment's
pause; "tell me how you came to be so impertinent to your
grandfather."
"I did not mean to be saucy, papa, indeed I did not," she sobbed.
"Stop crying then, daughter," he said kindly, "and tell me all
about it. I know there was some trouble between you and Enna, and
I want you to tell me all that occurred, and every word spoken by
either of you, as well as all that passed between Mrs. Dinsmore,
your grandfather, and yourself. I am very glad that I can trust my
little girl to speak the truth. I am quite sure she would not tell
a falsehood even to save herself from punishment," he added
tenderly.
"Thank you, dear papa, for saying that," said Elsie, raising her
head and almost smiling through her tears. "I will _try_ to
tell it just as it happened."
She then told her story simply and truthfully, repeating, as he
bade her, every word that had passed between Enna and herself, and
between her and her grandparents. Her words to her grandfather
sounded very different, repeated in her quiet, respectful tones;
and when she added that if he would have allowed her, she was
going on to explain that it was not any unwillingness to oblige
Enna, but the fear of doing wrong, that led her to refuse her
request, her father thought that after all she deserved very
little blame.
"Do you think I was very saucy, papa?" she asked anxiously, when
she had finished her story.
"So much depends upon the tone, Elsie," he said, "that I can
hardly tell; if you used the same tone in speaking to your grandpa
that you did in repeating your words to me just now, I don't think
it was _very_ impertinent; though the words themselves were
not as respectful as they ought to have been. You must always
treat my father quite as respectfully as you do me; and I think
with him, too, that there is something quite impertinent in a
little girl like you setting up her opinion against that of her
elders. You must never try it with me, my daughter."
Elsie hung down her head in silence for a moment, then asked in a
tremulous tone, "Are you going to punish me, papa?"
"Yes," he said, "but first I am going to take you down-stairs and
make you beg your grandfather's pardon. I see you don't want to do
it," he added, looking keenly into her face, "but you _must_,
and I hope I shall not be obliged to _enforce_ obedience to
my commands."
"I will do whatever you bid me, papa," she sobbed, "but I did not
mean to be saucy. Please, papa, tell me what to say."
"You must say, Grandpa, I did not intend to be impertinent to you,
and I am very sorry for whatever may have seemed saucy in my words
or tones; will you please to forgive me, and I will try always to
be perfectly respectful in future. You can say all that with
truth, I think?"
"Yes, papa, I _am_ sorry, and I _do_ intend to be
respectful to grandpa always," she answered, brushing away her
tears, and putting her hand in his.
He then led her into her grandfather's presence, saying: "Elsie
has come to beg your pardon, sir."
"That is as it should be," replied the old gentleman, glancing
triumphantly at his wife; "I told her you would not uphold her in
any such impertinence."
"No," said his son, with some displeasure in his tone; "I will
neither uphold her in wrongdoing, nor suffer her to be imposed
upon. Speak, my daughter, and say what I bade you."
Elsie sobbed out the required words.
"Yes, I must forgive you, of course," replied her grandfather,
coldly, "but I hope your father is not going to let you off
without proper punishment."
"I will attend to that; I certainly intend to punish her _as she
deserves_" said his son, laying a marked emphasis upon the
concluding words of his sentence.
Elsie wholly misunderstood him, and so trembled with fear as he
led her from the room, that she could scarcely walk; seeing which,
he took her in his arms and carried her up-stairs, she sobbing on
his shoulder.
He did not speak until he had locked the door, carried her across
the room, and seated himself upon the couch again, with her upon
his knee.
Then he said, in a soothing tone, as he wiped away her tears and
kissed her kindly, "You need not tremble so, my daughter; I am not
going to be severe with you."
She looked up in glad surprise.
"I said I would punish you as you _deserve_," he said, with a
smile, "and I intend to keep you shut up here with me until bed-
time, I shall not allow you to go down-stairs to tea, and besides,
I am going to give you a long lesson to learn, which I shall
require you to recite to me quite perfectly before you can go to
bed."
Elsie grew frightened again at the mention of the lesson, for she
feared it might be something which she could not conscientiously
study on the Sabbath; but all her fear and trouble vanished as she
saw her father take up a Bible that lay on the table, and turn
over the leaves as though selecting a passage.
Presently he put it into her hands, and pointing to the thirteenth
and fourteenth chapters of John's Gospel, bade her carry the book
to a low seat by the window, and sit there until she had learned
them perfectly.
"O papa! what a nice lesson!" she exclaimed, looking up
delightedly into his face; "but it won't be any punishment,
because I love these chapters dearly, and have read them so often
that I almost know every word already."
"Hush, hush!" he said, pretending to be very stern; "don't tell me
that my punishments are _no_ punishments, I don't allow you
to talk so; just take the book and learn what I bid you; and if
you know those two already, you may learn the next."
Elsie laughed, kissed his hand, and tripped away to her window,
while he threw himself down on the couch and took up a newspaper,
more as a screen to his face, however, than for the purpose of
reading; for he lay there closely watching his little daughter, as
she sat in the rich glow of the sunset, with her sweet, grave
little face bending over the holy book.
"The darling!" he murmured to himself; "she is lovely as an angel, and
she is _mine_, mine only, mine own precious one; and loves me with
her whole soul. Ah! how can I ever find it in my heart to be stern to her?
Ah! if _I_ were but _half_ as good and pure as she is, I should be
a better man than I am." And he heaved a deep sigh.
Half an hour had passed, and still Elsie bent over her book. The
tea-bell rang, and Mr. Dinsmore started up, and crossing the room,
bent down and stroked her hair.
"Do you know it, darling?" he asked.
"Almost, papa," and she looked up into his face with a bright,
sweet smile, full of affection.
With a sudden impulse he caught her in his arms, and kissing her
again and again, said with emotion, "Elsie, my darling, I love you
_too_ well; I could never bear to lose you."
"You must love Jesus better, my own precious papa," she replied,
clasping her little arms around his neck, and returning his
caresses.
He held her a moment, and then putting her down, said, "I shall
send you up some supper, and I want you to eat it; don't behave as
you did about the bread and water once, a good while ago."
"Will it be bread and water this time, papa?" she asked, with a
smile.
"You will see," he said, laughingly, and quitted the room.
Elsie turned to her book again, but in a few moments was
interrupted by the entrance of a servant carrying on a silver
waiter a plate of hot, buttered muffins, a cup of jelly, another
of hot coffee, and a piece of broiled chicken. Elsie was all
astonishment.
"Why, Pomp," she asked, "did papa send it?"
"Yes, Miss Elsie, 'deed he did," replied the servant, with a grin
of satisfaction, as he set down his burden. "I reckon you been
berry nice gal dis day; or else Marster Horace tink you little bit
sick."
"Papa is very good; and I am much obliged to you too, Pomp," said
the little girl, laying aside her book, and seating herself before
the waiter.
"Jes ring de bell, Miss Elsie, ef you want more, and dis chile
fotch 'em up; Marster Horace say so hisself." And the grinning
negro bowed himself out, chuckling with delight, for Elsie had
always been a great favorite with him.
"Dear papa," Elsie said, when he came in again and smilingly asked
if she had eaten her prison fare, "what a good supper you sent me!
But I thought you didn't allow me such things!"
"Don't you know," said he playfully, laying his hand upon her
head, "that I am absolute monarch of this small kingdom, and you
are not to question my doings or decrees?"
Then in a more serious tone, "No, daughter, I do not allow it as a
regular thing, because I do not think it for your good; but for
once, I thought it would not hurt you. I know you are not one to
presume upon favors, and I wanted to indulge you a little, because
I fear my little girl has been made to suffer perhaps more than
she quite deserved this afternoon."
His voice had a very tender tone as he uttered the concluding
words, and stooping, he pressed his lips to her forehead.
"Don't think, though," he added the next moment, "that I am
excusing you for impertinence, not at all; but it was what you
have had to suffer from Enna's insolence. I shall put a stop to
that, for I will not have it."
"I don't mind it much, papa," said Elsie gently, "I am quite used
to it, for Enna has always treated me so."
"And why did _I_ never hear of it before?" he asked, half
angrily. "It is abominable! not to be endured!" he exclaimed, "and
I shall see that Miss Enna is made to understand that _my_
daughter is fully her equal in every respect, and always to be
treated as such."
He paused; but, Elsie, half frightened at his vehemence, made no reply;
and he went on: "I have no doubt your grandfather and his wife would have
been better pleased had I forced you to yield to Enna's whim; but I had
no idea of such a thing; you shall use your own pleasure whenever she
is concerned; but: if _I_ had bidden you to tell her that
story it would have been a very different matter; you need never
set up your will, or your opinion of right and wrong, against mine,
Elsie, for I shall not allow it. I don't altogether like some of those
strict notions you have got into your head, and I give you fair warning,
that should they ever come into collision with _my_ wishes and
commands, they will have to be given up. But don't look so alarmed,
daughter; I hope it may never happen; and we will say no more about
it to-night," he added, kindly, for she had grown very pale and
trembled visibly.
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