Books: Elsie Dinsmore
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Martha Finley >> Elsie Dinsmore
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"O papa, dear papa! don't ever bid me do anything wrong; it would
break my heart," she said, laying her head on his shoulder as he
sat down and drew her to his side.
"I never intend to bid you do wrong, but, on the contrary, wish
you always to do right. But then, daughter, _I_ must be the
judge of what is wrong or right for you; you must remember that
you are only a very little girl, and not yet capable of judging
for yourself, and all you have to do is to obey your father
without murmuring or hesitation, and then there will be no
trouble."
His tone, though mild, and not unkind, was very firm and decided,
and Elsie's heart sank; she seemed to feel herself in the shadow
of some great trouble laid up in store for her in the future. But
she strove, and ere long with success, to banish the foreboding of
evil which oppressed her, and give herself up to the enjoyment of
present blessings. Her father loved her dearly--she knew that--and
he was not _now_ requiring her to do aught against her conscience,
and perhaps he never might; he had said so himself, and God could incline
his heart to respect her scruples; or if, in His infinite wisdom, He saw
that the dreaded trial was needed, He would give her strength to bear it;
for had He not promised, "As thy day, so shall thy strength be"?
Her father's arm was around her, and she had been standing
silently, with her face hidden on his shoulder, while these
thoughts were passing through her mind, and the little heart going
up in prayer to God for him and for herself.
"What is my little girl thinking of?" he asked presently.
"A good many things, papa," she said, raising her face, now quite
peaceful and happy again. "I was thinking of what you had just
been saying to me, and that I am so glad I know that you love me
dearly; and I was asking God to help us both to do His will, and
that I might always be able to do what you bid me, without
disobeying Him," she added simply; and then asked, "May I say my
lesson now, papa? I think I know it quite perfectly."
"Yes," he said, in an absent way; "bring me the book."
Elsie brought it, and putting it into his hands, drew up a stool
and sat down at his feet, resting her arm on his knee, and looking
up into his face; then in her sweet, low voice, she repeated
slowly and feelingly, with true and beautiful emphasis, the
chapters he had given her to learn; that most touching description
of the Last Supper, and our Saviour's farewell address to His
sorrowing disciples.
"Ah! papa, is it not beautiful?" she exclaimed, laying her head
upon his knee, while the tears trembled in her eyes. "Is not that
a sweet verse, 'Having loved His own which were in the world, He
loved them unto the end'? It seems so strange that He could be so
thoughtful for them, so kind and loving, when all the time He knew
what a dreadful death He was just going to die; and knew besides
that they were all going to run away and leave Him alone with His
cruel enemies. Oh! it is so sweet to know that Jesus is so loving,
and that He loves me, and will always love me, even to the end,
_forever_."
"How do you know that, Elsie?" he asked.
"I know that He loves me, papa, because I love Him, and He has
said, 'I love them that love me;' and I know that He will love me
always, because He has said, 'I have loved thee with an
_everlasting_ love,' and in another place, 'I will never
leave thee, nor forsake thee.'"
"But do you think you are good enough, daughter, for Jesus to love
you?"
"Ah! papa, I know I am not at all good. I have a very wicked
heart, and often my thoughts and feelings are all wrong, and Jesus
knows all about it, but it does not keep Him from loving me, for
you know it was _sinners_ He died to save. Ah! papa, how _good_
and _kind_ He was! Who could help loving Him? I used to feel
_so_ lonely and sad sometimes, papa, that I think my heart would
have broken quite, and I should have died, if I had not had Jesus to love
me."
"When were you so sad and lonely, darling?" he asked in a moved
tone, as he laid his hand gently on her head, and stroked her hair
caressingly.
"Sometimes when you were away, papa, and I had never seen you; but
then I used to think of you, and my heart would long and
_ache_ so to see you, and hear you call me daughter, and to
lay my head against your breast and feel your arms folding me
close to your heart, as you do so often now."
She paused a moment, and struggled hard to keep down the rising
sobs, as she added, "But when you came, papa, and I saw you did
not love me, oh! papa, that was the worst. I thought I could
never, _never_ bear it. I thought my heart would break, and I
wanted to die and go to Jesus, and to mamma."
The little frame shook with sobs.
"My poor darling! my poor little pet!" he said, taking her in his
arms again, and caressing her with the greatest tenderness, "it
was very hard, very cruel. I don't know how I could steel my heart
so against my own little child; but I had been very much
prejudiced, and led to suppose that you looked upon me with fear
and dislike, as a hated tyrant."
Elsie lifted her eyes to his face with a look of extreme surprise.
"O papa!" she exclaimed, "how _could_ you think that? I have
always loved you, ever since I can remember."
When Elsie went to her room that evening she thought very
seriously of all that had occurred during the afternoon, and all
that her papa had said to her; and to her usual petitions was
added a very fervent one that he might never bid her break any
command of God; or if he did, that she might have strength given
her according to her day.
A shadow had fallen on her pathway, faint, but perceptible; a
light, fleecy cloud obscured the brightness of her sun; yet it was
not for some weeks that even the most distant mutterings of the
coming storm could be heard.
CHAPTER TENTH
"If thou turn away thy foot from the Sabbath, from doing
thy pleasure on my holy day, and call the Sabbath a Delight,
the Holy of the Lord, Honorable, and shalt honor him, not
doing thine own ways, nor finding thine own pleasure, nor
speaking thine own words."
--_Isaiah_ Iviii. 13.
"Whether it be right in the sight of God to hearken unto
you, more than unto God, judge ye."
--_Acts_ iv. 19.
Quite a number of guests had dined at Roselands. They were nearly
all gentlemen, and were now collected in the drawing-room,
laughing, jesting, talking politics, and conversing with each
other and the ladies upon various worldly topics, apparently quite
forgetful that it was the Lord's day, which He has commanded to be
kept holy in thought and word, as well as deed.
"May I ask what you are in search of, Mr. Eversham?" inquired
Adelaide, as she noticed one of the guests glance around the room
with a rather disappointed air.
"Yes, Miss Adelaide; I was looking for little Miss Elsie. Travilla
has given me so very glowing an account of her precocious musical
talent, that I have conceived a great desire to hear her play and
sing."
"Do you hear that, Horace?" asked Adelaide, turning to her
brother.
"Yes, and I shall be most happy to gratify you, Eversham," replied
the young father, with a proud smile.
He crossed the room to summon a servant, but as he placed his hand
upon the bell-rope, Mrs. Dinsmore arrested his movement.
"Stay, Horace," she said; "you had better not send for her."
"May I be permitted to ask _why_, madam?" he inquired in a
tone of mingled surprise and annoyance.
"Because she will not sing," answered the lady, coolly.
"Pardon me, madam, but I think she will, if _I bid_ her to do
it," he said with flashing eyes.
"No, she will not," persisted Mrs. Dinsmore, in the same cold,
quiet tone; "she will tell you she is wiser than her father, and
that it would be a sin to obey him in this. Believe me, she will
most assuredly defy your authority; so you had better take my
advice and let her alone--thus sparing yourself the mortification
of exhibiting before your guests your inability to govern your
child."
Mr. Dinsmore bit his lip with vexation.
"Thank you," he said, haughtily, "but I prefer convincing you that
that inability lies wholly in your own imagination; and I am quite
at a loss to understand upon what you found your opinion, as Elsie
has never yet made the very slightest resistance to my authority."
He had given the bell-rope a vigorous pull while speaking, and a
servant now appearing in answer to the summons, he sent him with a
message to Elsie, requiring her presence in the drawing-room.
Then turning away from his step-mother, who looked after him with
a gleam of triumph in her eye, he joined the group of gentlemen
already gathered about the piano, where Adelaide had just taken
her seat and begun a brilliant overture.
Yet, outwardly calm and self-satisfied as his demeanor may have
been, Horace Dinsmore was even now regretting the step he had just
taken; for remembering Elsie's conscientious scruples regarding
the observance of the Sabbath--which he had for the moment
forgotten--he foresaw that there would be a struggle, probably a
severe one; and though, having always found her docile and
yielding, he felt no doubt of the final result, he would willingly
have avoided the contest, could he have done so without a
sacrifice of pride; but, as he said to himself, with a slight
sigh, he had now gone too far to retreat; and then he had all
along felt that this struggle must come _some_ time, and perhaps it
was as well now as at any other.
Elsie was alone in her own room, spending the Sabbath afternoon in
her usual manner, when the servant came to say that her papa
wished to see her in the drawing-room. The little girl was a good
deal alarmed at the summons, for the thought instantly flashed
upon her, "He is going to bid me play and sing, or do something
else which it is not right to do on the Sabbath day."
But remembering that he never had done so, she hoped he might not
now; yet ere she obeyed the call she knelt down for a moment, and
prayed earnestly for strength to do right, however difficult it
might be.
"Come here, daughter," her father said as she entered the room. He
spoke in his usual pleasant, affectionate tone, yet Elsie started,
trembled, and turned pale; for catching sight of the group at the
piano, and her Aunt Adelaide just vacating the music-stool, she at
once perceived what was in store for her.
"Here, Elsie," said her father, selecting a song which she had
learned during their absence, and sang remarkably well, "I wish
you to sing this for my friends; they are anxious to hear it."
"Will not to-morrow do, papa?" she asked in a low, tremulous tone.
Mrs. Dinsmore, who had drawn near to listen, now looked at Horace
with a meaning smile, which he affected not to see.
"Certainly not, Elsie," he said; "we want it now. You know it
quite well enough without any more practice."
"I did not want to wait for _that_ reason, papa," she replied
in the same low, trembling tones, "but you know this is the holy
Sabbath day."
"Well, my daughter, and what of that? _I_ consider this song
perfectly proper to be sung to-day, and that ought to satisfy you
that you will not be doing wrong to sing it; remember what I said
to you some weeks ago; and now sit down and sing it at once,
without any more ado."
"O papa! I _cannot_ sing it to-day; _please_ let me wait
until to-morrow."
"Elsie," he said in his sternest tones, "sit down to the piano
instantly, and do as I bid you, and let me hear no more of this
nonsense."
She sat down, but raising her pleading eyes, brimful of tears to
his face, she repeated her refusal. "Dear papa, I _cannot_
sing it to-day. I _cannot_ break the Sabbath."
"Elsie, you _must_ sing it," said he, placing the music
before her. "I have told you that it will not be breaking the
Sabbath, and that is sufficient; you must let me judge for you in
these matters."
"Let her wait until to-morrow, Dinsmore; tomorrow will suit us
quite as well," urged several of the gentlemen, while Adelaide
good-naturedly said, "Let me play it, Horace; I have no such
scruples, and presume I can do it nearly as well as Elsie."
"No," he replied, "when I give my child a command, it is to be
obeyed; I have _said_ she should play it, and play it she
_must_; she is not to suppose that she may set up her opinion
of right and wrong against mine."
Elsie sat with her little hands folded in her lap, the tears
streaming from her downcast eyes over her pale cheeks. She was
trembling, but though there was no stubbornness in her countenance,
the expression meek and humble, she made no movement toward obeying
her father's order.
There was a moment of silent waiting; then he said in his severest
tone, "Elsie, you shall sit there till you obey me, though it
should be until to-morrow morning."
"Yes, papa," she replied in a scarcely audible voice, and they all
turned away and left her.
"You see now that you had better have taken my advice, Horace,"
remarked Mrs. Dinsmore, in a triumphant aside; "I knew very well
how it would end."
"Excuse me," said he, "but it has _not_ ended; and ere it
does, I think she will learn that she has a stronger will than her
own to deal with."
Elsie's position was a most uncomfortable one; her seat high and
uneasy, and seeming to grow more and more so as the weary moments
passed slowly away. No one came near her or seemed to notice her,
yet she could hear them conversing in other parts of the room, and
knew that they were sometimes looking at her, and, timid and
bashful as she was, it seemed hard to bear. Then, too, her little
heart was very sad as she thought of her father's displeasure, and
feared that he would withdraw from her the affection which had
been for the last few months the very sunshine of her life.
Besides all this, the excitement of her feelings, and the close
and sultry air--for it was a very warm day--had brought on a
nervous headache. She leaned forward and rested her head against
the instrument, feeling in momentary danger of falling from her
seat.
Thus two long hours had passed when Mr. Travilla came to her side,
and said in a compassionate tone, "I am really very sorry for you,
my little friend; but I advise you to submit to your papa. I see
you are getting very weary sitting there, and I warn you not to
hope to conquer him. I have known him for years, and a more
determined person I never saw. Had you not better sing the song?
it will not take five minutes, and then your trouble will be all
over."
Elsie raised her head, and answered gently, "Thank you for your
sympathy, Mr. Travilla, you are very kind; but I could not do it,
because Jesus says, 'He that loveth father or mother more than me,
is not worthy of me;' and I cannot disobey Him, even to please my
own dear papa."
"But, Miss Elsie, why do you think it would be disobeying Him? Is
there any verse in the Bible which says you must not sing songs on
Sunday?"
"Mr. Travilla, it says the Sabbath is to be kept holy unto the
Lord; that we are not to think our own thoughts, nor speak our own
words, nor do our own actions; but all the day must be spent in
studying God's word, or worshipping and praising Him; and there is
no praise in that song; not one word about God or heaven."
"That is very true, Elsie, but still it is such a _very
little_ thing, that I cannot think there would be much harm in
it, or that God would be very angry with you for doing it."
"O Mr. Travilla!" she said, looking up at him in great surprise,
"surely you know that there is no such thing as a _little
sin_; and don't you remember about the man who picked up sticks
on the Sabbath day?"
"No; what was it?"
"God commanded that he should be stoned to death, and it was done.
Would you not have thought _that_ a very little thing, Mr.
Travilla?"
"Yes, I believe I should," said he, turning away with a very grave
face.
"Dinsmore," he said, going up to his friend; "I am sure that child
is conscientious; had you not better give up to her in this
instance?"
"_Never_, Travilla," he answered, with stern decision. "This
is the first time she has rebelled against my authority, and if I
let her conquer now, she will think she is always to have her own
way. No; cost what it may, I _must_ subdue her; she will have
to learn that my will is law."
"Right, Horace," said the elder Mr. Dinsmore, approvingly, "let
her understand from the first that you are to be master; it is
always the best plan."
"Excuse me, Dinsmore," said Travilla; "but I must say that I think
a parent has no right to coerce a child into doing violence to its
conscience."
"Nonsense!" replied his friend, a little angrily. "Elsie is
entirely too young to set up her opinion against mine; she must
allow me to judge for her in these matters for some years to
come."
Eversham, who had been casting uneasy glances at Elsie all the
afternoon, now drawing his chair near to Adelaide, said to her in
an undertone, "Miss Adelaide, I am deeply sorry for the mischief I
have unwittingly caused, and if you can tell me how to repair it
you will lay me under lasting obligations."
Adelaide shook her head. "There is no moving Horace when he has
once set his foot down," she said; "and as to Elsie, I doubt
whether any power on earth can make her do what she considers
wrong."
"Poor little thing!" said Eversham, sighing; "where in the world
did she get such odd notions?"
"Partly from a pious Scotch woman, who had a good deal to do with
her in her infancy, and partly from studying the Bible, I believe.
She is always at it."
"Indeed!" and he relapsed into thoughtful silence.
Another hour passed slowly away, and then the tea-bell rang.
"Elsie," asked her father, coming to her side, "are you ready to
obey me now? if so, we will wait a moment to hear the song, and
then you can go to your tea with us."
"Dear papa, I cannot break the Sabbath," she replied, in a low,
gentle tone, without lifting her head.
"Very well then, I cannot break my word; you must sit there until
you will submit; and until then you must fast. You are not only
making yourself miserable by your disobedience and obstinacy,
Elsie, but are mortifying and grieving _me_ very much," he
added in a subdued tone, that sent a sharp pang to the loving
little heart, and caused some very bitter tears to fall, as he
turned away and left her.
The evening passed wearily away to the little girl; the drawing-
room was but dimly lighted, for the company had all deserted it to
wander about the grounds, or sit in the portico enjoying the
moonlight and the pleasant evening breeze, and the air indoors
seemed insupportably close and sultry. At times Elsie could
scarcely breathe, and she longed intensely to get out into the
open air; every moment her seat grew more uncomfortable and the
pain in her head more severe: her thoughts began to wander, she
forgot where she was, everything became confused, and at length
she lost all consciousness.
Several gentlemen, among whom were Mr. Horace Dinsmore and Mr.
Travilla, were conversing together on the portico, when they were
suddenly startled by a sound as of something falling.
Travilla, who was nearest the door, rushed into the drawing-room,
followed by the others.
"A light! quick, quick, a light!" he cried, raising Elsie's
insensible form in his arms; "the child has fainted."
One of the others, instantly snatching a lamp from a distant
table, brought it near, and the increased light showed Elsie's
little face, ghastly as that of a corpse, while a stream of blood
was flowing from a wound in the temple, made by striking against
some sharp corner of the furniture as she fell.
She was a pitiable sight indeed, with her fair face, her curls,
and her white dress all dabbled in blood.
"Dinsmore, you're a brute!" exclaimed Travilla indignantly, as he
placed her gently on a sofa.
Horace made no reply, but, with a face almost as pale as her own,
bent over his little daughter in speechless alarm, while one of
the guests, who happened to be a physician, hastily dressed the
wound, and then applied restoratives.
It was some time ere consciousness returned, and the father
trembled with the agonizing fear that the gentle spirit had taken
its flight.
But at length the soft eyes unclosed, and gazing with a troubled
look into his face, bent so anxiously over her, she asked, "Dear
papa, are you angry with me?"
"No, darling," he replied in tones made tremulous with emotion,
"not at all."
"What was it?" she asked in a bewildered way; "what did I do? what
has happened?"
"Never mind, daughter," he said, "you have been ill; but you are
better now, so don't think any more about it."
"She had better be put to bed at once," said the physician.
"There is blood on my dress," cried Elsie, in a startled tone;
"where did it come from?"
"You fell and hurt your head," replied her father, raising her
gently in his arms; "but don't talk any more now."
"Oh! I remember," she moaned, an expression of keen distress
coming over her face; "papa--"
"Hush! hush! not a word more; we will let the past go," he said,
kissing her lips. "I shall carry you to your room now, and see you
put to bed."
He held her on his knee, her head resting on his shoulder, while
Chloe prepared her for rest.
"Are you hungry, daughter?" he asked.
"No, papa; I only want to go to sleep."
"There, Aunt Chloe, that will do," he said, as the old nurse tied
on the child's night-cap; and raising her again in his arms, he
carried her to the bed and was about to place her on it.
"Oh papa! my prayers first, you know," she cried eagerly.
"Never mind them to-night," said he, "you are not able."
"Please let me, dear papa," she pleaded; "I cannot go to sleep
without"
Yielding to her entreaties, he placed her on her knees, and stood
beside her, listening to her murmured petitions, in which he more
than once heard his own name coupled with a request that he might
be made to love Jesus.
When she had finished, he again raised her in his arms, kissed her
tenderly several times, and then laid her carefully on the bed,
saying, as he did so, "Why did you ask, Elsie, that I might love
Jesus?"
"Because, papa, I do so want you to love Him; it would make you so
happy; and besides, you cannot go to heaven without it; the Bible
says so."
"Does it? and what makes you think I don't love Him?"
"Dear papa, please don't be angry," she pleaded, tearfully, "but
you know Jesus says, 'He that keepeth my commandments, he it is
that loveth me.'"
He stooped over her. "Good night, daughter," he said.
"Dear, _dear_ papa," she cried, throwing her arm round his
neck, and drawing down his face close to hers, "I do love you so
very, _very_ much!"
"Better than anybody else?" he asked
"No, papa, I love Jesus best; you next."
He kissed her again, and with a half sigh turned away and left the
room. He was not entirely pleased; not quite willing that she
should love even her Saviour better than himself.
Elsie was very weary, and was soon asleep. She waked the next
morning feeling nearly as well as usual, and after she had had her
bath and been dressed by Chloe's careful hands, the curls being
arranged to conceal the plaster that covered the wound on her
temple, there was nothing in her appearance, except a slight
paleness, to remind her friends of the last night's accident.
She was sitting reading her morning chapter when her father came
in, and taking a seat by her side, lifted her to his knee, saying,
as he caressed her tenderly, "My little daughter is looking pretty
well this morning; how does she feel?"
"Quite well, thank you, papa," she replied, looking up into his
face with a sweet, loving smile.
He raised the curls to look at the wounded temple; then, as he
dropped them again, he said, with a shudder, "Elsie, do you know
that you were very near being killed last night?"
"No, papa, was I?" she asked with an awe-struck countenance.
"Yes, the doctor says if that wound had been made half an inch
nearer your eye--I should have been childless."
His voice trembled almost too much for utterance as he finished
his sentence, and he strained her to his heart with a deep sigh of
thankfulness for her escape.
Elsie was very quiet for some moments, and the little face was
almost sad in its deep thoughtfulness.
"What are you thinking of, darling?" he asked.
She raised her eyes to his face and he saw that they were brimful
of tears.
"O papa!" she said, dropping her head on his breast while the
bright drops fell like rain down her cheeks, "would you have been
so very sorry?"
"Sorry, darling! do you not know that you are more precious to me
than all my wealth, all my friends and relatives put together?
Yes, I would rather part with everything else than lose this one
little girl," he said, kissing her again and again.
"Dear, _dear_ papa! how glad I am that you love me so much!"
she replied; and then relapsed into silence.
He watched her changing countenance for some time, then asked,
"What is it, darling?"
"I was just thinking," she said, "whether I was ready to go to
heaven, and I believe I was; for I know that I love Jesus; and
then I was thinking how glad mamma would have been to see me;
don't you think she would, papa?"
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