Books: Elsie Dinsmore
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Martha Finley >> Elsie Dinsmore
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"I can't spare you to her yet," he replied with emotion, "and I
think she loves me too well to wish it."
As Miss Day had not yet returned, Elsie's time was still pretty
much at her own disposal, excepting when her papa gave her
something to do; so, after breakfast, finding that he was engaged
with some one in the library, she took her Bible, and seeking out
a shady retreat in the garden, sat down to read.
The Bible was ever the book of books to her, and this morning the
solemn, tender feelings naturally caused by the discovery of her
recent narrow escape from sudden death made it even more than
usually touching and beautiful in her eyes. She had been alone in
the arbor for some time, when, hearing a step at her side, she
looked up, showing a face all wet with tears.
It was Mr. Travilla who stood beside her.
"In tears, little Elsie! Pray, what may the book be that effects
you so?" he asked, sitting down by her side and taking it from her
hand. "The Bible, I declare!" he exclaimed in surprise. "What can
there be in it that you find so affecting?"
"O Mr. Travilla!" said the little girl, "does it not make your
heart ache to read how the Jews abused our dear, dear Saviour? and
then to think that it was all because of our sins," she sobbed.
He looked half distressed, half puzzled; it seemed a new idea to
him.
"Really, my little Elsie," he said, "you are quite original in
your ideas, I suppose I _ought_ to feel unhappy about these
things, but indeed the truth is, I have never thought much about
them."
"Then you don't love Jesus," she answered, mournfully. "Ah! Mr.
Travilla, how sorry I am."
"Why, Elsie, what difference can it make to you whether I love Him
or not?"
"Because, Mr. Travilla, the Bible says, 'If any man love not the
Lord Jesus Christ, let him be anathema, maranatha,' accursed from
God. Oh! sir, think how dreadful! You cannot be _saved_ unless you
love Jesus, and believe on Him. 'Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and
thou shalt be saved.' That is what God says in his word."
She spoke with deep solemnity, the tears trembling in her eyes. He
was touched, but for a while sat perfectly silent.
Then he said, with an effort to speak lightly. "Ah, well, my
little friend, I certainly intend to repent and believe before I
die, but there is time enough yet."
"Mr. Travilla," she said, laying her hand on his arm and looking
earnestly into his face, "how do you know that there is time
enough yet? _don't_ put it off, I beg of you."
She paused a moment; then asked, "Do you know, Mr. Travilla, how
near I came to being killed last night?"
He nodded.
"Well, suppose I had been killed, and had not loved Jesus; where
would I be now?"
He put his arm round her, and giving her a kiss, said, "I don't
think you would have been in any very bad place, Elsie; a sweet,
amiable little girl, who has never harmed any one, would surely
not fare very badly in another world."
She shook her head very gravely.
"Ah! Mr. Travilla, you forget the anathema, maranatha; if I had
not loved Jesus, and had my sins washed away in His blood, I could
not have been saved."
Just at this moment a servant came to tell Elsie that her papa
wanted her in the drawing-room, and Mr. Travilla, taking her hand,
led her into the house.
They found the company again grouped about the piano, listening to
Adelaide's music.
Elsie went directly to her father and stood by his side, putting
her hand in his with a gesture of confiding affection.
He smiled down at her, and kept fast hold of it until his sister
had risen from the instrument, when putting Elsie in her place, he
said, "Now, my daughter, let us have that song."
"Yes, papa," she replied, beginning the prelude at once, "I will
do my very best."
And so she did. The song was both well played and well sung, and
her father looked proud and happy as the gentlemen expressed their
pleasure and asked for another and another.
Thus the clouds which had so suddenly obscured little Elsie's sky,
seemed to have vanished as speedily as they had arisen.
Her father again treated her with all his wonted affection, and
there even seemed to be a depth of tenderness in his love which it
had not known before, for he could not forget how nearly he had
lost her.
CHAPTER ELEVENTH
"In that hour Jesus rejoiced in spirit, and said, I thank
thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that thou hast hid
these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed
them unto babes; even so, Father; for so it seemed good in
thy sight."
--_Luke_ x. 21.
Says the Apostle Paul, "I say the truth in Christ, I lie not, my
conscience also bearing me witness in the Holy Ghost, that I have
great heaviness and continual sorrow in my heart, for I could wish
that myself were accursed from Christ, for my brethren, my kinsmen
according to the flesh.... Brethren, my heart's desire and prayer
to God for Israel is, that they might be saved."
And such, dear reader, is, in greater or less degree, the feeling
of every renewed heart; loving Jesus, it would fain have others
love Him too; it desires the salvation of all; but for that of its
own dear ones it longs and labors and prays; it is like Jacob
wrestling with the angel, when he said, "I will not let thee go
except thou bless me."
And thus it was with Elsie. She knew now that her father was not a
Christian; that he had no real love for Jesus, none of the true
fear of God before his eyes. She saw that if he permitted her to
read to him from God's word, as he sometimes did, it was not that
he felt any pleasure in listening, but only to please her; she had
no reason to suppose he ever prayed, and though he went regularly
to church, it was because he considered it proper and respectable
to do so, and not that he cared to worship God, or to learn His
will.
This conviction, which had gradually dawned upon Elsie, until now
it amounted to certainty, caused her great grief; she shed many
tears over it in secret, and very many and very earnest were the
prayers she offered up for her dear father's conversion.
She was sitting on his knee one evening in the drawing-room, while
he and several other gentlemen were conversing on the subject of
religion. They were discussing the question whether or no a change
of heart were necessary to salvation.
The general opinion seemed to be that it was not, and Elsie
listened with pain while her father expressed his decided
conviction that all who led an honest, upright, moral life, and
attended to the outward observances of religion, were quite safe.
"He could see no necessity for a change of heart; he did not
believe in the doctrine of total depravity, not he; no indeed, he
thought the world much better than many people would have us
believe."
Elsie fixed her eyes on his face with a very mournful gaze while
he was speaking, but he was busy with his argument and did not
notice her.
But one of the guests was just expressing his approval of Mr.
Dinsmore's sentiments, when catching sight of Elsie's face, he
stopped, remarking, "Your little girl looks as if she had
something to say on the subject; what is it, my dear?"
Elsie blushed, hesitated, and looked at her father.
"Yes, speak, my daughter, if you have anything to say," he said
encouragingly.
Elsie lifted her eyes timidly to the gentleman's face as she
replied, "I was just thinking, sir, of what our Saviour said to
Nicodemus: 'Verily, verily I say unto thee, except a man be born
again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.' 'Marvel not that I said
unto thee, Ye must be born again.'"
She repeated these words of inspiration with a deep, earnest
solemnity that seemed to impress every hearer.
For a moment there was a deep hush in the room.
Then the gentleman asked, "Well, my little lady, and what is meant
by being born again?"
"O sir!" she replied, "surely you know that it means to have the
image of God, lost in Adam's fall, restored to us; it means what
David asked for when he prayed, 'Create in me a clean heart, O
God, and renew a right spirit within me.'"
"Where did you learn all this?" he asked, looking at her with
mingled surprise and admiration.
"In the Bible, sir," she modestly replied.
"You seem to have read it to some purpose," said he; "and now
since you consider that change so necessary, can you tell me how
it is to be brought about?"
"God's Holy Spirit, alone, can change a sinner's heart, sir."
"And how am I to secure His aid?" he asked.
Elsie answered with a text: "God is more willing to give His Holy
Spirit to them that ask Him, than parents are to give good gifts
unto their children."
He paused a moment; then asked, "Have you obtained this new heart,
Miss Elsie?"
"I hope I have, sir," she replied, the sweet little face all
suffused with blushes, and the soft, downcast eyes filling with
tears.
"Why do you think so?" he asked again, "I think there is a text
that says you must be able always to give a reason for the hope
that is in you, or something to that effect, is there not?"
"Yes, sir: 'Be ready always to give an answer to every man that
asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you, with meekness and
fear.'" Then raising her eyes to his face with a touching mixture
of deep humility and holy boldness, she continued, "And this, sir
is my answer: Jesus says, 'Him that cometh unto me, I will in no
wise cast out;' and I believe Him. I did go to Him, and He did not
cast me out, but forgave my sins, and taught me to love Him and
desire to serve Him all my life."
This conversation between the gentleman and the little girl had
drawn the attention of all present; and now Mrs. Dinsmore, who had
more than once shown signs of impatience, said, "Well, Elsie, I
think you have now talked quite enough for a child of your age."
Then, pulling out her watch, "It is high time for little folks to
be in bed."
Elsie, blushing deeply, would have retired immediately, but her
father held her fast, saying, as he gave his stepmother an angry
glance, "You need not go, Elsie, unless you choose; I am quite
capable of judging when it is time to send you to bed."
"I would rather go, if you please, papa," whispered Elsie, who had
a great dread of Mrs. Dinsmore's anger.
"Very well, then, you may do as you like," he replied, giving her
a good-night kiss. And with a graceful good-night to the company,
the little girl left the room.
Her questioner followed her with an admiring glance, then turning
to her father, exclaimed warmly, "She is a _remarkably_ intelligent
child, Dinsmore! one that any father might be proud of. I was astonished
at her answers."
"Yes," remarked Travilla, "a text has been running in my head ever
since you commenced your conversation; something about these
things being hid from the wise and prudent, and revealed unto
babes. And," he added, "I am sure if ever I saw one who possessed
that new nature of which she spoke, it is she herself. Has she any
faults, Dinsmore?"
"Very few, _I_ think; though she would tell you a different
story," replied her father with a gratified smile.
The next morning Elsie was sitting reading her Bible, when she
suddenly felt a hand laid on her head, and her father's voice
said, "Good morning, little daughter."
"Ah! papa, is that you?" she asked, raising her head to give him a
smile of joyful welcome. "I did not know you were there."
"Ah! I have been watching you for several minutes," he said;
"always poring over the same book, Elsie; do you never tire of
it?"
"No, indeed, papa; it is always new, and I do love it so; it is so
very sweet. May I read a little to you?" she added coaxingly.
"Yes, I love to listen to anything read by my darling," he said,
sitting down and taking her on his knee.
She opened at the third chapter of John's Gospel and read it
through. At the sixteenth verse, "For God so loved the world, that
He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him
should not perish, but have everlasting life," she paused, and
asked, "Was not that a wonderful gift, papa? and wonderful love
that prompted it?"
"Yes," he said, absently stroking her hair.
She finished the chapter, and closing the book, laid her head on
his breast, asking, "Dear papa, don't you believe the Bible?"
"Certainly, daughter; I am not an infidel," he replied in a
careless tone.
"Well, then, papa," she continued, half hesitatingly, "does not
this chapter teach very plainly that we must love Jesus, and have
new hearts, if we want to go to heaven?"
"Yes," he said, "I dare say it does."
Then taking the book from her, he laid it aside, and giving her a
kiss, said, "I was much pleased with your intelligent answers to
Mr. Lee, last evening."
Elsie sighed, and her eyes filled with tears. It was not what she
wanted.
"What an odd child you are!" he said, laughing. "You really look
as though I had been scolding, instead of praising you."
She dropped her head on his breast, and burst into tears and sobs.
"Why, Elsie, my own darling, what ails you?" he asked in great
surprise.
"O papa!" she sobbed, "I want you to love Jesus."
"Oh! is _that_ all?" he said.
And setting her on her feet, he took her by the hand and led her
out into the garden, where they met Mr. Travilla and another
gentleman, who immediately entered into conversation with Mr.
Dinsmore, while Elsie wandered about amongst the flowers and
shrubs, gathering a nosegay for her Aunt Adelaide.
CHAPTER TWELFTH
"She had waited for their coming,
She had kiss'd them o'er and o'er--
And they were so fondly treasured
For the words of love they bore,
Words that whispered in the silence,
She had listened till his tone
Seemed to linger in the echo
'Darling, thou art all mine own!'"
--MRS. J. C. NEAL.
"Pray, what weighty matter is troubling your young brain, birdie?"
asked Adelaide, laughingly laying her hand on Elsie's shoulder.
"Judging from the exceeding gravity of your countenance, one might
imagine that the affairs of the nation had been committed to your
care."
"O auntie! can't you help me? won't you?" answered the little
girl, looking up coaxingly into the bright, cheerful face bent
over her.
"Help you in what? reading with your book upside down, eh?" asked
Adelaide, pointing with a quizzical look at the volume of fairy
tales in her little niece's lap.
"Oh!" cried Elsie, coloring and laughing in her turn, "I was not
reading, and did not know that my book was wrong side up. But,
Aunt Adelaide, you know Christmas is coming soon, and I want to
give papa something, and I am quite puzzled about it. I thought of
slippers, but he has a very handsome pair, and besides there would
hardly be time to work them, as I have so many lessons; a purse
won't do either, because I have given him one already, and I would
like it to be something worth more than either slippers or purse.
But you are so much wiser than I, can't you help me think?"
"So _this_ is what has kept you so quiet and demure all day
that I have scarcely once heard you laugh or sing; quite an
unusual state of things of late," and Adelaide playfully pinched
the round, rosy cheek. "Ahem! let me put on my thinking cap,"
assuming an air of comic gravity. "Ah! yes, I have it! your
miniature, little one, of course; what could please him better?"
"Oh! yes," cried Elsie, clapping her hands, "that will do nicely;
why didn't I think of it? Thank you, auntie. But then," she added,
her countenance falling, "how can I get it taken without his
knowledge? you know the surprise is half the fun."
"Never mind, my dear, I'll find a way to manage that," replied
Adelaide, confidently; "so just run away with you now, and see how
much money you can scrape together to spend on it."
"It won't take long to count it," Elsie said with a merry laugh.
"But here is papa just coming in at the door; I hope he won't
suspect what we have been talking about," and she bounded away to
meet him and claim the kiss he never refused her now.
Once Adelaide would not have been surprised at Elsie's quietness.
Patient and sweet tempered the little girl had always been, but
more especially after her father's return from Europe--very quiet
and timid, seeming to shrink from observation, with a constant
dread of incurring reproof or punishment; but the last few happy
months, during which her father had continued to lavish upon her
every proof of the tenderest affection, had wrought a great change
in her; her manner had lost its timidity, she moved about the
house with a light and joyous step, and it was no unusual thing to
hear her merry, silvery laugh ring out, or her sweet voice
carolling like some wild bird of the wood--the natural outgushings
of her joy and thankfulness; for the little heart that had so long
been famishing for love, that had often grown so weary and sick in
its hungering and thirsting for it, was now fully satisfied, and
revelled in its new-found happiness.
"I have got it all arranged nicely, Elsie," Adelaide said, coming
into the room with a very pleased face as the little girl was
preparing for bed that evening. "Your papa is going away in a day
or two to attend to some business matters connected with your
property, and will be absent at least two weeks; so, unless he
should take it into his head to carry you along, we can easily
manage about the picture."
Elsie looked up with a countenance of blank dismay.
"Why," said Adelaide, laughing, "I thought you'd be delighted with
my news, and instead of that, you look as if I had read you your
death-warrant."
"O Aunt Adelaide! two whole weeks without seeing papa! just think
how long."
"Pooh! nonsense, child! it will be gone before you know it. But
now tell me, how much money have you?"
"I have saved my allowance for two months; that makes twenty
dollars, you know, auntie, and I have a little change besides; do
you think it will be enough?"
"Hardly, I'm afraid; but I can lend you some, if necessary."
"Thank you, auntie," Elsie answered gratefully, "you are very
kind; but I couldn't take it, because papa has told me expressly
that I must never borrow money, nor run into debt in any way."
"Dear me!" exclaimed Adelaide, a little impatiently; "Horace
certainly is the most absurdly strict person I ever met with. But
never mind, I think we can manage it somehow," she added, in a
livelier tone, as she stooped to kiss her little niece good-night.
Elsie's gentle rap was heard very early at her papa's door the
next morning.
He opened it immediately, and springing into his arms, she asked,
almost tearfully, "Are you going away, papa?"
"Yes, darling," he said, caressing her fondly. "I must leave home
for a few weeks; and though I at first thought of taking you with
me, upon further consideration I have decided that it will be
better to leave you here; yet, if you desire it very much, my pet,
I will take you along. Shall I?"
"You know I would always rather be with you than anywhere else,
papa," she answered, laying her head on his shoulder; "but you
know best, and I am quite willing to do whatever you say."
"That is right, daughter; my little Elsie is a good, obedient
child," he said, pressing her closer to him.
"When are you going papa?" she asked, her voice trembling a
little.
"To-morrow, directly after dinner, daughter."
"So soon," she sighed.
"The sooner I leave you the sooner I shall return, you know,
darling," he said, patting her cheek, and smiling kindly on her.
"Yes, papa; but two weeks seems such a long, long time."
He smiled. "At your age I suppose it does, but when you are as old
as I am, you will think it very short. But to make it pass more
quickly, you may write me a little letter every day, and I will
send you one just as often."
"Oh! thank you, papa; that will be so pleasant," she answered,
with a brightening countenance. "I do so love to get letters, and
I would rather have one from you than from anybody else."
"Ah? then I think you ought to be willing to spare me for two
weeks. I have been thinking my little girl might perhaps be glad
of a little extra pocket-money for buying Christmas gifts," he
said, taking out his purse. "Would you?"
"Yes, papa; oh! _very_ much, indeed."
He laughed at her eager tone, and putting a fifty-dollar note into
her hand, asked, "Will that be enough?"
Elsie's eyes opened wide with astonishment.
"I never before had half so much as this," she exclaimed. "May I
spend it _all_, papa?"
"Provided you don't throw it away," he answered gravely; "but
don't forget that I require a strict account of all your
expenditure."
"Must I tell you _every_ thing I buy?" she asked, her
countenance falling considerably.
"Yes, my child, you must; not until after Christmas, however, if
you would rather not."
"I will not mind it so much then," she answered, looking quite
relieved; "but indeed, papa, it is a great deal of trouble."
"Ah! my little girl must not be lazy," he said, shaking his head
gravely.
This was Elsie's first parting from her father since they had
learned to know and love each other; and when the time came to say
good-by, she clung to him, and seemed so loath to let him go, that
he quite repented of his determination to leave her at home.
"O papa, papa! I cannot bear to have you go, and leave me behind,"
she sobbed. "I feel as if you were never coming back."
"Why, my own darling," he said, kissing her again and again, "why
do you talk so? I shall certainly be at home again in a fortnight;
but if I had thought you would feel so badly, I would have made
arrangements to take you with me. It is too late now, however, and
you must let me go, dearest. Be a good girl while I am gone, and
when I return I will bring you some handsome presents."
So saying, he embraced her once more, then putting her gently from
him, sprang into the carriage and was driven rapidly away.
Elsie stood watching until it was out of sight, and then ran away
to her own room to put her arms round her nurse's neck and hide
her tears on her bosom.
"Dere, dere, darlin'! dat will do now. Massa Horace he be back
'fore long, and ole Chloe don' like for to see her chile
'stressin' herself so," and the large, dusky hand was passed
lovingly over the bright curls, and tenderly wiped away the
falling tears.
"But, O mammy! I'm afraid he will never come back. I'm afraid the
steamboat boiler will burst, or the cars will run off the track,
or----"
"Hush, hush, darlin'! dat's wicked; you must jes' trust de Lord to
take care of Massa Horace; He's jes' as able to do it one place as
in tudder; an ef you an' your ole mammy keep prayin' for Massa,
I'se _sure_ he'll come back safe, kase don't you remember
what de good book says, 'If any two of you agree----'"
"Oh! yes, dear mammy, thank you for remembering it," exclaimed the
little girl, lifting her head and smiling through her tears. "I
won't cry any more now, but will just try to keep thinking how
glad I will be when papa comes home again."
"A very sensible resolution, my dear," said Adelaide, putting her
head in at the door; "so come, dry your eyes, and let mammy put on
your bonnet and cloak as fast as possible, for I have begged a
holiday for you, and am going to carry you off to the city to do
some shopping, et cetera."
"Ah! I think I know what that et cetera means, auntie, don't I?"
laughed Elsie, as she hastened to obey.
"Dear me! how very wise some people are," said her aunt, smiling
and nodding good-naturedly. "But make haste, my dear, for the
carriage is at the door."
When Elsie laid her head upon her pillow that night she
acknowledged to herself, that in spite of her father's absence--
and she had, at times, missed him sadly--the day had been a very
short and pleasant one to her, owing to her Aunt Adelaide's
thoughtful kindness in taking her out into new scenes, and giving
agreeable occupation to her thoughts.
She rose at her usual early hour the next morning, and though
feeling lonely, comforted herself with the hope of receiving the
promised letter; and her face was full of eager expectation, as
her grandfather, in his usual leisurely manner, opened the bag and
distributed its contents.
"Two letters for Elsie!" he said, in a tone of surprise, just as
she was beginning to despair of her turn coming at all. "Ah; one
is from Horace, I see; and the other from Miss Allison, no doubt."
Elsie could hardly restrain her eagerness while he held them in
his hand, examining and commenting upon the address, postmark,
etc.
But at length he tossed them to her, remarking, "There! if you are
done your breakfast, you had better run away and read them."
"Oh! thank you, grandpa," she said, gladly availing herself of his
permission.
"Elsie is fortunate to-day," observed Lora looking after her. "I
wonder which she will read first."
"Her father's, of course," replied Adelaide. "He is more to her
than all the rest of the world put together."
"A matter of small concern to the rest of the world, I opine,"
remarked Mrs. Dinsmore, dryly.
"Perhaps so, mamma," said Adelaide, quietly; "yet I think there
are _some_ who prize Elsie's affection."
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