Books: Elsie Dinsmore
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Martha Finley >> Elsie Dinsmore
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Yes, Adelaide was right. Miss Rose's letter was neglected and
almost forgotten, while Elsie read and reread her papa's with the
greatest delight.
It gave an amusing account of the day's journey; but what
constituted its chief charm for the little girl was that it was
filled with expressions of the tenderest affection for her.
Then came the pleasant task of answering, which occupied almost
all her spare time, for letter-writing was still, to her, a rather
new and difficult business, Miss Allison having hitherto been her
only correspondent. And this was a pleasure which was renewed
every day, for her papa faithfully kept his promise, each morning
bringing her a letter, until at length one came announcing the
speedy return of the writer.
Elsie was almost wild with delight.
"Aunt Adelaide," she cried, running to her to communicate the glad
tidings, "papa says he will be here this very afternoon."
"Well, my dear, as we have already attended to all the business
that needed to be kept secret from him, I am very glad to hear it,
especially for _your_ sake," replied Adelaide, looking up for
a moment from the book she was reading, and then returning to it
again, while her little niece danced out of the room, with her
papa's letter still in her hand, and a face beaming with
happiness.
She met Mrs. Dinsmore in the hall.
"Why are you skipping about in that mad fashion, Elsie?" she
asked, severely; "I believe you will never learn to move and act
like a lady."
"I will try, madam, indeed," Elsie answered, subsiding into a slow
and steady gait which would not have disgraced a woman of any age;
"but I was so glad that papa is coming home to-day, that I could
not help skipping."
"Indeed!" and with a scornful toss of the head, Mrs. Dinsmore
sailed past her and entered the drawing-room.
Elsie had once, on her first arrival at Roselands, addressed Mrs.
Dinsmore, in the innocence of her heart, as "grandma," but that
lady's horrified look, and indignant repudiation of the ancient
title, had made a deep impression on the little girl's memory, and
effectually prevented any repetition of the offence.
As the hour drew near when her father might reasonably be
expected, Elsie took her station at one of the drawing-room
windows overlooking the avenue, and the moment the carriage
appeared in sight, she ran out and stood waiting for him on the
steps of the portico.
Mr. Dinsmore put out his head as they drove up the avenue, and the
first object that caught his eye was the fairy-like form of his
little daughter, in her blue merino dress, and the golden brown
curls waving in the wind. He sprang out and caught her in his arms
the instant the carriage stopped.
"My darling, darling child," he cried, kissing her over and over
again, and pressing her fondly to his heart, "how glad I am to
have you in my arms again!"
"Papa, papa, my own dear, dear papa!" she exclaimed, throwing her
arms around his neck, "I'm _so_ happy, now that you have come
home safe and well."
"Are you, darling? but I must not keep you out in this wind, for
it is quite chilly."
He set her down, and leaving the servant to attend lo his baggage,
led her into the hall.
"Will you come into the drawing-room, papa?" she said; "there is a
bright, warm fire there."
"Is there not one in my dressing-room?" he asked.
"Yes, papa, a very good one."
"Then we will go there. I dare say the rest of the family are in
no great hurry to see me, and I want my little girl to myself for
half an hour," he said, leading the way up-stairs as he spoke.
They found, as Elsie had reported, a very bright fire in the
dressing-room. A large easy chair was drawn up near it, and a
handsome dressing-gown and slippers were placed ready for use; all
the work of Elsie's loving little hands.
He saw it all at a glance, and with a pleased smile, stooped and
kissed her again, saying, "My dear little daughter is very
thoughtful for her papa's comfort."
Then exchanging his warm out-door apparel and heavy boots for the
dressing-gown and slippers, he seated himself in the chair and
took her on his knee.
"Well, daughter," he said, passing his hand caressingly over her
curls, "papa has brought you a present; will you have it now, or
shall it be kept for Christmas?"
"Keep it for Christmas, papa," she answered gayly. "Christmas is
almost here, and besides, I don't want to look at anything but you
to-night."
"Very well, look at me as much as you like," was his laughing
rejoinder. "And now tell me, have you been a good girl in my
absence?"
"As good as I ever am, I believe, papa. I tried very hard; but you
can ask Miss Day."
"No, I am entirely satisfied with your report, for I know my
little daughter is quite truthful."
Elsie colored with pleasure, then calling to mind the time when he
had for a moment suspected her of falsehood, she heaved a deep
sigh, dropping her head upon his breast.
He seemed to understand her thoughts, for, pressing his lips to
her forehead, he said gently and kindly, "I think I shall never
again doubt my little daughter's truth."
She looked up with a grateful smile.
"Miss Day has gone away to stay until after New Year's day, papa,"
she said, "and so our holidays have begun."
"Ah! I am very well satisfied," said he. "I think you have earned
a holiday, and I hope you will enjoy it. But I don't know that I
shall let _you_ play _all_ the time," he added with a smile;
"I have some notion of giving you a lesson now and then, myself."
"Dear papa, how pleasant!" she exclaimed delightedly; "I do so
love to say lessons to you."
"Well, then, we will spend an hour together every morning. But are
you not to have some company?"
"Oh! yes, papa, quite a house full," she said with a slight sigh.
"The Percys, and the Howards, and all the Carringtons, and some
others too, I believe."
"Why do you sigh, daughter?" he asked; "do you not expect to enjoy
their company?"
"Yes, sir, I hope so," she answered, rather dubiously; "but when
there are so many, and they stay so long, they are apt to
disagree, and that, you know, is not pleasant. I am sure I shall
enjoy the hour with you better than anything else; it is so sweet
to be quite alone with my own darling papa," and the little arm
stole softly round his neck again, and the rosy lips touched his
cheek.
"Well, when are the little plagues coming?" he asked, returning
her caress.
"Some of them to-morrow, papa; no, Monday--to-morrow is Sabbath
day."
"Shall I bring in de trunks now, massa?" asked Mr. Dinsmore's
servant, putting his head in at the door.
"Yes, John, certainly."
"Why, you brought back a new one, papa, didn't you?" asked Elsie,
as John carried in one she was sure she had never seen before, and
in obedience to a motion of her father's hand, set it down quite
near them.
"Yes, my dear, it is yours. There, John, unlock it," tossing him
the key. "And now, daughter, get down and see what you can find in
it worth having."
Elsie needed no second bidding, but in an instant was on her knees
beside the trunk, eager to examine its contents.
"Take the lid off the band-box first, and see what is there," said
her father.
"O papa, how _very_ pretty!" she cried, as she lifted out a
beautiful little velvet hat adorned with a couple of ostrich
feathers.
"I am very glad it pleases you, my darling," he said, putting it
on her head, and gazing at her with proud delight in her rare
beauty. "There! it fits exactly, and is very becoming."
Then taking it off, he returned it to the box, and bade her look
further.
"I am reserving the present for Christmas," he said, in answer to
her inquiring look.
Elsie turned to the trunk again.
"Dear papa, how good you are to me!" she said, looking up at him
almost with tears of pleasure in her eyes, as she lifted out, one
after another, a number of costly toys, which she examined with
exclamations of delight, and then several handsome dresses, some
of the finest, softest merino, and others of thick rich silk, all
ready made in fashionable style, and doing credit to his taste and
judgment; and lastly a beautiful velvet pelisse, trimmed with
costly fur, just the thing to wear with her pretty new hat.
He laughed and patted her cheek.
"We must have these dresses tried on," he said, "at least one of
them; for as they were all cut by the same pattern--one of your
old dresses which I took with me--I presume they will all fit
alike. There, take this one to mammy, and tell her to put it on
you, and then come back to me."
"Oh! I wondered how you could get them the right size, papa,"
Elsie answered, as she skipped gayly out of the room.
She was back again in a very few moments, arrayed in the pretty
silk he had selected.
"Ah! it seems to be a perfect fit," said he, turning her round and
round, with a very gratified look.
"Mammy must dress you to-morrow in one of these new frocks, and
your pretty hat and pelisse."
Elsie looked troubled.
"Well, what is it?" he asked.
"I am afraid I shall be thinking of them in church, papa, if I
wear them then for the first time."
"Pooh! nonsense! what harm if you do? This squeamishness, Elsie,
is the one thing about you that displeases me very much. But
there! don't look so distressed, my pet. I dare say you will get
over it by-and-by, and be all I wish; indeed I sometimes think you
have improved a little already, in that respect."
Oh! what a pang these words sent to her heart! was it indeed true
that she was losing her tenderness of conscience? that she was
becoming less afraid of displeasing and dishonoring her Saviour
than in former days? The very thought was anguish.
Her head drooped upon her bosom, and the small white hands were
clasped convulsively together, while a bitter, repenting cry, a
silent earnest prayer for pardon and help went up to Him whose ear
is ever open to the cry of His children.
Her father looked at her in astonishment.
"What is it, darling?" he asked, drawing her tenderly toward him,
and pushing back the curls from her face; "why do you look so
pained? what did I say that could have hurt you so? I did not mean
to be harsh and severe, for it was a very trifling fault."
She hid her face on his shoulder and burst into an agony of tears.
"It was not that, papa, but--but----"
"But what, my darling? don't be afraid to tell me," he answered,
soothingly.
"O papa! I--I am afraid I don't--love Jesus--as much as I did,"
she faltered out between her sobs.
"Ah! _that_ is it, eh? Well, well, you needn't cry any more.
_I_ think you are a very good little girl, though rather a
silly one, I am afraid, and quite too morbidly conscientious."
He took her on his knee as he spoke, wiped away her tears, and
then began talking in a lively strain of something else.
Elsie listened, and answered him cheerfully, but all the evening
he noticed that whenever she was quiet, an unusual expression of
sadness would steal over her face.
"What a strange child she is!" he said to himself, as he sat
musing over the fire, after sending her to bed. "I cannot
understand her; it is very odd how often I wound, when I intend to
please her."
As for Elsie, she scarcely thought of her new finery, so troubled
was her tender conscience, so pained her little heart to think
that she had been wandering from her dear Saviour.
But Elsie had learned that "if any man sin, we have an advocate
with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous," and to Him she went
with her sin and sorrow; she applied anew to the pardoning, peace-
speaking blood of Christ--that "blood of sprinkling that speaketh
better things than that of Abel;" and thus the sting of conscience
was taken away and her peace restored, and she was soon resting
quietly on her pillow, for, "so He giveth His beloved sleep."
Even her father's keen, searching glance, when she came to him in
the morning, could discover no trace of sadness in her face; very
quiet and sober it was, but entirely peaceful and happy, and so it
remained all through the day. Her new clothes did not trouble her;
she was hardly conscious of wearing them, and quite able to give
her usual solemn and fixed attention to the services of the
sanctuary.
"Where are you going, daughter?" Mr. Dinsmore asked, as Elsie
gently withdrew her hand from his on leaving the dining-room.
"To my room, papa," she replied.
"Come with me," he said; "I want you."
"What do you want me for, papa?" she asked, as he sat down and
took her on his knee.
"What for? why to keep, to love, and to look at," he said
laughing. "I have been away from my little girl so long, that now
I want her close by my side, or on my knee, all the time. Do you
not like to be with me?"
"_Dearly_ well, my own darling papa," she answered, flinging
her little arms around his neck, and laying her head on his
breast.
He fondled her, and chatted with her for some time, then, still
keeping her on his knee, took up a book and began to read.
Elsie saw with pain that it was a novel and longed to beg him to
put it away, and spend the precious hours of the holy Sabbath in
the study of God's word, or some of the lesser helps to Zion's
pilgrims which the saints of our own or other ages have prepared.
But she knew that it would be quite out of place for a little
child like her to attempt to counsel or reprove her father; and
that, tenderly as he loved and cherished her, he would never for
one moment allow her to forget their relative positions.
At length she ventured to ask softly, "Papa, may I go to my own
room now?"
"What for?" he asked; "are you tired of my company?"
"No, sir, _oh! no;_ but I want--" she hesitated and hung her
head for an instant, while the rich color mounted to cheek and
brow; then raising it again, she said fearlessly, "I always want
to spend a little while with my best Friend on Sabbath afternoon,
papa."
He looked puzzled, and also somewhat displeased.
"I don't understand you, Elsie," he said; "you surely can have no
better friend than your own father; and can it be _possible_
that you love any one else better than you love me?"
Again the little arms were round his neck, and hugging him close
and closer, she whispered, "It was Jesus I meant, papa; you know
He loves me even better than you do, and I must love Him best of
all; but there is no one else that I love half so much as I love
you, my own dear, dear precious father."
"Well, you may go; but only for a little while, mind," he
answered, giving her a kiss, and setting her down. "Nay," he added
hastily, "stay as long as you like; if you feel it a punishment to
be kept here with me, I would rather do without you."
"Oh! no, no, papa," she said beseechingly, and with tears in her
eyes; "I do so love to be with you. Please don't be angry; please
let me come back soon."
"No, darling, I am not angry," he answered, smoothing her hair and
smiling kindly on her; "come back just when you like, and the
sooner the better."
Elsie did not stay away very long; in less than an hour she
returned, bringing her Bible and "Pilgrim's Progress" with her.
Her father welcomed her with a smile, and then turned to his novel
again, while she drew a stool to his side, and, sitting down,
leaned her head against his knee, and read until the short winter
day began to close in, and Mr. Dinsmore, whose hand had been every
now and then laid caressingly upon her curls, said, "Put away your
book now, daughter; it is growing too dark for you to read without
straining your eyes."
"Please, papa, let me finish the paragraph first; may I?" she
asked.
"No; you must always obey the instant I speak to you."
Elsie rose at once, and without another word laid her books upon
the table; then coming back, claimed her accustomed place upon his
knee, with her head resting on his shoulder.
He put his arm around her, and they sat silently thus for some
moments. At length Elsie asked, "Papa, did you ever read
'Pilgrim's Progress!'"
"Yes; a good while ago, when I was quite a boy."
"And you did not like it, papa?"
"Yes, very much, though I have nearly forgotten the story now. Do
_you_ like it?"
"Very much, indeed, papa; I think it comes next to the Bible."
"Next to the Bible, eh? well, I believe you are the only little
girl of my acquaintance who thinks _that_ the most beautiful
and interesting book in the world. But, let me see, what is this
'Pilgrim's Progress' about? some foolish story of a man with a
great load on his back; is it not?"
"Foolish! papa; oh! I am sure you don't mean it; you couldn't
think it foolish. Ah! I know by your smile that you are only
saying it to tease me. It is a beautiful story, papa, about
Christian: how he lived in the City of Destruction, and had a
great burden on his back, which he tried in every way to get rid
of, but all in vain, until he came to the Cross; but then it
seemed suddenly to loosen of itself, and dropped from his back,
and rolled away, and fell into the sepulchre, where it could not
be seen any more."
"Well, and is not _that_ a foolish story? can you see any
sense or meaning in it?" he asked, with a slight smile, and a keen
glance into the eager little face upturned to his.
"Ah! papa, I know what it means," she answered, in a half-
sorrowful tone. "Christian, with the load on his back, is a person
who has been convinced of sin by God's Holy Spirit, and feels his
sins a heavy burden--too heavy for him to bear; and then he tries
to get rid of them by leaving off his wicked ways, and by doing
good deeds; but he soon finds he can't get rid of his load that
way, for it only grows heavier and heavier, until at last he gives
up trying to save himself, and just goes to the cross of Jesus
Christ; and the moment he looks to Jesus and trusts in Him, his
load of sin is all gone."
Mr. Dinsmore was surprised; as indeed he had often been at Elsie's
knowledge of spiritual things.
"Who told you all that?" he asked.
"I read it in the Bible, papa; and besides, I know, because I have
felt it."
He did not speak again for some moments; and then he said very
gravely, "I am afraid you read too many of those dull books. I
don't want you to read things that fill you with sad and gloomy
thoughts, and make you unhappy. I want my little girl to be merry
and happy as the day is long."
"Please don't forbid me to read them, papa," she pleaded with a
look of apprehension, "for indeed they don't make me unhappy, and
I love them so dearly."
"You need not be alarmed. I shall not do so unless I see that they
do affect your spirits," he answered in a reassuring tone, and she
thanked him with her own bright, sweet smile.
She was silent for a moment, then asked suddenly, "Papa, may I say
some verses to you?"
"Some time," he said, "but not now, for there is the tea-bell;"
and taking her hand, he led her down to the dining-room.
They went to the drawing-room after tea, but did not stay long.
There were no visitors, and it was very dull and quiet there, no
one seeming inclined for conversation. Old Mr. Dinsmore sat
nodding in his chair, Louise was drumming on the piano, and the
rest were reading or sitting listlessly, saying nothing, and Elsie
and her papa soon slipped away to their old seat by his dressing-
room fire.
"Sing something for me, my pet, some of those little hymns I often
hear you singing to yourself," he said, as he took her on his
knee; and Elsie gladly obeyed.
Some of the pieces she sang alone, but in others which were
familiar to him, her father joined his deep bass notes to her
sweet treble, at which she was greatly delighted. Then they read
several chapters of the Bible together, and thus the evening
passed so quickly and pleasantly that she was very much surprised
when her papa, taking out his watch, told her it was her bed-time.
"O papa! it has been such a nice, _nice_ evening!" she said,
as she bade him good-night; "so like the dear old times I used to
have with Miss Rose, only--"
She paused and colored deeply.
"Only what, darling?" he asked, drawing her caressingly to him.
"Only, papa, if you would pray with me, like she did," she
whispered, winding her arms about his neck, and hiding her face on
his shoulder.
"That I cannot do, my pet, I have never learned how; and so I fear
you will have to do all the praying for yourself and me too," he
said, with a vain effort to speak lightly, for both heart and
conscience were touched.
The only reply was a tightening of the clasp of the little arms
about his neck, and a half-suppressed sob; then two trembling lips
touched his, a warm tear fell on his cheek, and she turned away
and ran quickly from the room.
Oh! how earnest and importunate were Elsie's pleadings at a throne
of grace that night, that her "dear, _dear_ papa might soon
be taught to love Jesus, and how to pray to Him." Tears fell fast
while she prayed, but she rose from her knees feeling a joyful
assurance that her petitions had been heard, and would be granted
in God's own good time.
She had hardly laid her head upon her pillow, when her father came
in, and saying, "I have come to sit beside my little girl till she
falls asleep," placed himself in a chair close by her side, taking
her hand in his and holding it, as she loved so to have him do.
"I am _so_ glad you have come, papa," she said, her whole
face lighting up with pleased surprise.
"Are you?" he answered with a smile. "I'm afraid I am spoiling
you; but I can't help it to-night. I think you forget your wish to
repeat some verses to me?"
"Oh! yes, papa!" she said, "but may I say them now?"
He nodded assent, and she went on. "They are some Miss Rose sent
me in one of her letters. She cut them out of a newspaper, she
said, and sent them to me because she liked them so much; and I
too think they are very sweet. The piece is headed:
"'THE PILGRIM'S WANTS.'
"'I want a sweet sense of Thy pardoning love,
That my manifold sins are forgiven;
That Christ, as my Advocate, pleadeth above,
That my name is recorded in heaven.
"'I want every moment to feel
That thy Spirit resides in my heart--
That his power is present to cleanse and to heal,
And newness of life to impart.
"'I want--oh! I want to attain
Some likeness, my Saviour, to thee!
That longed for resemblance once more to regain,
Thy comeliness put upon me.
"'I want to be marked for thine own--
Thy seal on my forehead to wear;
To receive that new name on the mystic white stone
Which none but thyself can declare.
"'I want so in thee to abide
As to bring forth some fruit to thy praise;
The branch which thou prunest, though feeble and dried,
May languish, but never decays.
"'I want thine own hand to unbind
Each tie to terrestrial things,
Too tenderly cherished, too closely entwined,
Where my heart so tenaciously clings.
"'I want, by my aspect serene,
My actions and words, to declare
That my treasure is placed in a country unseen,
That my heart's best affections are there.
"'I want as a trav'ller to haste
Straight onward, nor pause on my way;
Nor forethought in anxious contrivance to waste
On the tent only pitched for a day.
"'I want--and this sums up my prayer--
To glorify thee till I die;
Then calmly to yield up my soul to thy care,
And breathe out in faith my last sigh.'"
[Footnote: These beautiful words are not mine, nor do I know
either the name of the author or where they were originally
published.]
He was silent for a moment after she had repeated the last verse,
then laying his hand softly on her head, and looking searchingly
into her eyes, he asked, "And does my little one really wish all
that those words express?"
"Yes, papa, for myself and for you too," she answered. "O papa! I
do want to be all that Jesus would have me! just like Him; so like
Him that everybody who knows me will see the likeness and know
that I belong to Him."
"Nay, you belong to me," he said, leaning over her and patting her
cheek. "Hush! not a syllable from your lips. I will have no
gainsaying of my words," he added, with a mixture of authority and
playfulness, as she seemed about to reply. "Now shut your eyes and
go to sleep; I will have no more talking to-night."
She obeyed at once; the white lids gently closed over the sweet
eyes, the long, dark lashes rested quietly on the fair, round
cheek, and soon her soft regular breathing told that she had
passed into the land of dreams.
Her father sat, still holding the little hand, and still gazing
tenderly upon the sweet young face, till, something in its
expression reminding him of words she had just repeated,
"I want to be marked for thine own--
Thy seal on my forehead to wear,"
he laid it gently down, rose, and bent over her with a troubled
look.
"Ah, my darling, _that_ prayer is granted already!" he
murmured; "for, ah me! you seem almost too good and pure for
earth. But oh, God forbid that you should be taken from me to that
place where I can see that your heart is even now. How desolate
should I be!" and he turned away with a shiver and a heavy sigh,
and hastily quitted the room.
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