Books: Elsie Dinsmore
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Martha Finley >> Elsie Dinsmore
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"There! just see how far I sent that! do run and bring it to me,
Elsie!" he cried, "and let me see if I can't hit that tree next
time; I've but just missed it."
"I'm tired, Herbert; but I'll run and bring it to you this once,"
replied Elsie, forgetting entirely her father's prohibition; "but
then you must try to wait until Jim comes back before you shoot
any more."
So saying, she darted away, and came back in a moment with the
arrow in her hand. But a sudden recollection had come over her
just as she left the meadow, and throwing down the arrow at the
boy's feet, she exclaimed in an agitated tone, "O Herbert! I must
go home just as quickly as I can; I had forgotten--oh! how
_could_ I forget! oh! what will papa say!"
"Why, what's the matter?" asked Herbert in alarm.
"Never mind," said Elsie, sobbing. "There are the boys coming;
they will take care of you, and I must go home. Good-bye."
And she ran quickly up the road, Herbert following her retreating
form with wondering eyes.
Elsie sped onward, crying bitterly as she went.
"Where is papa!" she inquired of a servant whom she met in the
avenue.
"Dunno, Miss Elsie, but I reckon Massa Horace am in de house, kase
his horse am in de stable."
Elsie hardly waited for the answer, but hurrying into the house,
went from room to room, looking and asking in vain for her father.
He was not in the drawing-room, or the library, or his own
apartments. She had just come out of this, and meeting a chamber-
maid in the hall, she exclaimed, "O Fanny! where _is_ papa?
can't you tell me? for I must see him."
"Here I am, Elsie; what do you want with me?" called out her
father's voice from the veranda, where she had neglected to look.
"What do you want?" he repeated, as his little girl appeared
before him with her flushed and tearful face. Elsie moved slowly
toward him, with a timid air and downcast eyes.
"I wanted to tell you something, papa," she said in a low,
tremulous tone.
"Well, I am listening," said he, taking hold of her hand and
drawing her to his side. "What is it? are you sick or hurt?"
"No, papa, not either; but--but, O papa! I have been a very
naughty girl," she exclaimed, bursting into tears, and sobbing
violently. "I disobeyed you, papa. I--I have been in the meadow."
"Is it possible! Would you _dare_ to do so when I so
positively forbade it only the other day?" he said in his sternest
tone, while a dark frown gathered on his brow. "Elsie, I shall
have to punish you."
"I did not intend to disobey you, papa," she sobbed; "I quite
forgot that you had forbidden me to go there."
"That is no excuse, no excuse at all," said he severely; "You must
_remember_ my commands; and if your memory is so poor I shall
find means to strengthen it."
He paused a moment, still looking sternly at the little,
trembling, sobbing girl at his side; then asked, "What were you
doing in the meadow? tell me the whole story, that I may
understand just how severely I ought to punish you."
Elsie gave him all the particulars; and when, upon questioning her
closely, he perceived how entirely voluntary her confession had
been, his tone and manner became less stern, and he said quite
mildly, "Well, Elsie, I shall not be very severe with you this
time, as you seem to be very penitent, and have made so full and
frank a confession; but beware how you disobey me again, for you
will not escape so easily another time; and remember I will not
take forgetfulness as any excuse. Go now to Aunt Chloe, and tell
her from me that she is to put you immediately to bed."
"It is only the middle of the afternoon, papa," said Elsie,
deprecatingly.
"If it were much _earlier_, Elsie, it would make no
difference; you must go at once to your bed, and stay there until
to-morrow morning."
"What will Lucy and Herbert think when they come in and can't find
me, papa?" she said, weeping afresh,
"You should have thought of that before you disobeyed me," he
answered very gravely. "If you are hungry," he added, "you may ask
Chloe to get you a slice of bread or a cracker for your supper,
but you can have nothing else."
Elsie lingered, looking timidly up into his face as though wanting
to say something, but afraid to venture.
"Speak, Elsie, if you have anything more to say," he said
encouragingly.
"Dear papa, I am _so_ sorry I have been so naughty," she
murmured, leaning her head against the arm of his chair, while the
tears rolled fast down her cheeks; "won't you please forgive me,
papa? it seems to me I can't go to sleep to-night if you are angry
with me."
He seemed quite touched by her penitence. "Yes, Elsie," he said,
"I do forgive you. I am not at all angry with you now, and you may
go to sleep in peace. Good night, my little daughter," and he bent
down and pressed his lips to her brow.
Elsie held up her face for another, and he kissed her lips.
"Good night, dear papa," she said, "I hope I shall never be such a
naughty girl again." And she went to her room, made almost happy
by that kiss of forgiveness.
Elsie was up quite early the next morning and had learned all her
lessons before breakfast. As she came down the stairs she saw,
through the open door, her papa standing with some of the men-
servants, apparently gazing at some object lying on the ground.
She ran out and stood on the steps of the portico, looking at them
and wondering what they were doing.
Presently her father turned round, and seeing her, held out his
hand, calling, "Come here, Elsie."
She sprang quickly down the steps, and running to him, put her
hand in his, saying, "Good morning, papa."
"Good morning, daughter," said he, "I have something to show you."
And leading her forward a few paces, he pointed to a large
rattlesnake lying there.
"O papa!" she cried, starting back and clinging to him.
"It will not hurt you _now_" he said; "it is dead; the men
killed it this morning _in the meadow_. Do you see _now_ why
I forbade you to go there?"
"O papa!" she murmured, in a low tone of deep feeling, laying her
cheek affectionately against his hand, "I might have lost my life
by my disobedience. How good God was to take care of me! Oh! I
hope I shall never be so naughty again."
"I hope not," said he gravely, but not unkindly; "and I hope that
you will always, after this, believe that your father has some
good reason for his commands, even although he may not choose to
explain it to you."
"Yes, papa, I think I will," she answered, humbly.
The breakfast-bell had rung, and he now led her in and seated her
at the table.
Lucy Carrington looked curiously at her, and soon took an
opportunity to whisper, "Where were you last night, Elsie? I
couldn't find you, and your papa wouldn't say what had become of
you, though I am quite sure he knew."
"I'll tell you after breakfast," replied Elsie, blushing deeply.
Lucy waited rather impatiently until all had risen from the table,
and then, putting her arm round Elsie's waist, she drew her out on
to the veranda, saying, "now, Elsie, tell me; you know you
promised."
"I was in bed," replied Elsie, dropping her eyes, while the color
mounted to her very hair.
"In bed! before five o'clock!" exclaimed Lucy in a tone of
astonishment. "Why, what was that for?"
"Papa sent me," replied Elsie, with an effort. "I had been
naughty, and disobeyed him."
"Why, how strange! Do tell me what you had done!" exclaimed Lucy,
with a face full of curiosity.
"Papa had forbidden me to go into the meadow, I forgot all about
it, and ran in there to get Herbert's arrow for him," replied
Elsie, looking very much ashamed.
"Was _that all?_ why _my_ papa wouldn't have punished me
for that," said Lucy. "He might have scolded me a little if I had
done it on purpose, but if I had told him I had forgotten, he
would only have said, 'You must remember better next time.'"
"Papa says that forgetfulness is no excuse; that I am to remember
his commands, and if I forget, he will have to punish me, to make
me remember better next time," said Elsie.
"He must be very strict indeed; I'm glad he is not _my_
papa," replied Lucy, in a tone of great satisfaction.
"Come, little girls, make haste and get ready; we are to start in
half an hour," said Adelaide Dinsmore, calling to them from the
hall door.
The whole family, old and young, including visitors, were on that
day to go on a picnic up the river, taking their dinner along, and
spending the day in the woods. They had been planning this
excursion for several days, and the children especially had been
looking forward to it with a great deal of pleasure.
"Am I to go, Aunt Adelaide? did papa say so?" asked Elsie
anxiously, as she and Lucy hastened to obey the summons.
"I presume you are to go of course, Elsie; we have been discussing
the matter for the last three days, always taking it for granted
that you were to make one of the party, and he has never said you
should not," replied Adelaide, good-naturedly; "so make haste, or
you will be too late. But here comes your papa now." she added, as
the library door opened, and Mr. Dinsmore stepped out into the
hall where they were standing.
"Horace, Elsie is to go of course?"
"I do not see the _of course_, Adelaide," said he dryly. "No;
Elsie is _not_ to go; she must stay at home and attend to her
lessons as usual."
A look of keen disappointment came over Elsie's face, but she
turned away without a word and went upstairs; while Lucy, casting
a look of wrathful indignation at Mr. Dinsmore, ran after her, and
following her into her room, she put her arm round her neck,
saying, "Never mind, Elsie; it's too bad, and I wouldn't bear it.
I'd go in spite of him."
"No, no, Lucy, I must obey my father; God says so; and besides, I
couldn't do that if I wanted to, for papa is stronger than I am,
and would punish me severely if I were to attempt such a thing,"
replied Elsie hastily, brushing away a tear that _would_ come
into her eye.
"Then I'd coax him," said Lucy. "Come, I'll go with you, and we
will both try."
"No," replied Elsie, with a hopeless shake of the head, "I have
found out already that my papa never breaks his word; and nothing
could induce him to let me go, now that he has once said I should
not. But you will have to leave me, Lucy, or you will be too
late."
"Good-bye, then," said Lucy, turning to go; "but I think it is a
great shame, and I shan't half enjoy myself without you."
"Well now, Horace, I think you might let the child go," was
Adelaide's somewhat indignant rejoinder to her brother, as the two
little girls disappeared; "I can't conceive what reason you can
have for keeping her at home, and she looks so terribly
disappointed. Indeed, Horace, I am sometimes half inclined to
think you take pleasure in thwarting that child."
"You had better call me a tyrant at once, Adelaide," said he
angrily, and turning very red; "but I must beg to be permitted to
manage my own child in my own way; and I cannot see that I am
under any obligation to give my reasons either to you or to any
one else."
"Well, if you did not intend to let her go, I think you might have
said so at first, and not left the poor child to build her hopes
upon it, only to be disappointed. I must say I think it was
cruel."
"Until this morning, Adelaide," he replied, "I did intend to let
her go, for I expected to go myself; but I find I shall not be
able to do so, as I must meet a gentleman on business; and as I
know that accidents frequently occur to such pleasure parties, I
don't feel willing to let Elsie go, unless I could be there myself
to take care of her. Whether you believe it or not, it is really
regard for my child's safety, and _not_ cruelty, that leads
me to refuse her this gratification."
"You are full of notions about that child, Horace," said Adelaide,
a little impatiently. "I'm sure some of the rest of us could take
care of her."
"No; in case of accident you would all have enough to do to take
care of yourselves, and I shall not think of trusting Elsie in the
company, since I cannot be there myself," he answered decidedly;
and Adelaide, seeing he was not to be moved from his determination,
gave up the attempt, and left the room to prepare for her ride.
It was a great disappointment to Elsie, and for a few moments her
heart rose up in rebellion against her father. She tried to put
away the feeling, but it would come back; for she could not
imagine any reason for his refusal to let her go, excepting the
disobedience of the day before, and it seemed hard and unjust to
punish her twice for the same fault, especially as he would have
known nothing about it but for her own frank and voluntary
confession. It was a great pity she had not heard the reasons he
gave her Aunt Adelaide, for then she would have been quite
submissive and content. It is indeed true that she ought to have
been as it was; but our little Elsie, though sincerely desirous to
do right, was not yet perfect, and had already strangely forgotten
the lesson of the morning.
She watched from the veranda the departure of the pleasure-
seekers, all apparently in the gayest spirits. She was surprised
to see that her father was not with them, and it half reconciled
her to staying at home, although she hardly expected to see much
of him; but there was something pleasant in the thought that he
wanted her at home because he was to be there himself; it looked
as though he really had some affection for her, and even a selfish
love was better than none. I do not mean that these were Elsie's
thoughts; no, she never would have dreamed of calling her father
selfish; but the undefined feeling was there, as she watched him
hand the ladies into the carriage, and then turn and reenter the
house as they drove off.
But Miss Day's bell rang, and Elsie gathered up her books and
hastened to the school-room. Her patience and endurance were
sorely tried that morning, for Miss Day was in an exceedingly bad
humor, being greatly mortified and also highly indignant that she
had not been invited to make one of the picnic party; and Elsie
had never found her more unreasonable and difficult to please; and
her incessant fault-finding and scolding were almost more than the
little girl could bear in addition to her own sad disappointment.
But at last the morning, which had seldom seemed so long, was
over, and Elsie dismissed from the school-room for the day.
At dinner, instead of the usual large party, there were only her
father and the gentleman with whom he was transacting business,
Miss Day, and herself.
The gentleman was not one of those who care to notice children,
but continued to discuss business and politics with Mr. Dinsmore,
without seeming to be in the least aware of the presence of the
little girl, who sat in perfect silence, eating whatever her
father saw fit to put upon her plate; and Elsie was very glad
indeed when at length Miss Day rose to leave the table, and her
papa told her she might go too.
He called her back though, before she had gone across the room, to
say that he had intended to ride with her that afternoon, but
found he should not be able to do so, and she must take Jim for a
protector, as he did not wish her either to miss her ride or to go
entirely alone.
He spoke very kindly; Elsie thought with remorse of the rebellious
feelings of the morning, and, had she been alone with her father,
would certainly have confessed them, expressing her sorrow and
asking forgiveness; but she could not do so before a third person,
more especially a stranger; and merely saying, "Yes, papa, I
will," she turned away and left the room. Jim was bringing up her
horse as she passed the open door; and she hastened up-stairs to
prepare for her ride.
"O mammy!" she suddenly exclaimed, as Chloe was trying on her hat,
"is Pomp going to the city to-day?"
"Yes, darlin', he gwine start directly," said Chloe, arranging her
nursling's curls to better advantage, and finishing her work with
a fond caress.
"Oh! then, mammy, take some money out of my purse, and tell him to
buy me a pound of the very nicest candy he can find," said the
little girl, eagerly. "I haven't had any for a long time, and I
feel hungry for it to-day. What they had bought for the picnic
looked so good, but you know I didn't get any of it."
The picnic party returned just before tea-time, and Lucy
Carrington rushed into Elsie's room eager to tell her what a
delightful day they had had. She gave a very glowing account of
their sports and entertainment, interrupting herself every now and
then to lament over Elsie's absence, assuring her again and again
that it had been the only drawback upon her own pleasure, and that
she thought that Elsie's papa was very unkind indeed to refuse her
permission to go. As Elsie listened the morning's feelings of
vexation and disappointment returned in full force; and though she
said nothing, she allowed her friend to accuse her father of
cruelty and injustice without offering any remonstrance.
In the midst of their talk the tea-bell rang, and they hurried
down to take their places at the table, where Lucy went on with
her narrative, though in a rather subdued tone, Elsie now and then
asking a question, until Mr. Dinsmore turned to his daughter,
saying, in his stern way, "Be quiet, Elsie; you are talking
entirely too much for a child of your age; don't let me hear you
speak again until you have left the table."
Elsie's face flushed, and her eyes fell, under the rebuke; and
during the rest of the meal not a sound escaped her lips.
"Come, Elsie, let us go into the garden and finish our talk," said
Lucy, putting her arm affectionately around her friend's waist as
they left the table; "your papa can't hear us there, and we'll
have a good time."
"Papa only stopped us because we were talking too much at the
table," said Elsie, apologetically; "I'm sure he is willing you
should tell me all about what a nice time you all had. But, Lucy,"
she added, lowering her voice, "please don't say again that you
think papa was unkind to keep me at home to-day. I'm sure he knows
best, and I ought not to have listened to a word of that kind
about him."
"O! well, never mind, I won't talk so any more," said Lucy, good-
naturedly, as they skipped down the walk together; "but I do think
he's cross, and I wish you were my sister, that you might have my
kind, good papa for yours too," she added, drawing her arm more
closely about her friend's waist.
"Thank you, Lucy," said Elsie, with a little sigh, "I would like
to be your sister, but indeed I would not like to give up my own
dear papa, for I love him, oh! _so_ much."
"Why, how funny, when he's so cross to you!" exclaimed Lucy,
laughing.
Elsie put her hand over her friend's mouth, and Lucy pushed it
away, saying, "Excuse me; I forgot; but I'll try not to say it
again."
While the little girls were enjoying their talk in the garden, a
servant with a small bundle in her hand came out on the veranda,
where Mr. Horace Dinsmore was sitting smoking a cigar, and,
casting an inquiring glance around, asked if he knew where Miss
Elsie was?
"What do you want with her?" he asked.
"Only to give her dis bundle, massa, dat Pomp jus brought from de
city."
"Give it to me," he said, extending his hand to receive it.
A few moments afterward Elsie and her friend returned to the
house, and meeting Pomp, she asked him if he had brought her
candy.
He replied that he had got some that was very nice indeed, and he
thought that Fanny had carried it to her; and seeing Fanny near,
he called to her to know what she had done with it.
"Why, Pomp, Massa Horace he told me to give it to him," said the
girl.
Elsie turned away with a very disappointed look.
"You'll go and ask him for it, won't you?" asked Lucy, who was
anxious to enjoy a share of the candy as well as to see Elsie
gratified.
"No," said Elsie, sighing, "I had rather do without it."
Lucy coaxed for a little while, but finding it impossible to
persuade Elsie to approach her father on the subject, finally
volunteered to do the errand herself.
Elsie readily consented, and Lucy, trembling a little in spite of
her boast that she was not afraid of him, walked out on to the
veranda where Mr. Dinsmore was still sitting, and putting on an
air of great confidence, said:
"Mr. Dinsmore, will you please to give me Elsie's candy? she wants
it."
"Did Elsie send you?" he asked in a cold, grave tone.
"Yes, sir," replied Lucy, somewhat frightened.
"Then, if you please, Miss Lucy, you may tell Elsie to come
directly to me."
Lucy ran back to her friend, and Elsie received the message in
some trepidation, but as no choice was now left her, she went
immediately to her father.
"Did you want me, papa?" she asked timidly.
"Yes, Elsie; I wish to know why you send another person to me for
what you want, instead of coming yourself. It displeases me very
much, and you may rest assured that you will never get anything
that you ask for in that way."
Elsie hung her head in silence.
"Are you going to answer me?" he asked, in his severe tone. "Why
did you send Lucy instead of coming yourself?"
"I was afraid, papa," she whispered, almost under her breath.
"Afraid! afraid of what?" he asked, with increasing displeasure.
"Of you, papa," she replied, in a tone so low that he could
scarcely catch the words, although he bent down his ear to receive
her reply.
"If I were a drunken brute, in the habit of knocking you about,
beating and abusing you, there might be some reason for your fear,
Elsie," he said, coloring with anger; "but, as it is, I see no
excuse for it at all and I am both hurt and displeased by it."
"I am very sorry, papa; I won't do so again," she said,
tremblingly.
There was a moment's pause, and then she asked in a timid
hesitating way, "Papa, may I have my candy, if you please?"
"No, you may not," he said decidedly; "and understand and remember
that I positively forbid you either to buy or eat anything of the
kind again without my express permission."
Elsie's eyes filled, and she had a hard struggle to keep down a
rising sob as she turned away and went slowly back to the place
where she had left her friend.
"Have you got it?" asked Lucy, eagerly.
Elsie shook her head.
"What a shame!" exclaimed Lucy, indignantly. "he's just as cross
as he can be. He's a tyrant, so he is! just a hateful old tyrant,
and I wouldn't care a cent for him, if I were you, Elsie. I'm glad
he is not my father, so I am."
"I'm afraid he doesn't love me much," sighed Elsie in low, tearful
tones, "for he hardly ever lets me have anything, or go anywhere
that I want to."
"Well, never mind, _I'll_ send and buy a good lot tomorrow,
and we'll have a regular feast," said Lucy, soothingly, as she
passed her arm around her friend's waist and drew her down to a
seat on the portico step.
"Thank you, Lucy; you can buy for yourself if you like, but not
for me, for papa has forbidden me to eat anything of the sort."
"Oh! of course we'll not let him know anything about it," said
Lucy.
But Elsie shook her head sadly, saying with a little sigh, "No,
Lucy, you are very kind, but I cannot disobey papa, even if he
should never know it, because that would be disobeying God, and He
would know it."
"Dear me, how particular you are!" exclaimed Lucy a little
pettishly.
"Elsie," said Mr. Dinsmore, speaking from the door, "what are you
doing there? Did I not forbid you to be out in the evening air?"
"I did not know you meant the doorstep, papa. I thought I was only
not to go down into the garden," replied the little girl, rising
to go in.
"I see you intend to make as near an approach to disobedience as
you dare," said her father. "Go immediately to your room, and tell
mammy to put you to bed."
Elsie silently obeyed, and Lucy, casting an indignant glance at
Mr. Dinsmore, was about to follow her, when he said, "I wish her
to go alone, if you please, Miss Lucy;" and with a frown and a
pout the little girl walked into the drawing-room and seated
herself on the sofa beside her mamma.
Mr. Dinsmore walked out on to the portico, and stood there
watching the moon which was just rising over the treetops.
"Horace," said Arthur, emerging from the shadow of a tree near by
and approaching his brother, "Elsie thinks you're a tyrant. She
says you never let her have anything, or go anywhere, and you're
always punishing her. She and Lucy have had a fine time out here
talking over your bad treatment of her, and planning to have some
candy in spite of you."
"Arthur, I do not believe that Elsie would deliberately plan to
disobey me; and whatever faults she may have, I am very sure she
is above the meanness of telling tales," replied Mr. Dinsmore, in
a tone of severity, as he turned and went into the house, while
Arthur, looking sadly crestfallen, crept away out of sight.
When Elsie reached her room, she found that Chloe was not there;
for, not expecting that her services would be required at so early
an hour, she had gone down to the kitchen to have a little chat
with her fellow-servants. Elsie rang for her, and then walking to
the window, stood looking down into the garden in an attitude of
thoughtfulness and dejection. She was mentally taking a review of
the manner in which she had spent the day, as was her custom
before retiring. The retrospect had seldom been so painful to the
little girl. She had a very tender conscience, and it told her now
that she had more than once during the day indulged in wrong
feelings toward her father; that she had also allowed another to
speak disrespectfully of him, giving by her silence a tacit
approval of the sentiments uttered, and, more than that, had
spoken complainingly of him herself.
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