by A. A. Milne
“Yes, dear child, it is a most precious assurance and we may well rejoice in it;— you and I and all his people.
“But ever let us keep in mind and obey those other words of our blessed Master, ‘Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation.’
“Remember that we are to be good soldiers of Jesus Christ, and that we have a great battle to fight with the evil that is in our own hearts, the snares of the world, and the powers of darkness;— Satan and his hosts of wicked spirits whose great desire and aim is to ruin our souls and drag us down to the dreadful place prepared for them.”
“Papa, sometimes I feel so afraid of them,” she sighed, shuddering. “But Jesus is stronger than any of them, and will not let them hurt me if I trust in him?”
“Stronger than all of them put together, and will not let any, or all of them, pluck you out of his hand. We are safe there. In the eighth chapter of Romans we find these triumphant words,
“’I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord!’”
Chapter 11
In all the homes of the Dinsmore connection Sunday was always a peacefully quiet day— kept as a sacred time of rest from toil and worldly cares and pleasures.
The quiet and leisure for thought were particularly grateful to Grandma Elsie, in her pleasant home at Ion, on this last Sunday of the old year.
She had enjoyed having her friends about her and seeing the hilarity of the children and youth. She was still youthful in her feelings and full of an ever ready sympathy with the young, none of whom could know without loving her, while to all who could claim kin with her— especially her children and grandchildren, she was an object of devoted affection; affection fully reciprocated by her.
And so the frequent reunions at Ion were a source of delight to both her and them.
Yet there were times when her spirit craved exclusive companionship with her nearest and dearest; other seasons when she would be alone with Him whom her “soul desired above all earthly joy and earthly love.”
An hour had been spent in secret communion with Him ere Rosie and Walter came for the half hour of Bible study and prayer in mamma’s dressing room, before breakfast, to which they had been accustomed since their earliest recollection.
And not they only but their older brothers and sisters before them, every one of whom had very tender memories connected with that short service; memories that had been a safeguard to them in times of temptation, a comfort and support in the dark hours that sooner or later come to all the sons and daughters of Adam, and made them feel it even yet a privilege to participate, when circumstances would permit.
Sometimes Edward and Zoe joined the little circle, and Harold and Herbert seldom failed to do so when at home. They all did so this morning and with an enjoyment that made the allotted time seem far too short.
Their mother had always been able to interest her children in Bible lessons.
Breakfast and family worship followed; then attendance upon the morning service of the sanctuary.
After that Sunday school for the blacks in the school house on the estate, the mother and all her children acting as teachers.
The afternoon and evening were given to reading, conversation and music suited to the sacredness of the day; then all retired to peaceful slumbers, from which they rose in the morning rested and refreshed in body and mind, and ready to enter with zest upon the labors and pleasures of the new week.
According to the arrangements made the previous week the whole Ion family, and all who had been guests there at that time, repaired to Fairview at an early hour, where they spent the day together in social festivities similar to those with which they had enlivened their stay with Grandma Elsie.
Harold and Herbert gave a magic lantern exhibition, some charades were acted, and Cousin Ronald contrived to add not a little to the fun by timely efforts in his own peculiar line; the very little ones were delighted to hear their toy dogs bark, roosters crow, hens and geese cackle, ducks quack, horses neigh and donkeys bray.
They could hardly believe that the sounds which seemed to come from the mouths of the toy animals were really made by Cousin Ronald, and when assured that such was the case, thought him a most wonderful man.
Some of the guests departed that evening, but others remained over night; among them the Raymonds.
On Tuesday morning they went home to Woodburn taking Grandma Elsie, Rosie, Walter and Evelyn Leland with them.
Lulu had been sharing Evelyn’s room at Fairview, and now was to have the pleasure of returning the hospitality.
There were some preparations to be made for the entertainment of to-morrow’s guests, and the children were in a flutter of pleasurable excitement.
I could not tell you how much they enjoyed their share of the planning and arranging, and the consultations together and with the older people, or how kindly indulgent the captain was to their wishes and fancies, never saying them nay when it was within his power to grant their request.
Evelyn Leland loved to watch Lulu and Grace as they hung affectionately about their father, giving and receiving caresses and endearments; yet the sight often brought tears to her eyes— calling up tender memories of the past. She had not forgotten— she never could forget the dear parent who had been won’t to lavish such caresses and endearments upon her, and at times her young heart ached with its longing to hear again the sound of his voice and feel the clasp of his arm, and his kisses upon cheek and lip and brow.
Yet life was gliding along very peacefully and happily with her, brightened by the love of kindred and friends, and she could join very heartily in the diversions and merriment of her companions.
Tea was over, the babies had had their romp with papa, brothers and sisters, and been carried off to the nursery, leaving the rest of the family— the guests included— in the pleasant library.
“Well, my dears, it has been a busy day with you,” remarked Grandma Elsie, smiling pleasantly upon the group of children, “but I presume your preparations for to-morrow’s sports are quite completed?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Lulu.
“And we have some very good charades, mamma,” said Rosie, “and have arranged for some nice tableaux.”
“New ones?”
“New and old both,” answered Rosie and Lulu together. “And oh, Grandma Elsie, we want another with you in it,” added Lulu, with eager entreaty in her tones.
“And why with me, my dear?” asked Mrs. Travilla, with a pleased little laugh, “are there not more than enough younger people to take part?”
“Oh there are plenty of us such as we are!” laughed Evelyn, “but we want all the beautiful people, so that the pictures will be beautiful.”
“You are coming out in a new character, Eva— that of an adroit flatterer,” returned Grandma Elsie, with a look of amusement; “but I am not at all displeased, my dear child, because I credit it entirely to your affection, which I prize very highly,” she hastened to add, seeing that her words had called up a blush of painful embarrassment on Eva’s usually placid face.
“Grandma Elsie, we all love you dearly,” said Lulu, “but you are beautiful. I’m sure everybody thinks so. Don’t they, papa?”
“As far as my knowledge goes,” he answered, smiling and pinching her cheek— for as usual she was close at his side— “and indeed I don’t know how any one could think otherwise.”
“Mamma will, I’m sure,” said Walter, “because we want her to, and she’s always kind.”
“Will what?” asked Violet coming in at that moment.
“Be one in a tableau,” replied Walter.
“Yes, of course,” said Violet. “Oh we’ll make a group with mamma, grandpa, Sister Elsie and her little Ned, and call it a picture of four generations. If dear old grandpa were with us still we could make it fi
ve.”
“A very nice idea, my dear,” the captain remarked with a glance of affectionate admiration at his young wife, as he rose and handed her a chair; “and I think we must have the group photographed.”
“Oh yes, Lester can do it beautifully! We’ll send him word to bring his apparatus with him.”
“Yes,” said her mother, “and we will ask him to take us all in family groups. The pictures will be pleasant mementoes of this holiday season.”
“Mamma,” said Walter, “I think if you would tell us all about all the New Years days you can remember, it would be a very interesting way of spending the evening.”
“Yes, mamma, we would all be charmed to hear your story,” said Violet, the others chiming in with, “Oh yes, mamma,” “Yes, Grandma Elsie, please do tell it.”
“Since you all seem to desire it, I will try,” she answered kindly, “but I fear my reminiscences will hardly deserve the name of story.
“The first Christmas and New Years of which I retain a vivid remembrance, were those of the first winter after I had made the acquaintance of my dear father; for, as I believe you all know, I never saw him till I was eight years old.
“The occurrences of that Christmas are too familiar to most, if not all of you, to bear repetition.”
“And you hadn’t at all a nice New Year’s that time, mamma,” said Rosie, softly stroking and patting the hand she held, then lifting it to her lips; for she was sitting on a stool at her mother’s feet, while the others had grouped themselves around her, “suffering so with that sprained ankle.”
“Ah there you are mistaken, my child,” Grandma Elsie answered with her own sweet smile, “for I had a most enjoyable day in spite of the injury that kept me a prisoner in my room; my father brought me a beautiful doll-baby, quite as large as some live ones that I have seen, and a quantity of pretty things to be used in its adornment. My little friends and I had a merry, happy time cutting out garments and making them up.
“The next Christmas and New Year’s Day were spent in our sweet new home at the Oaks, which my papa had bought and furnished in the mean time.
“My Christmas gifts were beautiful; from papa books and a pearl necklace and bracelets— now the property of my daughter Rosie”— smiling down at Rosie as she spoke— “and a ring to match from him who was afterward my beloved husband; also books from his mother and my Aunt Adelaide. They were our guests at dinner that day.
“Between breakfast and dinner I had the pleasure of distributing gifts among the house servants and the negroes at the quarter; then a ride with papa; and the evening, till my early bedtime, was spent sitting on his knee.”
“But you are going to tell us about that New Year’s, too, mamma, aren’t you?” asked Walter, as she paused in her narrative, sitting quietly with a pensive, far off look in her soft brown eyes.
“Yes,” she said, rousing from her reverie, “I remember it was on the day after Christmas that papa asked me if I was going to make a New Year’s present to each of my little friends.
“Of course I was delighted with the idea, especially as he allowed me great latitude in regard to the amount to be spent.”
“And did he take you to the stores and let yon choose the presents, Grandma Elsie?” asked Lulu. “That would be half the fun, I think.”
“My dear, indulgent father would have done so, had I been able to bear the fatigue,” Grandma Elsie replied, “but at that time I was quite feeble from a severe illness. He did not think me strong enough to visit the stores, but ordered goods sent out to the Oaks for me to select from, which gave me nearly as much enjoyment us I could have found in going to the city in search of them.”
“Did you find gifts to suit, mamma?” queried Walter. “And oh won’t you tell us how many and what they were?”
“Beside the Roselands little people,” replied his mother, “there were Lucy and Herbert Carrington, Carrie Howard, Isabel Carleton, Mary Leslie, and Flora Arnott to be remembered.
“For the last named, who was also the youngest, I selected a beautiful wax doll and a complete wardrobe of ready made clothes for it, all neatly packed in a tiny trunk.
“To Mary Leslie I gave a ring, and to each of the other girls a handsome bracelet; to Herbert, who was a great reader, a set of handsomely bound books.
“All these little friends of mine were spending the Christmas holidays at Pinegrove— the home of the Howards.
“Papa and I had been invited too, but had declined because of my feeble state. When my gifts were ready I asked him if they should be sent to Pinegrove.
“‘We will see about it,’ he answered; ’we have plenty of time; there are two days yet, and it will not take a messenger half an hour to travel from here to Pinegrove.’
“So I said no more, for I never was allowed to tease.
“But when New Year’s morning came and the presents had not been sent, I began to feel decidedly uneasy, and papa evidently perceived it; though neither of us said a word on the subject that was uppermost in my mind.
“Papa had some beautiful books and pictures for me which he gave me before breakfast, saying he hoped they would help me pass the day pleasantly; he would be glad to make it the happiest New Year I had known yet.
“He smiled tenderly upon me as he said it, then held me close in his arms and kissed me over and over again; and I returned his kisses, putting my arms about his neck and hugging him as tight as I could.
“After that we had breakfast and family worship, and then he took me on his knee again and asked how I would like to spend the day?
“I answered that I would be glad to have a drive if he did not think it too cold. He said he thought it was not if I were well wrapped up.
“There was no snow to make sleighing, so the carriage was ordered, I was bundled up in furs, and we drove several miles.
“As we were about starting I ventured to ask, ’Papa, haven’t you forgotten to send my presents to Pinegrove?’ He smiled and said, ’No, my darling,’ in a very pleasant tone, but that was all, and when we came back I noticed that the presents were still in a closet in my dressing room where they had lain ever since they were bought.
“I was quite puzzled to understand it, but I asked no questions.
“Mammy arranged my hair and dress, and I went back to the parlor where papa was sitting reading. He laid aside his book as soon as I entered the room, took me on his knee, and began telling me funny stories that kept me laughing till a carriage drove up to the door.
“‘There, some one has come!’ he said; ’it seems we are not to spend the day alone after all.’
“Then in another minute or two, the door opened and in came my six little friends for whom I had bought the presents.”
Grace clapped her hands in delight. “Oh how nice! and didn’t you have a good time, Grandma Elsie?”
“Yes, very; they had all come to spend the day; I had the pleasure of presenting my gifts in person and of seeing that they were fully appreciated; we played quiet games and papa told us lovely stories. There was no fretting or quarrelling, everybody was in high good humor, and when the time came to separate, my guests all bade good bye, saying, ‘they had never had a more enjoyable day.’”
“Now please tell about the next Christmas and New Year’s, mamma,” urged Walter, as she paused, as though feeling that her tale was ended.
“Let mamma have time to breathe and to think what comes next, Walter,” said Rosie. “Don’t you see that’s what she is doing?”
“I am thinking of those little friends of mine,” sighed their mother; “asking myself ‘Where are they now?’ Ah what changes life brings! how short and hasty it is, and how soon it will be over! I mean the life in this world.
“It is likened in the Bible to a pilgrimage, a tale that is told, a flower that soon withers or is cut down by the mower’s scythe, a dream, a sleep, a vapor, a shadow, a handbreadth; a thread cut by the weaver.”
“Mamma, are those friends of yours all dead?” asked Walte
r.
“I will tell you about them,” she answered. “Herbert Carrington died young— he was barely sixteen.”
With the words a look of pain swept across the still fair, sweet face of the speaker, and she paused for a moment as if almost overcome by some sad recollection.
Violet, who had heard the story from Grandma Rose, understood it.
“Mamma, dear,” she said softly, “what a happy thing it was for him— poor sufferer that he was— to be taken so early to the Father’s house on high where pain and sin and sorrow are unknown!”
“Yes,” returned her mother, furtively wiping away a tear, “and calling to mind the dreadful scenes of the war that followed some years later, and the sore trials that resulted in the Carrington family— I feel that he was taken away from the evil to come.
“Of the others forming that little company Flora Arnott too died young. Mary Leslie married and moved away, and I have lost sight of her for many years. Carrie Howard lived to become a wife and mother, but was called away from earth years ago. The same words would tell Isabel Carleton’s story.
“Lucy Carrington and I are the only ones left, and she, like myself, has children and grandchildren. I hear from her now and then, and we meet occasionally when I go North or she pays a visit to the old home at Ashlands.”
“Mrs. Ross,” said Rosie half in assertion, half inquiringly.
“Yes, that is her married name.”
“And Aunt Sophy who lives at Ashlands now, is— ”
“The widow of Lucy’s older brother Harry, and also your Grandma Rose’s sister; as you all know.”
“Mamma,” said Walter, “you didn’t mention Grandma Rose at all in telling your story of that Christmas and New Year’s. Wasn’t she there?”
“No, my son; my father— your grandpa— and I were living alone together at that time. The next summer we went North, and while there visited at Elmgrove, Mr. Allison’s country seat, which gave papa and Miss Rose an opportunity to become quite well acquainted.
“I had known and loved Miss Rose before, and was very glad when papa told me she had consented to become his wife and my mother.
