by A. A. Milne
“They were married in the fall and when we returned to the Oaks she was with us.
“That made my next Christmas and New Year still happier than the last, and when yet another came round my treasures had been increased in number by the advent of a darling little brother.”
“Uncle Horace,” said Walter. “Mamma, were you very glad when God gave him to you?”
“Indeed I was!” she answered with a smile. “I had never had a brother or sister and had often been hungry for one.
“And he has always been a dear, loving brother to me,” she went on, “and your Aunt Rose, who came to us while we were in Europe some eight years later, as sweet a sister as any one could desire.”
“But about those holidays, mamma, the first when you had a brother?” persisted Walter; “aren’t you going to tell about them?”
“Yes,” she answered; “it was a particularly enjoyable time, for we had our cousins— Mildred and Annis Keith— with us. Mildred, though, had become Mrs. Landreth, and had her husband and baby boy with her.
“Annis was a dear, lovable little girl just about my own age. They spent the winter at the Oaks, Annis sharing both my studies and my sports. We had a Christmas party, our guests remaining through the rest of the week.”
“Oh mamma, do please go on and tell the whole story of that Christmas, and all the good times you had that winter,” pleaded Rosie. “I have always enjoyed it so much, and I’m sure Eva and Lulu and Gracie will.”
Rosie’s request was seconded by several other voices in the little crowd, and Grandma Elsie, ever willing to give pleasure, kindly complied.
But as my young readers have already had the story in Mildred’s Married Life, I shall not repeat it here. Suffice it to say it seemed to greatly interest all her listeners, and Lulu gathered from it a far different impression of Mr. Dinsmore, as a father, from that she had derived from tales told her by some of the old servants in the family connection.
They had given her the idea that he was exceedingly stern and tyrannical, but his daughter painted him as a most loving and indulgent parent. Mayhap the truth lay somewhere between the two pictures, for as he himself had often said, Elsie was ever won’t to look upon him through rose colored glasses.
“You did have a very nice time, Grandma Elsie! I could almost wish I’d been in your place,” exclaimed Lulu, when the tale had come to an end. “But no I don’t, either, for then I couldn’t be my father’s child,” putting her arm round the captain’s neck and laying her cheek to his, “and to belong to him is better than anything else!”
“My little Lulu being the judge,” laughed the captain, tightening the clasp of his arm about her waist.
“Or any other of your children, papa,” added Grace from her seat on his knee, affectionately stroking his face with her small white hand as she spoke. “Grandma Elsie, won’t you please go on and tell about other Christmases that you remember?”
“I think, my dear, I have done my full share of story telling for one evening,” replied Mrs. Travilla pleasantly. “It is your father’s turn now, as the next in age. Captain, will you not favor us with some of your reminiscences of former holiday experiences? or of something else if you prefer. I know you are a famous story teller.”
“Oh yes, captain!” “Oh yes, papa do, please,” urged the others.
“Some other time, perhaps,” he said. “Do you know how late it is? time to call the servants in to prayers, and then for the little folks to seek their nests. Max, my son, ring the bell.”
“Then you don’t mean to let us stay up to watch the old year out and the new year in, papa?” queried the lad, as he rose and obeyed the order.
“Hardly,” his father answered with a slight smile; “You are all too young to be allowed to lose so large a portion of your night’s rest. To do so would spoil all the anticipated pleasure of to-morrow.”
“Then I am sure we don’t want to, captain,” said Evelyn, “for we are looking forward to a great deal of pleasure.”
Chapter 12
“My little Grace looks tired,” the captain said, bending down and taking her in his arms as the little folks were bidding good night. “I shall carry you up stairs, darling, after the old custom.”
“Thank you, papa; I’m very willing,” replied Grace, clasping his neck with her small arms.
“Lulu, shall I say good night to you first?” he asked, smiling down at his eldest daughter, standing by his side; “as you have Eva with you, you will perhaps not care for the usual bit of good night chat with your father?”
“Yes, indeed I do care for it, papa!” cried Lulu. “Why, I sha’n’t have another chance this year! I wouldn’t miss it for anything!”
“Then you shall not,” he said, looking both pleased and amused; “that sounds as though the next opportunity were far in the distance.”
He passed out of the room as he spoke, and on up the wide stairway, Lulu and Eva following, each with an arm about the other’s waist.
“Those talks must be so delightful,” remarked the latter in a low tone, and with a slight sigh, “I’m very glad you don’t let me hinder them, dear Lu.”
“I knew you wouldn’t want me to,” said Lulu; “you are always so kind and thoughtful for others; and though papa sometimes gives me a quarter of an hour or more, when we have a great deal to say to each other, I think he won’t stay more than a minute or two to-night! so that it won’t keep me long away from you.”
“Oh please don’t hurry for my sake,” said Eva, adding softly, “You know I, too, shall be glad of a few minutes alone with my best Friend. So if you like, I will go into the little tower room while your papa is with you.”
“You can have both that and my bedroom to yourself, dear,” returned Lulu, “for I shall receive papa in the little sitting room that is Gracie’s and mine.”
They had reached the upper hall. The captain passed into Gracie’s bedroom, Lulu into her own, Eva with her.
“Such a sweet, pretty room!” Eva said, glancing around it; “I am always struck with that thought on coming into it, though I have seen it so often.”
“Yes,” returned Lulu, her face lighting up with pleasure, “I think it so myself. Our dear father is constantly adding pretty things here and there to our room, and doing oh so much to make his children happy! Yet, would you believe it, Eva? I am sometimes both ill-tempered and disobedient to him.”
“Not now! not lately?” Evelyn said half in assertion, half inquiringly and with a look of surprise.
“Yes,” Lulu replied in a low, remorseful tone, her eyes downcast, her face flushing painfully; “only last month, one day Max was teasing me and I was in very bad humor, so answered him very crossly. Papa happened to be in the next room and overheard it all, and called to us both to come to him. His voice sounded stern, and I felt angry and rebellious. Max, never does feel so, I believe, anyway he’s always obedient, and he went at once, but I waited to be called a second time, and— O Eva, I’m dreadfully, dreadfully ashamed! but I feel as if I must tell you because I can’t bear to have you think me so much better than I am.”
“Dear Lu, don’t tell it if it hurts you so. I’m sure if you were not a good girl you wouldn’t feel so very sorry and ashamed,” Evelyn interrupted, putting both arms round her friend and kissing her with warmth of affection.
“No, indeed, I’m not!” said Lulu; “and I’ll tell it, if only to punish myself for my badness. Papa has never punished me for it, though I really did wish he would and asked him to over and over again.”
“That seems very odd,” Eva said, half smiling. “Most people are only too glad to escape punishment.”
“Maybe I’m different from most folks,” said Lulu, “but I always want to beat myself when I’ve been so hateful, and so if papa punishes me I always feel a good deal happier after it’s over.
“But I must finish my story. Papa asked, ’Lulu, did you hear me bid you come to me?’ and I answered, ‘Yes, sir’; then muttered, ’but I’ll not come a
step till I get ready.’”
Evelyn seemed lost in astonishment. “Oh Lu! did you really say that? could you venture to speak so to your father— a man whom everybody respects so highly, and who is so dear and kind to you?”
“I did,” acknowledged Lulu, her head hanging still lower and her cheek flushing more hotly. “You see when I lived with Aunt Beulah I got into the way of being very saucy to her, and I suppose that’s how I came to speak so to papa. Oh don’t you think I ought to be dreadfully ashamed, and that papa should have punished me very severely?”
“I suppose he is the best judge of that,” Eva answered, doubtfully. “But what did he do? Surely he didn’t pass it over as of no consequence? I think he couldn’t feel it right to allow his own child to refuse obedience to his commands.”
“No; of course not. The minute I’d said the words I could have bitten my tongue off for it. I hoped papa hadn’t heard, but he had, and he rose from his chair and came toward me (very quietly; not at all as if he was in a passion), and I jumped up, saying ‘I will, papa; I’m coming.’”
“Then he said in a tone as if he were grieved and astonished that his own little girl could talk so to him— ’Tardy obedience following upon a most insolent refusal to obey,’ and took my hand and led me to the side of his chair.
“Then he sat down and talked to Max a little, and sent him up to his room, and after Max had gone he talked to me.
“He said he must punish me, but he would try a new way, and for four days I shouldn’t be his child at all— at least not be treated like it, but just as if I were only a little girl visitor; he wouldn’t give me any orders, or advice, or direction, or instruction; and I mustn’t take any liberty with him that I wouldn’t feel free to take with a stranger gentleman.
“He said I must understand that he did not intend to subject me to any harsh treatment, but would be as polite and attentive to my wants as if I were a guest in the house.”
“O Lu, did you like it? was it nice?”
“No, indeed! I thought they were the longest days I’d ever lived, and wondered how I could ever have thought I’d like to be my own mistress instead of having to obey papa.
“He didn’t give me one cross word or even look, but he didn’t invite me to sit on his knee, and I didn’t dare do so; he didn’t call me pet names and hug me up in his arms, as he so often does when I haven’t been naughty, and I couldn’t wait on him as I always love to do; he wouldn’t let me do the least thing for him. I just felt as if I wasn’t one of the family at all, and would ten times rather have had the hardest of whippings; at least so far as the pain was concerned.”
“Yes, of course; it wouldn’t have been half so hard to bear. At least I can imagine that to be made to feel yourself only a stranger in your father’s house would be a great deal worse than having to endure quite severe bodily pain. So I think you may feel that you have been punished.”
“Not so severely as I deserve,” returned Lulu, shaking her head and sighing; “no not half. There, I can hear Gracie calling me to say good-night. Excuse me while I run into her room for a few minutes.”
She found Grace alone and just getting into bed.
“Where’s papa?” Lulu asked.
“Gone down stairs; but he said he’d be back in a few minutes to have his bit of chat with you in our sitting-room.”
“Then I’ll just kiss you good night and hurry back to get ready for him.”
When the captain came he found Lulu ready and waiting for him, seated by the fire with her Bible open in her hand.
“I was learning my verse for to-morrow morning, papa,” she said, closing the book and laying it aside, as she rose to give him the easy chair she had been occupying.
“That was right,” he replied, sitting down and drawing her to his knee; “one could hardly end the old year, or begin the new, in a better way than by the study of God’s word. Well, has my little daughter anything particular to say to her father to-night?”
“Only that I wish I’d been a better daughter to you, papa, and that I hope I shall be this— no next year: the year that’s to begin in a few hours. I do hope that when its last night comes you can say, ’My daughter Lulu hasn’t been once disobedient or in a passion for a whole year.’”
“It will be a very happy thing for me— for us both— if I can,” he said, “and I am not without hope that it may be so. But my dear child, you will need constant watchfulness lest your besetting sins overcome you when you least expect it.”
“I wish I could ever get done with the fight,” she sighed. “It’s such a hard one.”
“Yes, I know, dear child, for I am engaged in the same conflict; but we must keep on resolutely till the dear Master calls us home.
“But we have the promise of His help all the way, and that we shall be ‘more than conquerors through Him that loved us.’ And the prize is eternal life at God’s right hand.”
“It will be always easy to be good when we get to heaven?”
“Yes; the last remains of the old evil nature will have been taken away, and we will have no more inclination to sin.”
“I am very glad of that! and that God gave me such a good Christian father to help me in my hard fight! And, papa, I must tell you again that I am very, very sorry and ashamed because of my naughtiness last month.”
“Dear child, my dear humble penitent little girl!” he said tenderly, “it was all long since fully and freely forgiven. Now good night, my darling; and good bye till next year,” he added in playful tone, kissing her fondly over and over again, “unless something unforeseen should make you want your father before morning. In that case you will not have far to run to find him.”
“Oh no; and it makes me glad always at night to remember that you are so near, and the doors all open between our rooms, so that you could hear me if I should call out to you, papa. I know you wouldn’t be displeased at being wakened if I were in trouble and needed you.”
“No, indeed, daughter; in that case I should be only too glad to be roused that I might hasten to your assistance.
“But let your greatest rejoicing be in the thought that you and I and all of us are under the care of Him who neither slumbers nor sleeps. ’It is better to trust in the Lord than to put confidence in man.’”
Rosie in her mamma’s room, which she shared at this time, as on a former occasion, was preparing for bed, Grandma Elsie quietly reading in an easy chair beside the fire.
Presently Rosie went to the side of the chair and dropping on her knees on the carpet, looked up smilingly into the sweet placid face bent over the book.
“Mamma, dear, I have come for my good night kiss before getting into bed,” she said softly, adding sportively, “the last I shall solicit from you this year.”
“And you are going to be satisfied with one?” her mother asked letting the book fall into her lap, while she laid one hand gently on her young daughter’s head and gazed tenderly down into the blooming face; with a somewhat sad expression too, Rosie thought.
“I say, no to that, mamma,” she returned, laying her head in her mother’s lap and taking into her own the hand that had been resting on it, to press it again and again to her lips with ardent affection, “for I shall not be satisfied with less than half a dozen.”
Elsie gave them in quick succession, gathering her child in her arms and making her rest her fair head on the maternal bosom, and Rosie felt a warm tear fall on her cheek.
“Mamma!” she exclaimed in concerned surprise, “you are crying! What can be the matter? have I said or done anything to grieve you, dear heart?” reaching up an arm to clasp her mother’s neck, while she scanned the loved features with earnest, tender scrutiny.
For a minute or more there was no reply. Then Elsie said, in moved tones, softly smoothing the hair back from Rosie’s temples as she spoke, and gazing tenderly down into her eyes, “My heart is sad for you, my darling, because, while another year is rapidly drawing to a close, I have yet no reason to hope that you
have sought a refuge within the fold of the good Shepherd who gives to his sheep eternal life; the dear Saviour who has been all these years inviting you to come to him and be saved.”
“Mamma, I am very young yet,” murmured Rosie, hanging her head and blushing.
“Old enough to have become a disciple of Jesus years ago,” her mother said in sorrowful tones. “O my darling, give him the best years of your life; the whole of your life, whether it be long or short. Is he not worthy of it?”
“Yes, mamma; surely there can be only one answer to that and I do mean to— to try to turn over a new leaf with the coming of the new year. But, mamma, I know of a number of good Christians who didn’t begin to be such till they were many years older than I am. There is grandpa for one.”
“Yes, my child,” sighed her mother, “but he has always deeply regretted having so long delayed beginning the Christian course— entering the service of the dear Master whom now he loves better than wife or child or any created being. There are many reasons, my darling, why delay is both dangerous and unwise as well as basely ungrateful.”
“You allude to the uncertainty of life, mamma?”
“Yes, and of the continuance of health and reason. How many have been suddenly overtaken by fatal illness that at once robbed them of the power to think, so that if preparation for the solemn realities of another world had not been already made, the opportunity for so doing was forever lost!
“There is also danger that God’s Spirit may cease to strive with you, and without His help you can not come to Christ.
“Nor do we know how soon Jesus may come again in the clouds of heaven. He himself has told us that he will come as a thief in the night; that is when he is not expected.
“But, Rosie, my dear child, even if you could know certainly that delay will not cost you the loss of your soul, it will bring you other loss great and irreparable.”
“What, mamma?” Rosie asked with a look of mingled surprise and alarm. “I can not think what you mean.”
