Elsie's children

by Martha Finley

  CHAPTER TWELFTH.

  "You may as well Forbid the seas to obey the moon, As, or by oath, remove, or counsel, shake The fabric of her folly." --SHAKESPEARE.

  Scarcely had the Gibsons departed when their places were more than filledby the unexpected arrival of a large party from Roselands, comprising oldMr. Dinsmore, with his daughter Mrs. Conly and her entire family, with theexception of Calhoun, who would follow shortly.

  They were welcomed by their relatives with true southern hospitality andassured that the two cottages could readily be made to accommodate themall comfortably.

  "What news of Molly?" was the first question after the greetings had beenexchanged.

  Mrs. Conly shook her head and sighed, "Hasn't been able to set her foot onthe floor for weeks, and I don't believe she ever will. That's Dr.Pancoast's opinion, and he's good authority. 'Twas her condition thatbrought us North. We've left her and her mother at the Continental inPhiladelphia.

  "There's to be a consultation to-morrow of all the best surgeons in thecity. Enna wanted me to stay with her till that was over, but I couldn'tthink of it with all these children fretting and worrying to get down hereout of the heat. So I told her I'd leave Cal to take care of her andMolly.

  "Dick's with them too. He's old enough to be useful now, and Molly clingsto him far more than to her mother."

  "Isn't it dreadful," said Virginia, "to think that that fall down-stairshas made her a cripple for life? though nobody thought she was much hurtat first."

  "Poor child! how does she bear it?" asked her uncle.

  "She doesn't know how to bear it at all," said Mrs. Conly; "she nearlycries her eyes out."

  "No wonder," remarked the grandfather; "it's a terrible prospect she hasbefore her, to say nothing of the present suffering. And her mother has nopatience with her; pities herself instead of the child."

  "No," said Mrs. Conly, "Enna was never known to have much patience withanybody or anything."

  "But Dick's good to her," remarked Isadore.

  "Yes," said Arthur, "it's really beautiful to see his devotion to her andhow she clings to him. And it's doing the lad good;--making a man ofhim."

  "Surely Enna must feel for her child!" Elsie said, thinking of her owndarlings and how her very heart would be torn with anguish at the sight ofone of them in so distressing a condition.

  "Yes, of course, she cried bitterly over her when first the truth dawnedupon her that Molly was really so dreadfully injured; but of course thatcouldn't last and she soon took to bewailing her own hard fate in havingsuch a burden on her hands, a daughter who must always live single andcould never be anything but a helpless invalid."

  Elsie understood how it was; for had she not known Enna from a child? Herheart ached for Molly, and as she told her own little ones of their poorcousin's hopeless, helpless state, she mingled her tears with theirs.

  "Mamma, won't you 'vite her to come here?" pleaded Harold.

  "Yes, dear mamma, do," urged the others, "and let us all try to amuse andcomfort her."

  "If I do, my dears, you may be called upon at times to give up yourpleasures for her. Do you think you will be willing to do so?"

  At that the young faces grew very grave, and for a moment no one spoke.Quick, impulsive Violet was the first to answer.

  "Yes, mamma, I'm willing; I do feel so sorry for her I'd do anything tohelp her bear her pain."

  "Mamma," said Elsie, softly, "I'll ask Jesus to help me, and I'm sure hewill."

  "So am I, daughter; and I think Vi means to ask his help too?"

  "Oh, yes, mamma, I do!"

  "And I," "and I," "and I," responded the others.

  So the invitation was sent, for Molly and her mother and brother to comeand pay as long a visit as they would.

  A letter came in a few days, accepting it and giving the sorrowful newsthat all the surgeons agreed in the opinion that the poor girl's spine hadbeen so injured that she would never again have any use of her lowerlimbs.

  It was Mrs Conly who brought the letter to her niece, it having come inone addressed to herself. She expressed strong sympathy for Molly, but wasmuch taken up with the contents of another letter received by the samemail.

  "I've just had a most generous offer from Mr. Conly's sister, Mrs.Delaford," she said to her niece. "She has no children of her own, is awidow and very wealthy, and she's very fond of my Isadore, who is hergodchild and namesake. She offers now to clothe and educate her, with theview of making the child her heir; and also to pay for Virgy's tuition, ifI will send them both to the convent where she was herself educated."

  "Aunt Louise, you will not think of it surely?" cried Elsie, looking muchdisturbed.

  "And why not, pray?" asked Mrs. Conly, drawing herself up, and speakingin a tone of mingled hauteur, pique and annoyance.

  "You would not wish them to become Romanists?"

  "No, of course not; but that need not follow."

  "It is very apt to follow."

  "Nonsense! I should exact a promise that their faith would not beinterfered with."

  "But would that avail, since, 'No faith with heretics,' has been forcenturies the motto of the 'infallible, unchangeable,' Church of Rome?"

  "I think you are inclined to see danger where there is none," returned theaunt. "I would not for the world be as anxious and fussy about my childrenas you are about yours. Besides, I think it quite right to let theirfather's relatives do for them when they are both able and willing."

  "But Aunt Louise----"

  "There! don't let us talk any more about the matter to-day, if youplease," interrupted Mrs. Conly, rising, "I must go now and prepare for mybath. I'll be in again this evening to see Enna and the others. They'll bedown by the afternoon train. Good-morning."

  And she sailed away, leaving Elsie sad and anxious for the future of heryoung cousins.

  "What is it, daughter?" Mr. Dinsmore asked, coming in a moment later. "Ihave seldom seen you look so disturbed."

  Her face brightened, as was its wont under her father's greeting, but,this time, only momentarily.

  "I am troubled, papa," she said, making room for him on the sofa by herside. "Here is a note from Enna. The doctors give Molly no hope that shewill ever walk again. One cannot help feeling very sad for her, poorchild! and besides something Aunt Louise has been telling me, makes meanxious for Isadore and Virginia."

  He was scarcely less concerned than she, when he heard what that was. "Ishall talk to Louise," he said, "it would be the height of folly to exposeher girls to such influences. It is true I once had some thoughts ofsending you to a convent school, under the false impression that theaccomplishments were more thoroughly taught there than in the Protestantseminaries; but with the light I have since gained upon the subject, Iknow that it would have been a fearful mistake."

  "Dear papa," she said, putting her hand into his and looking at him withloving eyes, "I am so thankful to you that you did not; so thankful thatyou taught me yourself. The remembrance of the hours we spent together asteacher and pupil, has always been very sweet to me."

  "To me also," he answered with a smile.

  The expected guests arrived at the appointed time, Enna looking worn,faded and fretful, Dick sad and anxious, poor Molly, weary, exhausted,despairing; as if life had lost all brightness to her.

  Her proud spirit rebelled against her helplessness, against the curious,even the pitying looks it attracted to her from strangers in the streetsand public conveyances.

  The transit from one vehicle to another was made in the strong arms of astalwart negro whom they had brought with them from Roselands, Dickfollowing closely to guard his sister from accident, and shield her asmuch as possible from observation, while Enna and Cal brought up the rear.

  A room on the ground floor had been appropriated to Molly's use, andthither she was carried at once, and gently laid upon a couch. Instantlyher cousin Elsie's arms were about her, her head pillowed upon the gentlebreast, while tears of l
oving sympathy fell fast upon her poor pale face,mingled with tender caresses and whispered words of endearment.

  It did the child good; the tears and sobs that came in response, relievedher aching heart of half its load. But it vexed Enna.

  "What folly, Elsie!" she said, "don't you see how you're making the childcry? And I've been doing my best to get her to stop it; for of course itdoes no good, and only injures her eyes."

  "Forgive me, dear child, if I have hurt you," Elsie said low and tenderly,as she laid Molly's head gently back against the pillows.

  "You haven't! you've done me good!" cried the girl, flashing an indignantglance at Enna. "Oh, mother, if you treated me so, it wouldn't be half sohard to bear!"

  "I've learned not to expect anything but ingratitude from my children,"said Enna, coldly returning Elsie's kind greeting.

  But Dick grasped his cousin's hand warmly, giving her a look of gratefulaffection, and accepted with delight her offered kiss.

  "Now, I will leave you to rest," she said to Molly, "and when you feellike seeing your cousins, they will be glad to come in and speak to you.They are anxious to do all they can for your entertainment while you arehere."

  "Yes, but I want to see grandpa and Uncle Horace now, please; they justkissed me in the car, and that was all."

  They came in at once, full of tender sympathy for the crippled, sufferingchild.

  "They're so kind," sobbed Molly, as they left the room.

  "Yes, you can appreciate everybody's kindness but your mother's," remarkedEnna in a piqued tone, "and everybody can be sorry for you, but myfeelings are lost sight of entirely."

  "Oh, mother, don't!" sighed Molly. "I'm sure I've enough to bear withoutyour reproaches. I'd appreciate you fast enough, if you were such a motheras Cousin Elsie."

  "Or as Aunt Louise, why don't you say?" said Mrs. Conly, coming in, goingup to the couch, and kissing her. "How d'ye do, Enna?"

  "Yes, even you are sorrier for me than mother is, I do believe!" returnedMolly, bursting into tears; "and if it was Isa or Virgy you'd be ever sogood to her, and not scold her as mother does me."

  "Why, I'm just worn out and worried half to death about that girl," saidEnna, in answer to her sister's query. "She'll never walk a stepagain--all the doctors say that." At these words Molly was almostconvulsed with sobs, but Enna went on relentlessly. "And when they askedher how it happened, she up and told them her high-heeled shoes threw herdown, and that she didn't want to wear them, but I made her do it."

  "And so you did, and I only told it because one of the doctors asked if Ididn't know they were dangerous; and when I said yes, he wanted to knowhow I came to be so foolish as to wear them."

  "And then he lectured me," Enna went on, "as if it was all my fault, whenof course it was her own carelessness; for if it wasn't, why haven't someof the rest of us fallen down. Accidents happen when nobody's to blame."

  "I came near falling the other day, myself," said Mrs. Conly, "and I'llnever wear a high, narrow heel again, nor let one of my girls do so. NowI'm going out. You two ought to take a nap; Molly especially, poor child!I'm very sorry for you; but don't cry any more now. It will only hurtyour eyes."

  Mrs. Conly was to stay to tea and spend the evening. Stepping into theparlor she found all the adult members of the family there.

  "I want to have a talk with you, Louise," her brother said, seating hercomfortably on a sofa and drawing up a chair beside her.

  "And I think I know what about," she returned with heightened color,glancing toward Elsie, "but let me tell you beforehand, Horace, that youmay as well spare yourself the trouble. I have already accepted Mrs.Delaford's offer."

  "Louise! how could you be so hasty in so important a matter?"

  "Permit me to answer that question with another," she retorted, drawingherself up haughtily, "what right have you to call me to an account for sodoing?"

  "Only the right of an older brother to take a fraternal interest in yourwelfare and that of his nieces."

  "What is it, mother?" asked Calhoun.

  She told him in a few words, and he turned to his uncle with the query whyhe so seriously objected to her acceptance of what seemed so favorable anoffer.

  "Because I think it would be putting in great jeopardy the welfare of yoursisters, temporal and spiritual"

  "What nonsense, Horace!" exclaimed Mrs. Conly angrily. "Of course I shallexpressly stipulate that their faith is not to be interfered with."

  "And just as much of course the promise will be given and systematicallybroken without the slightest compunction; because in the creed of Rome theend sanctifies the means and no end is esteemed higher or holier than thatof adding members to her communion."

  "Well," said Louise, "I must say you judge them hardly. I'm sure there areat least some pious ones among them and of course they wouldn't lie."

  "You forget that the more pious they are, the more obedient they will beto the teachings of their church, and when she tells them it is a piousact to be false to their word or oath, for her advancement, or to burn,kill and destroy, or to break any other commandment of the decalogue, theywill obey believing that thus they do God service.

  "Really the folly and credulity of Protestant parents who commit theirchildren to the care of those who teach and put in practice, too, thesetwo maxims, so utterly destructive of all truth and honesty, allconfidence between man and man--'The end sanctifies the means,' and 'Nofaith with heretics,'--is to me perfectly astounding."

  "So you consider me a fool," said Mrs. Conly, bridling, "thanks for thecompliment."

  "It is you who make the application, Louise," he answered. "I had nothought of doing so, and still hope you will prove your wisdom byreconsidering and letting Mrs. Delaford know that you revoke yourdecision."

  "Indeed I shall not; I consider that I have no right to throw awayIsadore's fortune."

  "Have you then a greater right to imperil her soul's salvation?" he askedwith solemn earnestness.

  "Pshaw! what a serious thing you make of it," she exclaimed, yet with anuneasy and troubled look.

  "Uncle!" cried Calhoun in surprise, "do you not think there have been andare some real Christians in the Romish Church?"

  "No doubt of it, Cal; some who, spite of her idolatrous teachings, worshipGod alone and put their trust solely in the atoning blood and imputedrighteousness of Christ. Yet who can fail to see in the picture of Babylonthe Great so graphically drawn in Revelation, a faithful portraiture ofRome? And the command is, 'Come out of her, my people, that ye be notpartaker of her sins, and that ye receive not of her plagues.'"

  Mr. Dinsmore paused, but no one seeming to have anything to say in reply,went on to give his sister a number of instances which had come to hisknowledge, of the perversion of Protestant girls while being educated inconvents.

  "Well," she said at last, "I'm not going to draw back now, but I shall beon the watch and if they do begin to tamper with my girls' faith I'llremove them at once. There now I hope you are satisfied!"

  "Not quite, Louise," he said, "they are accomplished proselyters and mayhave the foundations completely and irremediably undermined ere yoususpect that they have begun."