Elsie Dinsmore

by Martha Finley

  CHAPTER NINTH

  "Keep the Sabbath day to sanctify it, as the Lord thy God hath commanded thee." --_Deut._ v. 12.

  "She is mine own; And I as rich in having such a jewel As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl, The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold." --SHAKESPEARE, _Two Gentlemen of Verona._

  And now happy days had come to the little Elsie. Her father treated herwith the tenderest affection, and kept her with him almost constantly,seeming scarcely willing to have her out of his sight for an hour. Hetook her with him wherever he went in his rides and walks and visits tothe neighboring planters.

  She was much admired for her beauty and sweetness of disposition, muchcaressed and flattered, but, through it all, lost none of her nativemodesty, but was ever the same meek, gentle little girl. She feltgrateful for all the kindness she received, and liked to visit with herpapa; but her happiest days were spent at home on those rare occasionswhen they were free from visitors, and she could sit for hours on hisknee, or by his side, talking or reading to him, or working at herembroidery, or knitting and listening while he read. He helped her withall her studies, taught her something of botany and geology in theirwalks, helped her to see and correct the faults of her drawings, sangwith her when she played, bought her quantities of new music, andengaged the best masters to instruct her--in short, took a livelyinterest in all her pursuits and pleasures, gave her every indulgence,and lavished upon her the tenderest caresses. He was very proud of herbeauty, her sweetness, her intelligence, and talent; and nothingpleased him better than to hear them spoken of by others in terms ofpraise.

  And Elsie was very happy; the soft eyes grew bright with happiness, andthe little face lost its pensive expression, and became as round, rosyand merry as Enna's.

  Miss Day went North, expecting to be absent several months, and Elsie'spapa took her traveling, spending some time at differentwatering-places. It was her first journey since she had been old enoughto care for such things, and she enjoyed it exceedingly. They left homein July, and did not return until September, so that the little girlhad time to rest and recruit, both mentally and physically, and wasready to begin her studies again with zeal and energy; yet it was sopleasant to be her papa's constant companion, and she had so enjoyedher freedom from the restraints of the school-room, that she was not atall sorry to learn, on their arrival at Roselands, that the governesswould still be absent for some weeks.

  "How bright and happy the child looks!" was Adelaide's remark on theday of their return, as, from the opposite side of the room, shewatched the speaking countenance of the little girl, who was givingEnna and the boys an animated description of her journey.

  "Yes," said Lora, "and how entirely she seems to have overcome her fearof her father!" for at that instant Elsie suddenly left the littlegroup, and running to him, leaned confidingly on his knee, whileapparently urging some request, which he answered with a smile and anod of acquiescence; when she left the room, and presently returnedcarrying a richly bound book of engravings.

  Yes, Elsie had lost her fear of her father, and could now talk to him,and tell him her feelings and wishes, as freely as ever Enna did; andno wonder, for in all these weeks he had never given her one harsh wordor look; but indeed he had had no occasion to do so, for she was alwaysdocile and obedient.

  It was Sabbath afternoon--the first Sabbath after their return--andElsie was in her own room alone with the books she loved best--herBible, hymnbook, and "Pilgrim's Progress."

  She had spent a very happy hour in self-examination, reading andprayer, and was singing to herself in a low tone her favorite hymn,

  "I lay my sins on Jesus,"

  while turning over the leaves of her Bible to find the story of Elijah,which she had promised to read to Chloe that afternoon, when a child'sfootsteps were heard coming down the hall, the handle of the door wasturned hastily, and then, as it refused to yield, Enna's voice calledout in a fretful, imperious tone, "Open this door, Elsie Dinsmore. Iwant in, I say."

  Elsie sighed, as she thought, "There is an end to my nice afternoon,"but she rose at once, and quickly crossing the room, opened the door,asking pleasantly, "What do you want, Enna?"

  "I _told_ you I wanted to come _in_," replied Enna, saucily, "and nowyou've got to tell me a story to amuse me; mamma says so, because youknow I've got a cold, and she won't let me go out."

  "Well, Enna," said Elsie, patiently, "I am going to read a verybeautiful story to mammy, and you are quite welcome to sit here andlisten."

  "I sha'n't have it read! I said you were to _tell_ it. I don't like tohear reading," replied Enna in her imperious way, at the same timetaking quiet possession of Elsie's little rosewood rocking-chair--alate present from her papa, and highly prized by the little girl onthat account--and beginning to scratch with her thumb nail upon the arm.

  "Oh! don't scratch my pretty new chair, Enna!" Elsie entreated; "it ispapa's present, and I wouldn't have it spoiled for a great deal."

  "I will; who cares for your old chair?" was the reply in a scornfultone, as she gave another and harder dig with her nail. "You're alittle old maid--so particular with all your things--that's what mammasays you are. Now tell me that story."

  "I will tell you a story if you will stop scratching my chair, Enna,"said Elsie, almost with tears in her eyes, "I will tell you aboutElijah on Mount Carmel or Beishazzar's feast, or the children in thefiery furnace, or----"

  "I sha'n't hear any of those! I don't want any of your old Biblestories," interrupted Enna, insolently, "You must tell me that prettyfairy tale Herbert Carrington is so fond of."

  "No, Enna; I cannot tell you that _to-day_," replied Elsie, speakinggently, but very firmly.

  "I say you _shall!_" screamed Enna, springing to her feet. "I'll justgo and tell mamma, and she'll make you do it."

  "Stay, Enna," said Elsie, catching her hand to detain her; "I will tellyou any story I know that is suitable for the Sabbath; but I cannottell the fairy tale to-day, because you know it would be wrong. I willtell it to you to-morrow, though, if you will wait."

  "You're a _bad_ girl, and I'll just tell mamma of you," exclaimed Enna,passionately, jerking her hand away and darting from the room.

  "Oh! if papa was only at home," sighed Elsie, sinking into herrocking-chair, pale and trembling; but she knew that he had gone outriding, and would probably not return for some time; he had invited herto accompany him, but she had begged to be allowed to stay at home, andhe had let her have her wish.

  As she feared, she was immediately summoned to Mrs. Dinsmore's presence.

  "Elsie," said that lady, severely, "are you not ashamed of yourself, torefuse Enna such a small favor especially when the poor child is notwell. I must say you are the most selfish, disobliging child I eversaw."

  "I offered to tell her a Bible story, or anything suitable for theSabbath day," replied Elsie, meekly, "but I cannot tell the fairy tale,because it would be wrong."

  "Nonsense! there's no harm at all in telling fairy tales to-day, anymore than any other day; that is just an excuse, Elsie," said Mrs.Dinsmore, angrily.

  "I don't want her old Bible stories. I won't have them. I want thatpretty fairy tale," sobbed Enna passionately; "_make_ her tell it,mamma."

  "Come, come, what is all this fuss about?" asked the elder Mr.Dinsmore, coming in from an adjoining room.

  "Nothing," said his wife, "except that Enna is not well enough to goout, and wants a fairy story to pass away the time, which Elsie aloneis acquainted with, but is too lazy or too self-willed to relate."

  He turned angrily to his little granddaughter.

  "Ah! indeed, is that it? Well, there is an old saying. 'A bird that_can_ sing, and _won't_ sing, must be _made_ to sing.'"

  Elsie was opening her lips to speak, but Mrs. Dinsmore bade her besilent, and then went on. "She pretends it is all on account ofconscientious scruples. 'It isn't fit for the Sabbath,' she says. Now_I_ say it is a gr
eat piece of impertinence for a child of her years toset up her opinion against yours and mine; and I know very well it isnothing but an excuse, because she doesn't choose to be obliging."

  "Of _course_ it is; nothing in the _world_ but an excuse," respondedMr. Dinsmore, hotly.

  Elsie's face flushed, and she answered a little indignantly,

  "No, grandpa, indeed it is _not_ merely an excuse, but--"

  "Do you _dare_ to contradict me, you impertinent little hussy?" criedthe old gentleman, interrupting her in the middle of her sentence; andcatching her by the arm, he shook her violently; then picking her upand setting her down hard upon a chair, he said, "Now, miss, sit youthere until your father comes home, then we will see what _he_ thinksof such impertinence; and if he doesn't give you the complete whippingyou deserve, I miss my guess."

  "Please, grandpa, I--"

  "Hold your tongue! don't dare to speak another word until your fathercomes home," said he, threateningly. "If you don't choose to say whatyou're wanted to, you shall not talk at all."

  Then, going to the door, he called a servant and bade him tell "Mr.Horace," as soon as he returned, that he wished to see him.

  For the next half-hour--and a very long one it seemed to her--Elsie satthere wishing for, and yet dreading her father's coming. Would heinflict upon her the punishment which her grandfather evidently wishedher to receive, without pausing to inquire into the merits of the case?or would he listen patiently to _her_ story? And even if he did, mighthe not still think her deserving of punishment? She could not answerthese questions to her own satisfaction. A few months ago she wouldhave been certain of a very severe chastisement, and even now shetrembled with fear; for though she knew beyond a doubt that he lovedher dearly, she knew also that he was a strict and severedisciplinarian, and never excused her faults.

  At last her ear caught the sound of his step in the hall, and her heartbeat fast and faster as it drew nearer, until he entered, andaddressing his father, asked, "Did you wish to see me, sir?"

  "Yes, Horace, I want you to attend to this girl," replied the oldgentleman, with a motion of the head toward Elsie. "She has been veryimpertinent to me."

  "What! _Elsie_ impertinent! is it possible? I certainly expected betterthings of her."

  His tone expressed great surprise, and turning to his little daughter,he regarded her with a grave, sad look that brought the tears to hereyes; dearly as she loved him, it seemed almost harder to bear than theold expression of stern severity.

  "It is hard to believe," he said, "that my little Elsie would be guiltyof such conduct; but if she has been, of course she must be punished,for I cannot allow anything of the kind. Go. Elsie, to my dressing-roomand remain there until I come to you."

  "Papa--" she began, bursting into tears.

  "Hush!" he said, with something of the old sternness; "not a word; butobey me instantly."

  Then, as Elsie went sobbing from the room, he seated himself, andturning to his father, said, "Now, sir, if you please, I should like tohear the whole story; precisely what Elsie has done and said, and whatwas the provocation; for _that_ must also be taken into the account, inorder that I may be able to do her justice."

  "If you do her _justice_, you will whip her well," remarked his fatherin a tone of asperity.

  Horace colored violently, for nothing aroused his ire sooner than anyinterference between him and his child; but controlling himself, hereplied quite calmly, "If I find her deserving of punishment, I willnot spare her; but I should be sorry indeed to punish her unjustly.Will you be so good as to tell me what she has done?"

  Mr. Dinsmore referred him to his wife for the commencement of thetrouble, and she made out as bad a case against Elsie as possible; buteven then there seemed to her father to be very little to condemn; andwhen Mrs. Dinsmore was obliged to acknowledge that it was Elsie'srefusal to humor Enna in her desire for a particular story which Elsiethought it not best to relate on the Sabbath, he bit his lip withvexation, and told her in a haughty tone, that though he did notapprove of Elsie's strict notions regarding such matters, yet he wishedher to understand that _his_ daughter was not to be made a slave toEnna's whims. If she _chose_ to tell her a story, or to do anythingelse for her amusement, he had no objection, but she was never to be_forced_ to do it against her inclination, and Enna must understandthat it was done as a favor, and not at all as her right.

  "You are right enough there, Horace," remarked his father, "but thatdoes not excuse Elsie for her impertinence to me. In the first place, Imust say I agree with my wife in thinking it quite a piece ofimpertinence for a child of her years to set up her opinion againstmine; and besides, she contradicted me flatly."

  He then went on to repeat what he had said, and Elsie's denial of thecharge, using her exact words, but quite a different tone, andsuppressing the fact that he had interrupted her before she hadfinished her sentence.

  Elsie's tone, though slightly indignant, had still been respectful, butfrom her grandfather's rehearsal of the scene her father received theimpression that she had been exceedingly saucy, and he left the roomwith the intention of giving her almost as severe a punishment as hergrandfather would have prescribed.

  On the way up to his room, however, his anger had a little time tocool, and it occurred to him that it would be no more than just to hear_her_ side of the story ere he condemned her.

  Elsie was seated on a couch at the far side of the room, and as heentered she turned on him a tearful, pleading look, that went straightto his heart.

  His face was grave and sad, but there was very little sternness in it,as he sat down and took her in his arms.

  For a moment he held her without speaking, while she lifted her eyestimidly to his face. Then he said, as he gently stroked the hair backfrom her forehead, "I am very sorry, _very sorry indeed_, to hear sobad an account of my little daughter. I am afraid I shall have topunish her, and I don't like to do it."

  She answered not a word, but burst into tears, and hiding her face onhis breast, sobbed aloud.

  "I will not condemn you unheard, Elsie," he said after a moment'spause; "tell me how you came to be so impertinent to your grandfather."

  "I did not mean to be saucy, papa, indeed I did not," she sobbed.

  "Stop crying then, daughter," he said kindly, "and tell me all aboutit. I know there was some trouble between you and Enna, and I want youto tell me all that occurred, and every word spoken by either of you,as well as all that passed between Mrs. Dinsmore, your grandfather, andyourself. I am very glad that I can trust my little girl to speak thetruth. I am quite sure she would not tell a falsehood even to saveherself from punishment," he added tenderly.

  "Thank you, dear papa, for saying that," said Elsie, raising her headand almost smiling through her tears. "I will _try_ to tell it just asit happened."

  She then told her story simply and truthfully, repeating, as he badeher, every word that had passed between Enna and herself, and betweenher and her grandparents. Her words to her grandfather sounded verydifferent, repeated in her quiet, respectful tones; and when she addedthat if he would have allowed her, she was going on to explain that itwas not any unwillingness to oblige Enna, but the fear of doing wrong,that led her to refuse her request, her father thought that after allshe deserved very little blame.

  "Do you think I was very saucy, papa?" she asked anxiously, when shehad finished her story.

  "So much depends upon the tone, Elsie," he said, "that I can hardlytell; if you used the same tone in speaking to your grandpa that youdid in repeating your words to me just now, I don't think it was _very_impertinent; though the words themselves were not as respectful as theyought to have been. You must always treat my father quite asrespectfully as you do me; and I think with him, too, that there issomething quite impertinent in a little girl like you setting up heropinion against that of her elders. You must never try it with me, mydaughter."

  Elsie hung down her head in silence for a moment, then asked in atremulous tone, "Are you going to punish me,
papa?"

  "Yes," he said, "but first I am going to take you down-stairs and makeyou beg your grandfather's pardon. I see you don't want to do it," headded, looking keenly into her face, "but you _must_, and I hope Ishall not be obliged to _enforce_ obedience to my commands."

  "I will do whatever you bid me, papa," she sobbed, "but I did not meanto be saucy. Please, papa, tell me what to say."

  "You must say, Grandpa, I did not intend to be impertinent to you, andI am very sorry for whatever may have seemed saucy in my words ortones; will you please to forgive me, and I will try always to beperfectly respectful in future. You can say all that with truth, Ithink?"

  "Yes, papa, I _am_ sorry, and I _do_ intend to be respectful to grandpaalways," she answered, brushing away her tears, and putting her hand inhis.

  He then led her into her grandfather's presence, saying: "Elsie hascome to beg your pardon, sir."

  "That is as it should be," replied the old gentleman, glancingtriumphantly at his wife; "I told her you would not uphold her in anysuch impertinence."

  "No," said his son, with some displeasure in his tone; "I will neitheruphold her in wrongdoing, nor suffer her to be imposed upon. Speak, mydaughter, and say what I bade you."

  Elsie sobbed out the required words.

  "Yes, I must forgive you, of course," replied her grandfather, coldly,"but I hope your father is not going to let you off without properpunishment."

  "I will attend to that; I certainly intend to punish her _as shedeserves_" said his son, laying a marked emphasis upon the concludingwords of his sentence.

  Elsie wholly misunderstood him, and so trembled with fear as he led herfrom the room, that she could scarcely walk; seeing which, he took herin his arms and carried her up-stairs, she sobbing on his shoulder.

  He did not speak until he had locked the door, carried her across theroom, and seated himself upon the couch again, with her upon his knee.

  Then he said, in a soothing tone, as he wiped away her tears and kissedher kindly, "You need not tremble so, my daughter; I am not going to besevere with you."

  She looked up in glad surprise.

  "I said I would punish you as you _deserve_," he said, with a smile,"and I intend to keep you shut up here with me until bed-time, I shallnot allow you to go down-stairs to tea, and besides, I am going to giveyou a long lesson to learn, which I shall require you to recite to mequite perfectly before you can go to bed."

  Elsie grew frightened again at the mention of the lesson, for shefeared it might be something which she could not conscientiously studyon the Sabbath; but all her fear and trouble vanished as she saw herfather take up a Bible that lay on the table, and turn over the leavesas though selecting a passage.

  Presently he put it into her hands, and pointing to the thirteenth andfourteenth chapters of John's Gospel, bade her carry the book to a lowseat by the window, and sit there until she had learned them perfectly.

  "O papa! what a nice lesson!" she exclaimed, looking up delightedlyinto his face; "but it won't be any punishment, because I love thesechapters dearly, and have read them so often that I almost know everyword already."

  "Hush, hush!" he said, pretending to be very stern; "don't tell me thatmy punishments are _no_ punishments, I don't allow you to talk so; justtake the book and learn what I bid you; and if you know those twoalready, you may learn the next."

  Elsie laughed, kissed his hand, and tripped away to her window, whilehe threw himself down on the couch and took up a newspaper, more as ascreen to his face, however, than for the purpose of reading; for helay there closely watching his little daughter, as she sat in the richglow of the sunset, with her sweet, grave little face bending over theholy book.

  "The darling!" he murmured to himself; "she is lovely as an angel, andshe is _mine_, mine only, mine own precious one; and loves me with herwhole soul. Ah! how can I ever find it in my heart to be stern to her?Ah! if _I_ were but _half_ as good and pure as she is, I should be abetter man than I am." And he heaved a deep sigh.

  Half an hour had passed, and still Elsie bent over her book. Thetea-bell rang, and Mr. Dinsmore started up, and crossing the room, bentdown and stroked her hair.

  "Do you know it, darling?" he asked.

  "Almost, papa," and she looked up into his face with a bright, sweetsmile, full of affection.

  With a sudden impulse he caught her in his arms, and kissing her againand again, said with emotion, "Elsie, my darling, I love you _too_well; I could never bear to lose you."

  "You must love Jesus better, my own precious papa," she replied,clasping her little arms around his neck, and returning his caresses.

  He held her a moment, and then putting her down, said, "I shall sendyou up some supper, and I want you to eat it; don't behave as you didabout the bread and water once, a good while ago."

  "Will it be bread and water this time, papa?" she asked, with a smile.

  "You will see," he said, laughingly, and quitted the room.

  Elsie turned to her book again, but in a few moments was interrupted bythe entrance of a servant carrying on a silver waiter a plate of hot,buttered muffins, a cup of jelly, another of hot coffee, and a piece ofbroiled chicken. Elsie was all astonishment.

  "Why, Pomp," she asked, "did papa send it?"

  "Yes, Miss Elsie, 'deed he did," replied the servant, with a grin ofsatisfaction, as he set down his burden. "I reckon you been berry nicegal dis day; or else Marster Horace tink you little bit sick."

  "Papa is very good; and I am much obliged to you too, Pomp," said thelittle girl, laying aside her book, and seating herself before thewaiter.

  "Jes ring de bell, Miss Elsie, ef you want more, and dis chile fotch'em up; Marster Horace say so hisself." And the grinning negro bowedhimself out, chuckling with delight, for Elsie had always been a greatfavorite with him.

  "Dear papa," Elsie said, when he came in again and smilingly asked ifshe had eaten her prison fare, "what a good supper you sent me! But Ithought you didn't allow me such things!"

  "Don't you know," said he playfully, laying his hand upon her head,"that I am absolute monarch of this small kingdom, and you are not toquestion my doings or decrees?"

  Then in a more serious tone, "No, daughter, I do not allow it as aregular thing, because I do not think it for your good; but for once, Ithought it would not hurt you. I know you are not one to presume uponfavors, and I wanted to indulge you a little, because I fear my littlegirl has been made to suffer perhaps more than she quite deserved thisafternoon."

  His voice had a very tender tone as he uttered the concluding words,and stooping, he pressed his lips to her forehead.

  "Don't think, though," he added the next moment, "that I am excusingyou for impertinence, not at all; but it was what you have had tosuffer from Enna's insolence. I shall put a stop to that, for I willnot have it."

  "I don't mind it much, papa," said Elsie gently, "I am quite used toit, for Enna has always treated me so."

  "And why did _I_ never hear of it before?" he asked, half angrily. "Itis abominable! not to be endured!" he exclaimed, "and I shall see thatMiss Enna is made to understand that _my_ daughter is fully her equalin every respect, and always to be treated as such."

  He paused; but, Elsie, half frightened at his vehemence, made no reply;and he went on: "I have no doubt your grandfather and his wife wouldhave been better pleased had I forced you to yield to Enna's whim; butI had no idea of such a thing; you shall use your own pleasure whenevershe is concerned; but: if _I_ had bidden you to tell her that story itwould have been a very different matter; you need never set up yourwill, or your opinion of right and wrong, against mine, Elsie, for Ishall not allow it. I don't altogether like some of those strictnotions you have got into your head, and I give you fair warning, thatshould they ever come into collision with _my_ wishes and commands,they will have to be given up. But don't look so alarmed, daughter; Ihope it may never happen; and we will say no more about it to-night,"he added, kindly, for she had grown very pale and trembled visibly.
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  "O papa, dear papa! don't ever bid me do anything wrong; it would breakmy heart," she said, laying her head on his shoulder as he sat down anddrew her to his side.

  "I never intend to bid you do wrong, but, on the contrary, wish youalways to do right. But then, daughter, _I_ must be the judge of whatis wrong or right for you; you must remember that you are only a verylittle girl, and not yet capable of judging for yourself, and all youhave to do is to obey your father without murmuring or hesitation, andthen there will be no trouble."

  His tone, though mild, and not unkind, was very firm and decided, andElsie's heart sank; she seemed to feel herself in the shadow of somegreat trouble laid up in store for her in the future. But she strove,and ere long with success, to banish the foreboding of evil whichoppressed her, and give herself up to the enjoyment of presentblessings. Her father loved her dearly--she knew that--and he was not_now_ requiring her to do aught against her conscience, and perhaps henever might; he had said so himself, and God could incline his heart torespect her scruples; or if, in His infinite wisdom, He saw that thedreaded trial was needed, He would give her strength to bear it; forhad He not promised, "As thy day, so shall thy strength be"?

  Her father's arm was around her, and she had been standing silently,with her face hidden on his shoulder, while these thoughts were passingthrough her mind, and the little heart going up in prayer to God forhim and for herself.

  "What is my little girl thinking of?" he asked presently.

  "A good many things, papa," she said, raising her face, now quitepeaceful and happy again. "I was thinking of what you had just beensaying to me, and that I am so glad I know that you love me dearly; andI was asking God to help us both to do His will, and that I mightalways be able to do what you bid me, without disobeying Him," sheadded simply; and then asked, "May I say my lesson now, papa? I think Iknow it quite perfectly."

  "Yes," he said, in an absent way; "bring me the book."

  Elsie brought it, and putting it into his hands, drew up a stool andsat down at his feet, resting her arm on his knee, and looking up intohis face; then in her sweet, low voice, she repeated slowly andfeelingly, with true and beautiful emphasis, the chapters he had givenher to learn; that most touching description of the Last Supper, andour Saviour's farewell address to His sorrowing disciples.

  "Ah! papa, is it not beautiful?" she exclaimed, laying her head uponhis knee, while the tears trembled in her eyes. "Is not that a sweetverse, 'Having loved His own which were in the world, He loved themunto the end'? It seems so strange that He could be so thoughtful forthem, so kind and loving, when all the time He knew what a dreadfuldeath He was just going to die; and knew besides that they were allgoing to run away and leave Him alone with His cruel enemies. Oh! it isso sweet to know that Jesus is so loving, and that He loves me, andwill always love me, even to the end, _forever_."

  "How do you know that, Elsie?" he asked.

  "I know that He loves me, papa, because I love Him, and He has said, 'Ilove them that love me;' and I know that He will love me always,because He has said, 'I have loved thee with an _everlasting_ love,'and in another place, 'I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.'"

  "But do you think you are good enough, daughter, for Jesus to love you?"

  "Ah! papa, I know I am not at all good. I have a very wicked heart, andoften my thoughts and feelings are all wrong, and Jesus knows all aboutit, but it does not keep Him from loving me, for you know it was_sinners_ He died to save. Ah! papa, how _good_ and _kind_ He was! Whocould help loving Him? I used to feel _so_ lonely and sad sometimes,papa, that I think my heart would have broken quite, and I should havedied, if I had not had Jesus to love me."

  "When were you so sad and lonely, darling?" he asked in a moved tone,as he laid his hand gently on her head, and stroked her haircaressingly.

  "Sometimes when you were away, papa, and I had never seen you; but thenI used to think of you, and my heart would long and _ache_ so to seeyou, and hear you call me daughter, and to lay my head against yourbreast and feel your arms folding me close to your heart, as you do sooften now."

  She paused a moment, and struggled hard to keep down the rising sobs,as she added, "But when you came, papa, and I saw you did not love me,oh! papa, that was the worst. I thought I could never, _never_ bear it.I thought my heart would break, and I wanted to die and go to Jesus,and to mamma."

  The little frame shook with sobs.

  "My poor darling! my poor little pet!" he said, taking her in his armsagain, and caressing her with the greatest tenderness, "it was veryhard, very cruel. I don't know how I could steel my heart so against myown little child; but I had been very much prejudiced, and led tosuppose that you looked upon me with fear and dislike, as a hatedtyrant."

  Elsie lifted her eyes to his face with a look of extreme surprise.

  "O papa!" she exclaimed, "how _could_ you think that? I have alwaysloved you, ever since I can remember."

  When Elsie went to her room that evening she thought very seriously ofall that had occurred during the afternoon, and all that her papa hadsaid to her; and to her usual petitions was added a very fervent onethat he might never bid her break any command of God; or if he did,that she might have strength given her according to her day.

  A shadow had fallen on her pathway, faint, but perceptible; a light,fleecy cloud obscured the brightness of her sun; yet it was not forsome weeks that even the most distant mutterings of the coming stormcould be heard.