"Quite, I think," he replied, appealing to the other gentlemen for their
opinion.
They agreed with him, Mr. Dinsmore adding, "I have no doubt the man is
sincere; and I have still more confidence in his mother, whom I have
long looked upon as a truly Christian woman."
"Besides," remarked Mr. Travilla, "the Ku Klux would hardly dare
venture an outrage now. The most desperate have fled the country, and
the rest stand in wholesome awe of the troops."
"I am quite, quite sure there is no risk in going," said Elsie
earnestly, "but whatever is done must be done quickly, for Wilkins is
evidently very near his end; may, perhaps, expire before we arrive, even
though we make all haste."
At that there was a general, hurried movement, and in less time than it
takes to tell it, they were on their way; Mrs. Leland in the carriage
with Elsie, and the gentlemen on horseback.
Under the influence of restoratives administered by Dr. Barton, great
apparent improvement had taken place in Wilkins' condition; he was in
less pain, breathed more freely, and spoke with less difficulty.
At sight of his visitors his pale face flushed slightly, and an
expression of regret and mortification swept over his features.
"Thank you all for coming;" he said feebly. "Please be seated. I am at
the very brink of the grave, and--and I would go at peace with all men.
I--I've hated you every one. And you--Leland, I would have killed if I
could. It was in the attempt to do so that I--received my own death
wound at the hands of your wife."
Mrs. Leland started, trembled and burst into tears. That part of the
story Elsie had omitted, and she now heard it for the first time.
"Don't be disturbed," he said, "you were doing right--in defending
yourself, husband and children."
"Yes, yes," she sobbed, "but oh, I would save you now if I could! Can
nothing be done?"
He shook his head sadly. "Will you, can you all forgive me?" he asked in
tones so faint and low, that only the death-like silence of the room
made the words audible.
"With all my heart, my poor fellow, as I hope to be forgiven my
infinitely greater debt to my Lord," Mr. Leland answered with emotion,
taking the wasted hand and clasping it warmly in his.
Foster was deeply touched. "God bless you for the words," he whispered.
"How I've been mistaken in you, sir!"
His eyes sought the faces of Dinsmore and Travilla, and drawing near the
bed, each took his hand in turn and gave him the same assurance he had
already received from Leland.
Then the last named said, "I ask your forgiveness, Foster, for any
exasperating word I may have spoken, or anything else I have done to
rouse unkind feelings toward me."
In reply the dying man pressed Leland's hand in moved silence.
Mrs. Leland rose impetuously and dropped on her knees at the bedside.
"And me!" she cried, with a gush of tears, "will you forgive me your
death? I cannot bear to think it was my work, even though done in lawful
self-defense, and to save my dear ones."
"It is--all--right between us," he murmured, and relapsed into
unconsciousness.
"We are too many here," said the physician, dismissing all but the
mother.
Elsie remained in an adjoining room, trying to comfort the sisters,
while Mrs. Leland and the gentlemen repaired to the veranda, where they
found Mr. Wood, who had just arrived; having been sent for to converse
and pray with the dying man.
"How does he seem?" he asked, "can I go at once to the room?"
"Not now; he is unconscious," said Mr. Dinsmore and went on to describe
Foster's condition, mental, moral, and physical, as evidenced in his
interview with them and the earlier one with Dr. Barton; of which Elsie
had given them an account.
"Ah, God grant he may indeed find mercy, and be enabled to lay hold upon
Christ to the saving of his soul, even at this eleventh hour!"
ejaculated the pastor. "A death-bed repentance is poor ground for hope.
I have seen many of them in my fifty years ministry, but of all those
who recovered from what had seemed mortal illness, but one held fast to
his profession.
"The others all went back to their former evil ways, showing
conclusively that they had been self-deceived and theirs but the hope of
the hypocrite which 'shall perish: whose hope shall be cut off, and
whose trust shall be a spider's web.'
"Yet with our God all things are possible, and the invitation is to all
who are yet on praying ground; 'Whosoever will.'"
At this moment Elsie glided into their midst, and putting her hand into
that of her pastor, said in low, tearful tones, "I am so glad you have
come! He is conscious again, and asking for you."
He went with her to the bedside.
The glazing eyes grew bright for an instant.
"You have--come: oh tell me--what--I must--do--to--be saved!"
"I can only point you to 'the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of
the world,'" returned the pastor, deeply moved: "only repeat his
invitation, 'Look unto me, and be ye saved all ye ends of the earth.'"
"I--am--trying--trying," came faintly from the pale lips, while the
hands moved slowly, feebly, from side to side as if groping in the dark,
"Lord save--"
A deep hush filled the room, broken presently by the mother's wail as
she fell on her knees at the bedside, and taking the cold hand in hers
covered it with kisses and tears.
With the last word the spirit had taken its flight; to him time should
be no longer, eternity had begun.
Few and evil had been his days; he was not yet thirty, and, possessed of
a fine constitution and vigorous health, had every prospect of long life
had he been content to live at peace with his fellow-men; but by violent
dealing he had passed away in the midst of his years.
"Bloody and deceitful men shall not live out half their days." "The
wages of sin is death."
Chapter Twenty-first.
"Kindness has resistless charms."
--Rochester.
Through all the trying scenes that followed, Elsie was with the Fosters,
giving aid and comfort such as the tenderest sympathy and most delicate
kindness could give. She and her husband and father took upon themselves
all the care and trouble of the arrangements for the funeral, quietly
settled the bills, and afterward sent them, receipted, to Mrs. Foster.
Wilkins had been the chief support of the family, the ladies earning a
mere pittance by the use of the needle and sewing-machine. Nothing had
been laid by for a rainy day, and the expenses of his illness had to be
met by the sale of the few articles of value left from the wreck of
their fortunes. And now, but for the timely aid of these kind friends,
absolute want had stared them in the face.
They made neither complaint nor parade of their poverty, but it was
unavoidable that Elsie should learn much of it at this time, and her
heart ached for them in this accumulation of trials.
The girls were educated and accomplished, but shrank with timidity and
sensitive pride from exerting themselves to push their way in the world.
"I think they could teach," Mrs. Poster said to Elsie, who, calling the
day after the funeral, had with delicate tact made known her desire to
assist them in obtaining some employment more lucrative and better
adapted to their tastes and social position; "I think they have the
necessary education and ability, and I know the will to earn an honest
livelihood is not lacking; but where are pupils to be found?"
"Are you willing to leave that to Mr. Travilla and me?" asked Elsie,
with gentle kindliness.
"Ah, you are too good, too kind," said Mrs. Foster, weeping.
"No, no, my dear friend," returned Elsie; "does not the Master say,
'This is my commandment, That ye love one another, as I have loved you?'
Now tell me, please, what sort of situations they would like, and what
branches they feel competent to teach."
"Annie is a good musician and draws well. She would be glad indeed to
get a class of pupils in the neighborhood to whom she might give
lessons, here or at their own homes, in drawing and on the piano and
harp. Lucinda thinks she could teach the English branches, the higher
mathematics, and French.
"But, indeed, my dear Mrs. Travilla, they will be thankful for anything:
especially if it does not take them away from me."
"We will see what can be done,--my husband, papa, and I," Elsie said,
rising to take leave. "And do not be anxious; remember those precious
words, 'Casting all your care on Him for He careth for you.'"
"Do not go yet!" entreated Mrs. Foster, taking and holding fast the hand
held out to her, "if you only knew what a comfort your presence is--Ah,
dear, kind friend, God has made you a daughter of consolation to his
bereaved, afflicted ones!"
Elsie's eyes filled. "It is what I have prayed that he would do for me,"
she whispered. "But I think I must go now: my husband was to call for
me, and I see him at the gate."
Elsie repeated the conversation to her husband as they rode homeward,
and consulted him in regard to a plan which had occurred to her.
He approved, and instead of stopping at Ion they rode on to Roselands.
Arrived there, Mr. Travilla joined the gentlemen in the library, while
Elsie sought her aunts in the pretty parlor usually occupied by them
when not entertaining company.
After a little desultory chat on ordinary topics, she spoke of the
Fosters, their indigent circumstances, and her desire to find
employment for the girls in teaching.
"Always concerning yourself in other people's business;" remarked Enna.
"Why don't you do like the rest of us, and leave them to mind their own
affairs?"
"Because I see that they need help, and we are told, 'Look not every man
on his own things but every man also on the things of others.' And
again, 'As we have therefore opportunity, let us do good unto all men,
especially unto them who are of the household of faith.'
"I heard you, not long since, Aunt Louise, wishing you could afford a
day governess and knew of a suitable person. Would you--would you be
willing to employ one at my expense, and give the situation to Lucinda
Foster?"
"And let her give it out among our acquaintance that you were paying for
the education of my children!" exclaimed Louise, coloring angrily. "No,
I thank you."
"Not at all; she need know nothing of the arrangement except that you
employ her to instruct your children, and pay her for it. You and Enna,
if she will accept the same from me, for herself."
"Dear me," exclaimed Enna, "how you're always spending money on
strangers, when your own relations could find plenty of use for it!"
Elsie smiled slightly at this peculiar view taken of her generous
offer, but only added, "I would, if you would accept--"
"I'm no object of charity," interrupted Louise, coldly.
"Certainly not," Elsie said, coloring, "yet why should you object to
giving so near a relative the pleasure of--But in this instance 'tis I
who am asking a favor of you. I want to help the Fosters and cannot do
so directly, without wounding their honest pride of independence."
"You will of course employ Lucinda to teach your own?"
"No, I am not in want of a governess. Would you like to have Anna give
lessons to your girls in music and drawing?"
"Is she to teach yours?" asked Enna.
"No; M. Reboul has them under his instruction, and as he gives entire
satisfaction, I could not feel it right to turn him away."
"H'm! teachers that are not good enough for your children, are not good
enough for ours."
"If I were in want of teachers, I should employ the Misses Foster," was
Elsie's quiet reply.
Nothing more was said for a moment, then rising to go, "I am then to
consider my proposition declined?" she remarked, inquiringly.
"Well no, since you put it on the ground of a favor to yourself, I
should be sorry to refuse to gratify you," said Louise.
"Thank you. And you, Enna?"
"She can teach mine if she wants to, and if I could afford it, Annie
should give music lessons to Molly; drawing too; but if I can't, I
can't."
"It need be no expense to you," said Elsie.
"Very well then, you can engage her and fix the terms to suit yourself."
"Thank you; I shall enjoy their pleasure in hearing that they have so
many pupils already secured."
Elsie's benevolent kindness did not stop here; she called on a number of
families in the vicinity, and succeeded in obtaining almost as many
pupils for the girls as they could well attend to.
Then another difficulty arose:--the distances were too great for the
young ladies to traverse on foot, and they had no means of conveyance.
But this was obviated for the present by giving them the use of Prince
and Princess, either with or without the phaeton, during the hours of
the day that such help was needed.
The ponies were sent over to the cottage every morning, after the
children had had their ride, by an Ion servant, who returned for them in
the afternoon.
Mrs. Leland heard of her friend's efforts, and going over to Ion, asked,
"Why did you not call on me? my children need instruction."
"I hardly liked to ask it of you."
"And I feel a delicacy about proposing the thing to the Fosters, but--I
would be very glad to help them; and if you can learn that they would
not mind coming to Fairview for the sake of several more scholars, I
authorize you to make the engagement for me."
Elsie undertook the errand and did it so well that the Fosters were
deeply touched by this kindness on the part of one whom they had
formerly hated and reviled, and whose husband their brother had tried
to kill.
The offer was gratefully accepted, the young Lelands became the pupils
of these former foes, little courtesies and kind offices were exchanged,
and in the end warm friendship took the place of enmity.
Chapter Twenty-second.
"The mother, in her office holds the key
Of the soul; and she it is who stamps the coin
Of character, and makes the being who would be a savage,
But for her gentle cares, a Christian man.
Then crown her queen of the world."
--OLD PLAY
The families from the Oaks and Ashlands had been spending the day at
Ion.
It was late in the afternoon and while awaiting the call to tea, they
had all gathered in the drawing-room, whose windows overlooked the
avenue and lawn on one side, on the other a very beautiful part of the
grounds, and a range of richly wooded hills beyond.
A pause in the conversation was broken by Mr. Travilla. "Wife," he said,
turning to Elsie, "Cousin Ronald should see Viamede: our old friend
here, Mrs. Carrington, needs change of scene and climate; two good
things that would not hurt any one present: shall we not invite them all
to go and spend the winter with us there?"
"O, yes, yes indeed! what a delightful plan!" she cried with youthful
enthusiasm. "Ah, I hope you will all accept; the place is almost a
paradise upon earth, and we would do all in our power to make the time
pass agreeably. Cousin Ronald, don't refuse. Papa dear, don't try to
hunt up objections."
"Ah ha! um h'm! I've not the least idea of it, cousin," said the one.
"I am not," said the other, smiling fondly upon her, "but must be
allowed a little time to consider."
"O papa, don't say no!" cried Rosie. "Mamma, coax him quick before he
has time to say it."
"I think there's no need," laughed Rose. "Can't you see that he is
nearly as eager as the rest of us? and how could he do a whole winter
without your sister? How could any of us, for that matter?"
"You have advanced an unanswerable argument, my dear," said Mr.
Dinsmore, "and I may as well give consent at once."
"Thank you, mamma," said Elsie, "thank you both. Now if the rest of you
will only be as good!" and she glanced persuasively from one to another.
"As good!" said Sophie smiling, "if to be ready to accept the kindest
and most delightful of invitations be goodness, then I am not at all
inclined to be bad. Mother, shall we not go?"
"O grandma, you will not say no?" cried the young Carringtons who had
listened to the proposition with eager delight.
"No, please don't," added little Elsie, putting her arms coaxingly about
the old lady's neck. "Mamma, papa, grandpa and mammy all say it is so
lovely there, and we want you along."
"Thanks, dear, thanks to your papa and mamma too," said the old lady,
clasping the little girl close, while tears filled her aged eyes, "yes,
yes, I'll go; we will all go; how could I reject such kindness!"
The children, from Rosie Dinsmore--who would hardly have consented to be
put into that list--down to Harold Travilla, were wild with delight, and
for the rest of the evening could scarce speak or think of anything else
than Viamede and the pleasures they hoped to enjoy there.
"Now all have spoken but you, brother mine," Elsie said, turning to
Horace Jr. "You surely do not intend to reject our invitation?"
"Not entirely, sister, but papa seems to have left the considering for
me, and I've been at it. There should be some one to look after the
plantations here, and upon whom but myself should that duty devolve?"
"We all have good overseers."
"Yes, but there should be some one to take a general supervision over
them. I think I will go with you, make a short visit and return; if you
all like to trust me with the care of your property."
"You're welcome to take care of Ashlands, Cousin Horace, and I'll be
obliged to you too," spoke up young Herbert Carrington "and so will
mother and grandma, I know."
"Indeed we will," said the old lady.
"And it will leave us quite free from care, you good boy," added the
younger.
Mr. Travilla expressed similar sentiments in regard to Horace's offer as
it concerned Ion, and Mr. Dinsmore was quite as willing to leave the
Oaks in his son's care.
As it was now late in the fall and no very extensive preparations were
needed, it was agreed that they would start in a few days.
"We shall make a large party," remarked Sophie, "Are you sure, Elsie,
that you will have room for so many?"
"Abundance; the house is very large; and the more the merrier. I wish I
could persuade Aunt Wealthy, May and Harry to come, with their babies
too, of course. I shall write to Lansdale to-night."
"That would be a delightful addition to the party," remarked Mr.
Dinsmore; "but aunt is now in her eightieth year, and I fear will think
herself much too old for so long a journey."
"Ah, yes, papa, but she is more active than most women of seventy and
can go nearly all the way by water;--down the Ohio and the Mississippi
and along the Gulf. At all events I shall do my best to persuade her."
"And you are so great a favorite that your eloquence will not be wasted,
I think," said Mr. Travilla.
He was right; the old lady could not resist the urgent entreaties of her
dearly loved grand-niece, joined to the pleasant prospect of spending
some months with her and the other relatives and friends, each of whom
held a place in her warm, loving heart.
An answering letter was sent from Lansdale by return of mail, promising
that their party would follow the other to Viamede at an early day.
May too was enchanted with the thought of a winter in that lovely spot,
and the society of her two sisters, and Elsie, who was almost as near.
But to return. As soon as the children learned that the winter was
really to be spent at Viamede, and that they would set off in a few
days, the whole flock--leaving their elders to settle the dry
details--hastened in quest of "mammy."
They found her in the nursery, seated before a crackling wood fire, with
little Herbert in her arms.
Quickly their news was told, and gathering round her, they plied her
with questions about her old Louisiana home.
"Well, chillins," she said, her old eyes growing bright with joy at the
thought of soon seeing it again--for of course she would be included in
the party--"it's jes lubly as lubly kin be! de grand ole house, an' de
lawn, an' de shrubbery, an' de gardens, an' fields, an' orchards, an'
eberyting:--yes, it am de lubliest place dis chile eber see."
"Horses to ride," said Eddie.
"Yes, Mars Eddie, hosses to ride, an' kerridges to drive out in; 'sides
a beautiful boat on de bayou, an' fish dere dat you kin ketch wid a hook
an' line. Ole Uncle Joe he kotch dem mos' ebery day for de table, an
Massa Ed'ard an' Miss Elsie say dey's bery fine."
"And what else?" asked the eager voice of little Daisy Carrington.
"Oranges! ripe oranges growing out of doors on the trees!" cried her
brother Harry, clapping his hands and capering about the room, smacking
his lips in anticipation of the coming feast.
"Yes, chillins, orange trees on de lawn, an' a 'mense orchard wid
hundreds an' millions ob dem on de branches an' on de ground. An' den de
gardens full ob roses an' all lubly flowers, an' vines climbin' ober de
verandas an' roun' de pillahs an' de windows, an' clar up to de roof."
"Oh how sweet!" cried the children, their eyes dancing with delight.
"But Aunt Chloe, will there be room for us all?" asked Meta Carrington,
who was next to Herbert in age.
"Yes, chile: dere's rooms, an' rooms an' rooms in dat house."
"A play-room, mammy?" asked Eddie.
"Yes, chillins, a big room whar yo' grandma used to play when she was a
little chile."
Mammy's voice grew low and husky for a moment, and great tears stood in
her eyes. But she struggled with her emotion and went on, "Her dolls are
dere yet, an' de baby house ole marster hab made for her; an' de
beautiful sets ob little dishes, an' a great many tings mo'; for she hab
lots ob toys an' neber destroyed nuffin. An' nobody eber goes dar but
Aunt Phillis when she hab a clarin' up time in dat part ob de house."
"Yes," said little Elsie, who had been as silent and intent a listener
as though the tale were quite new to her, "mamma has told us about those
things, and that they are always to be kept very carefully because they
belonged to her dear mamma."
"And we can't ever play with them!" exclaimed Vi, "but mamma will show
them all to us; she said she would when she takes us to Viamede."
"Oh I'd like to play with them!" exclaimed Meta, "Doesn't anybody ever?"
"No, chile," said mammy, shaking her head gravely, "dere ain't nobody
eber 'lowed to go in dat room but Aunt Phillis, when Miss Elsie not dar.
But run away now, chillins, dere's de tea-bell a ringin'."
Mamma, too, on coming up at the usual hour to see her darlings safe in
bed, had many questions put to her on the same subject.
They were all patiently answered, some further details given, and sweet
sympathy shown in their gladness over the pleasant prospect before them;
then with the accustomed tender good-night kiss, and with a parting
injunction not to lie awake talking, she left them.
"Did anybody ever have such a dear mamma as ours!" exclaimed Vi,
nestling close to her sister.
"No, I think not," replied Elsie in a tone of grave consideration. "But
now we mus'n't talk anymore; because she bade us not: and I've come to
bed early to-night to please you--"
"Yes, you dear, good sister, you very dearest girl in all the world!"
interrupted Vi, rising on her elbow for a moment to rain a perfect
shower of kisses upon the sweet face by her side.
Elsie laughed low and musically and hugging her tight returned the
caresses, then went on, "But I mus'n't keep you awake. So now let's lie
down and not say one word more."
"No; not a single one," returned Vi, cuddling down again.
"Mamma," said Eddie, coming into the school-room next morning with a
slight frown on his usually pleasant face, "why do you call us to
lessons? can't we have holidays now that we are going away so soon?"
"No, my son; I think it best to attend now to our regular duties. You
will have a rest from study while taking the journey, and for a few days
after we reach Viamede. Will not that be better?" she asked, with a
motherly smile, as she softly smoothed back the dark clustering curls
from his broad open brow.
"But I don't want to say lessons to-day," he answered with a pout, and
resolutely refusing to meet her glance.
"My little son," she said, with tender gravity, "were we sent into this
world to please ourselves?"
"No, mamma."
"No; 'even Christ pleased not himself,' and we are to try to be like
him. Whose will did he do?"
"His Father's, mamma."
"Yes, and whose will are you to do?"
"God's will, you've taught me, mamma, but--"
"Well, son?"
"Mamma, will you be angry if I say my thought?"
"I think not: let me hear it."
"Mamma, isn't--isn't it your will this time? About the lessons I mean.
Please mamma, don't think I want to be naughty, asking it?"
She drew him closer, and bending down pressed her lips to his forehead.
"No, my son, you want it explained, and I am glad you told me your
thought. Yes, it is my will this time, but as God bids children honor
and obey their parents, is it not his will also?"
"I s'pose so, mamma. But I wish it didn't be your will to have me learn
lessons to-day."
Elsie was forced to smile in spite of herself. With another slight
caress she asked, "Do you think I love you, Eddie?"
"Oh yes, yes mamma, I know you do, and I love you too: indeed I do
dearly, dearly!" he burst out, throwing his arms about her neck. "And I
know you just want to make me good and happy and that your way's always
best. So I won't be naughty any more."
At that there was a general exclamation of delight from the other three,
who had been silent, but deeply interested listeners, and all crowded
round mamma vying with each other in bestowing upon her tender caresses
and words of love.
Each had felt more or less disinclination for the regular routine of
work, but that vanished now, and they went through their allotted tasks
with more than usual spirit and determination.
Ah what a sweetener of toil is love! love to a dear earthly parent, and
still more love to Christ: there is no drudgery in the most menial
employment where that is the motive power.
Chapter Twenty-third.
"Put a knife to thy throat, if thou be a man given to appetite."
--PROVERBS xxiii. 2.
The happy day came, full soon to the fathers and mothers, at long last
to the eager expectant children.
Old Mr. Dinsmore had accepted a pressing invitation from his
granddaughter and her husband, to join the party, and with the addition
of servants it was a large one.
As they were in no haste, and the confinement of a railroad car would be
very irksome to the younger children, it had been decided to make the
journey by water.
It was late in the afternoon of an unusually warm, bright November day
that they found themselves comfortably established on board a fine
steamer bound for New Orleans.
There were no sad leave-takings to mar their pleasure, the children were
in wild spirits, and all seemed cheerful and happy as they sat or stood
upon the deck watching the receding shore as the vessel steamed out of
the harbor.
At length the land had quite disappeared; nothing could be seen but the
sky overhead and a vast expanse of water all around, and the passengers
found leisure to turn their attention upon each other.
"There are some nice looking people on board," remarked Mr. Travilla, in
an undertone, to his wife.
"Beside ourselves," added Cousin Ronald, laughing.
"Yes," she answered; "that little group yonder: a young minister and his
wife and child, I suppose. And what a dear little fellow he is just
about the age of our Harold, I should judge."
"Yes, mamma," chimed in the last named young gentleman, "he's a nice
little boy. May I go speak to him? May I, papa?"
Permission was given and the next moment the two stood close together
each gazing admiringly into the other's face.
"Papa," remarked the little stranger, looking up at his father, "I very
much wish I had a face like this little boy's."
"Do you, son?" was the smiling rejoinder. "He certainly looks like a very
nice little boy. Suppose you and he shake hands, Frank."
"Yes, sir," said the child, holding out a small, plump hand, "What's
your name, little boy?"
"Harold Travilla, and yours is Fank?"
"Yes, Frank Daly. Don't you like this nice big boat?"
"Yes I do. Won't you come wis me and speak to my mamma and papa?"
Frank looked inquiringly at his father.
"Yes, you may go if you wish," returned the latter, and the two started
off hand in hand.
"Mamma, see! isn't he a dear little boy?" asked Harold, leading his new
friend up before her with an air of proud ownership.
"Yes indeed," she said, bending down to kiss Frank and stroke his hair.
"I think he's a good boy, 'cause he didn't come till his papa told him
to," continued Harold.
"A very good way to judge of a boy," said Cousin Ronald.
"His name is Fank," said Harold. "Fank, that's Cousin Ronald, and this
is papa, and this is grandpa," and so on, leading him from one to
another till he had introduced him to the whole party, not even omitting
Baby Herbert and mammy.
Then Frank's papa came for him, saying the air was growing very cool,
and it was time to go in.
Our friends were of the same opinion and all repaired to the ladies'
saloon, where, through the children, they and the Dalys soon made
acquaintance.
Mr. Daly was a minister going South for the winter for the sake of his
own and his wife's health.
Cousin Ronald took Frank on his knee and asked, "What are you going to
do, my little fellow, when you get to be a man."
"Preach the gospel, sir."
"Ah ha, ah ha! um h'm, um h'm! and what will you say?"
"I'll tell the people we'll sing the twenty-third piece of ham. How will
that sound?"
"Rather comical, I think, my man. Are ye no afraid the folk might
laugh?"
"No sir: they don't laugh when papa says it."
"Ah ha, ah ha! um h'm!"
Mr. Daly smiled. "I never knew before," said he, "that my boy intended
to follow my profession."
The ladies were weary, and retired to their state rooms shortly after
tea, but the gentlemen sought the open air again and paced the deck for
some time.
"Have a cigar, sir?" asked Mr. Lilburn, addressing Mr. Daly.
"Thank you, no; I don't smoke."
"Ah ha! um h'm! In that you seem to be of one mind with my friends here,
the Dinsmores and Travilla," remarked Lilburn, lighting one for himself
and placing it between his lips. "I wonder now if you know what you miss
by your abstinence?"
"Well, sir, as to that, I know what some of my friends and acquaintance
would have missed if they had abstained from the use of the weed. One
would have missed a terrible dyspepsia that laid him in his grave in the
prime of life; another cancer of the lip which did the same by him after
years of horrible suffering."
"Ah ha! um h'm! ah ha! But surely those were rare cases?"
"I think not very."
"You don't think the majority of those who use it feel any ill effects?"
"I do indeed; though probably comparatively few are aware that tobacco
is the cause of their ailments."
"Doubtless that is the case," remarked Mr. Dinsmore. "I was a moderate
smoker for years before I discovered that I was undermining my
constitution by the indulgence; at length, however, I became convinced
of that fact, and gave it up at once: for that reason and for the sake
of the example to my boy here, who has been willing to profit by his
father's experience, and abstain altogether."
"I have never used the weed in any way," said Horace, Jr.
"And I," remarked Travilla, "abandoned its use about the same time that
Dinsmore did, and for the same reasons. By the way, I met with a very
strong article on the subject, lately, which I cut out and placed in my
pocket-book."
"Ah ha! um h'm! suppose you give us the benefit of it," suggested
Lilburn good naturally, "I'm open to conviction."
"With all my heart, if you will step into the gentlemen's cabin where
there's a light."
He led the way, the others all following, and taking out a slip of paper
read from it in a distinct tone, loud enough to be heard by those about
him, without disturbing the other passengers.
"'One drop of nicotine--extract of tobacco--placed on the tongue of a
dog, will kill him in a minute; the hundredth part of a grain picked
under the skin of a man's arm, will produce nausea and fainting. That
which blackens old tobacco pipes is empyreumatic oil, a grain of which
would kill a man in a few seconds.
"'The half dozen cigars which most smokers use a day, contain six or
seven grains--enough, if concentrated and absorbed, to kill three men,
and a pound of tobacco, according to its quality, contains from
one-quarter to one and a quarter ounces.
"'Is it strange, then that smokers and chewers have a thousand ailments?
that German physicians attribute one half of the deaths among the young
men of that country to tobacco? that the French Polytechnic Institute
had to prohibit its use on account of its effects on the mind? that men
grow dyspeptic, hypochondriac, insane, delirious from its use?
"'One of the direct effects of tobacco is to weaken the heart. Notice
the multitude of sudden deaths and see how many are smokers and chewers.
In a small country town seven of these 'mysterious providences' occurred
within the circuit of a mile, all directly traceable to tobacco; and any
physician, on a few moments' reflection, can match this fact by his own
observation.
"'And then such powerful acids produce intense irritation and
thirst--thirst which water does not quench. Hence a resort to cider and
beer. The more this thirst is fed, the more insatiate it becomes, and
more fiery drink is needed.
"'Out of seven hundred convicts examined at the New York state prison,
six hundred were confined for crimes committed under the influence of
liquor, and five hundred said they had been led to drink by the use of
tobacco."[G]
[Footnote G: J.E. Vose, in the "Family Christian Almanac," for 1876.]
"Ah ha, ah ha! um h'm! ah ha! that's strongly put," remarked Mr.
Lilburn, reflectively. "I'm afraid I'll have to give it up. What say
you, sir?" turning to Mr. Daly, "has a man a right to a choice in such a
matter as this? a right to injure his body--to say nothing of the
mind--by a self-indulgence the pleasure of which seems to him to
overbalance the possible or probable suffering it may cause?"
"No, sir; 'What! know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy
Ghost which is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own?
For ye are bought with a price: therefore glorify God in your body, and
in your spirit which are God's.'"
"Right, sir, I was thinking of those words of the apostle, and also
of these other, 'If any man defile the temple of God, him shall God
destroy: for the temple of God is holy, which temple ye are.'
"We certainly have no right to injure our bodies either by neglect or
self-indulgence. 'Know ye not that your bodies are the members of
Christ?' and again, 'I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies
of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable
unto God, which is your reasonable service.'"
"It must require a good deal of resolution for one who has become fond
of the indulgence to give it up," remarked Mr. Daly.
"No doubt, no doubt," returned Mr. Lilburn, "but, 'If thy right eye
offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee, for it is profitable
for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole
body should be cast into hell.'"
There was a pause broken by young Horace, who had been watching a group
of men gathered about a table at the further end of the room.
"They are gambling yonder, and I'm afraid that young fellow is being
badly fleeced by that middle aged man opposite."
The eyes of the whole party were at once turned in that direction.
"I'm afraid you're right, Horace," said Mr. Travilla, recalling with an
inward shudder, the scene he had witnessed in a gambling hell many years
ago, in which the son of his friend Beresford so nearly lost his life.
"What can be done to save him? some effort must be made!" and he started
up as if with the intention of approaching the players.
"Stay a moment," exclaimed Lilburn in an undertone, and laying a
detaining hand upon Travilla's arm, but with his gaze intently fixed
upon the older gamester. "Ah ha! um h'm! that fellow is certainly
cheating. I saw him slip a card from his coat sleeve."
The words had scarcely passed his lips when a voice spoke apparently
close at the villain's side.
"Ah ha, I zees you vell, how you runs de goat shleeve down mit de gards
and sheats dat boor poy vat ish blay mit you. Yoh, sir, you ish von pig
sheat!"
"How dare you, sir? who are you?" cried the rascal, starting up white
with rage and turning to face his accuser.
"Who was it? where is that Dutch scoundrel that dared accuse me of
cheating?" he cried, sending a fierce glance about the room.
"Vat ish dat you galls me? von Dutch scoundrel? you man mit de proken
nose; I say it again: you ish von pig sheat."
This time the voice seemed to come from a stateroom behind the gambler.
Towering with rage, he rushed to the door and tried to open it. Failing
in that, he demanded admittance in loud angry tones, at the same time
shaking the door violently, and kicking against it with a force that
seemed likely to break in the panels.
There was an answering yell, a sound as of some one bouncing out of his
berth upon the floor, the key turned hastily in the lock, the door was
thrown wide open, and a little Frenchman appeared on its threshold in
night attire, bowie knife and pistol in hand, and black eyes flashing
with indignant anger.
"Sir, Monsieur, I vil know vat for is dis disturbance of mine slumbers?"
"Sir!" said the other, stepping back, instantly cooled down at sight of
the weapons, "I beg pardon: was looking for a scoundrel of a Dutchman
who has been abusing me, but I see he's not here."
"No sir, he is not here!" and the door was slammed violently to.
"Ha, ha! man mit de proken nose, you vake up de wrong bassenger. Ha, ha!
I dells you again you ish von pig sheat!"
Now the voice came from the skylight overhead, apparently, and with a
fierce imprecation the irate gamester rushed upon deck, and ran hither
and thither in search of his tormentor.
His victim, who had been looking on during the little scene and
listening to the mysterious voice in silent wide-eyed wonder and fear,
now rose hastily, his face deathly pale, with trembling hands gathered
up the money he had staked, and hurrying into his state room, locked
himself in.
The remaining passengers looked at each other.
"What does it mean?" cried one.
"A ventriloquist aboard, of course," returned another. "Let's follow and
see the fun."
"I wonder which of us it is!" remarked the first, looking hard at our
party.
"I don't know, but come on. That fellow Nick Ward, is a noted blackleg
and ruffian: had his nose broken in a fight and is sensitive on the
subject; was cheating of course."
They passed out, our party close in their rear.
"Where's that Dutch villain?" Ward was screaming, following up his
question with a volley of oaths.
"Who?" asked the mate, "I've seen none up here; though there are some in
the steerage."
Down to the steerage flew the gambler without waiting to reply, and
bounding into the midst of a group of German emigrants seated there,
quietly smoking their pipes, angrily demanded which of them it was who
had been on the upper deck just now, abusing him, and calling him a
cheat, and a man with a broken nose.
They heard him in silence, with a cool, phlegmatic indifference most
exasperating to one in his present mood.
Drawing his revolver, "Speak!" he shouted, "tell me which one it was, or
I'll--I'll shoot every mother's son of you!"
His arms were suddenly pinioned from behind while a deep voice grunted,
"You vill, vill you? I dinks not; you ish mine brisoner. Dere ish
nopody here as did gall you names, and you vill put up dat leetle gun."
A man of giant size and herculean strength, had laid aside his pipe and
slowly rising to his feet, seized the scoundrel in his powerful grasp.
"Let me go!" yelled Ward, making a desperate effort to free his arms.
"Ha, ha! man mit de proken nose, you ish vake up de wrong bassenger
again," came mockingly from above. "It ish me as galls you von pig
sheat; and I dells you it again."
"There, the villain's up on the deck now!" cried Ward, grinding his
teeth in impotent rage. "Let go my arms I let go, I say, and I'll teach
him a lesson."
"I dinks no; I dinks I deach you von lesson," returned his captor, not
relaxing his grasp in the least.
But the captain's voice was heard asking in stern tones, "What's the
cause of all this disturbance? what are you doing down here, Ward? I'll
have no fighting aboard."
The German released his prisoner, and the latter slunk away with
muttered threats and imprecations upon the head of his tormentor.
Both that night and the next day there was much speculation among the
passengers in regard to the occurrence; but our friends kept their own
counsel, and the children, cautioned not to divulge Cousin Ronald's
secret, guarded it carefully, for all had been trained to obedience, and
besides were anxious not to lose the fun he made for them.
Mr. Lilburn and Mr. Daly each at a different time, sought out the young
man, Ward's intended victim, and tried to influence him for good.
He thought he had been rescued by the interposition of some supernatural
agency, and solemnly declared his fixed determination never again to
approach a gaming table, and throughout the voyage adhered to his
resolution, spite of every influence Ward could bring to bear upon him
to break it.
Yet there was gambling again the second night, between Ward and several
others of his profession.
They kept it up till after midnight. Then Mr. Lilburn, waking from his
first sleep, in a stateroom near by, thought he would break it up once
more.
A deep stillness reigned in the cabin: it would seem that every one on
board the vessel, except themselves and the watch on deck, was wrapped
in profound slumber.
An intense voiceless excitement possessed the players, for the game was
a close one, and the stakes were very heavy. They bent eagerly over the
board, each watching with feverish anxiety his companion's movements,
each casting, now and again, a gloating eye upon the heap of gold and
greenbacks that lay between them, and at times half stretching out his
hand to clutch it.
A deep groan startled them and they sprang to their feet, pale and
trembling with sudden terror, each holding his breath and straining his
ear to catch a repetition of the dread sound.
But all was silent, and after a moment of anxious waiting, they sat down
to their game again; trying to conceal and shake off their fears with a
forced, unnatural laugh.
But scarcely had they taken the cards into their hands when a second
groan, deeper, louder and more prolonged than the first, again started
them to their feet.
"I tell you this is growing serious," whispered one in a shaking voice,
his very lips white with fear.
"It came from under the table," gasped Ward, "look what's there."
"Look yourself."
"Both together then," and simultaneously they bent down and peered into
the space underneath the board.
There was nothing there.
"What can it have been?" they asked each other.
"Oh, nonsense! what fools we are! of course somebody's ill in one of the
state-rooms." And they resumed their game for the second time.
But a voice full of unutterable anguish, came from beneath their feet,
"'Father Abraham have mercy on me, and send Lazarus, that he may dip the
tip of his finger in water, and cool my tongue: for I am tormented in
this flame," and in mortal terror they sprang up, dashed down their
cards and fled, not even waiting to gather up the "filthy lucre" for
which they wore selling their souls.
It was the last game of cards for that trip.
The captain coming in shortly after the sudden flight of the gamblers,
took charge of the money, and the next day restored it to the owners.
To Elsie's observant eyes it presently became evident that the Dalys
were in very straitened circumstances. They made no complaint, but with
her warm sympathy and delicate tact, she soon drew from the wife all the
information she needed to convince her that here was a case that called
for the pecuniary assistance Providence had put it in her power to give.
She consulted with her husband, and the result was a warm invitation to
the Dalys to spend the winter at Viamede, where they would have all the
benefit of the mild climate, congenial society, use of the library,
horses, etc., and be at no expense.
"Oh how kind, how very kind!" Mrs. Daly said with tears of joy and
gratitude, "we have hardly known how we should meet the most necessary
expenses of this trip, but have been trying to cast our care upon the
Lord, asking him to provide. And how wonderfully he has answered our
petitions. But--it seems too much, too much for you to do for
strangers."
"Strangers, my dear friend!" Elsie answered, pressing her hand
affectionately, "art we not sisters in Christ? 'Ye are all the children
of God by faith in Christ Jesus.' 'Ye are all one in Christ Jesus.'
"We feel, my husband and I, that we are only the stewards of his bounty;
and that because he has said, 'Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of
the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me,' it is the
greatest privilege and delight to do anything for his people."
Mr. Travilla had already expressed the same sentiments to Mr. Daly, and
so the poor minister and his wife accepted the invitation with glad and
thankful hearts, and Harold and Frank learned with delight that they
were to live together for what to their infant minds seemed an almost
interminable length of time.
The passage to New Orleans was made without accident or detention.
As our party left the vessel a voice was heard from the hold, crying in
dolorous accents, and a rich Irish brogue, "Och captin dear, help me
out, help me out! I've got fast betwane these boxes here, bad cess to
'em! an' can't hilp mesilf at all, at all!"
"Help you out, you passage thief!" roared the captain in return, "yes
I'll help you out with a vengeance, and put you into the hands of the
police."
"Ah ha! um h'm ah ha, you'll have to catch him first," remarked Mr.
Lilburn with a quiet smile; stepping from the plank to the wharf as he
spoke.
"Ah, cousin, you are incorrigible!" said Elsie, laughingly.
Chapter Twenty-fourth.
"The fields did laugh, the flowers did freshly spring,
The trees did bud and early blossoms bear,
And all the quire of birds did sweetly sing,
And told that garden's pleasures in their caroling."
--SPENSER'S FAERY QUEEN
Nothing could be lovelier than was Viamede as they found it on their
arrival.
The children, one and all, were in an ecstasy of delight over the orange
orchard with its wealth of golden fruit, glossy leaves, and delicate
blossoms, the velvety lawn with its magnificent shade trees, the variety
and profusion of beautiful flowers, and the spacious lordly mansion.
They ran hither and thither jumping, dancing, clapping their hands and
calling to each other with shouts of glee.
The pleasure and admiration of the older people were scarcely less,
though shown after a soberer fashion. But no check was put upon the
demonstrations of joy of the younger ones: they were allowed to gambol,
frolic, and play, and to feast themselves upon the luscious fruit to
their hearts' content.
Nor was the gladness all on the side of the new arrivals: to the old
house servants, many of whom still remained, the coming of their beloved
young mistress and her children had been an event looked forward to with
longing for years.
They wept for joy as they gathered about her, kissed her hand and
clasped her little ones in their arms, fondling them and calling them by
every endearing name known to the negro vocabulary.
And the children, having heard a great deal, from both mamma and mammy,
about these old people and their love and loyalty to the family, were
neither surprised, nor displeased, but quite ready to receive and return
the affection lavished upon them.
The party from Lansdale arrived only a few days after the others, and
were welcomed with great rejoicings, in which even Bruno must have a
share: he jumped and gamboled about Harry and May, tried to kiss the
babies, and finally put his nose into Aunt Wealthy's lap, saying, "Ye're
a dear auld leddy, ma'am, and I'm glad ye've come!"
"Ah," she answered, patting his head and laughing her low, sweet silvery
laugh, "you betray your Scotch accent, my fine follow; and I'm too old a
chaff to be caught with a bird."
Mr. Mason was still chaplain at Viamede, and with his wife and children
occupied a pretty and commodious cottage which had been built on the
estate expressly for their use.
When he and Mr. Daly met they instantly and delightedly recognized each
other as former classmates and intimate friends, and the Dalys, by
urgent invitation, took up their abode for the winter in the cottage;
but Mr. and Mrs. Travilla were careful that it should still be entirely
at their expense.
A suite of apartments in the mansion was appropriated to each of the
other families, and it was unanimously agreed that each should feel at
perfect liberty to withdraw into the privacy of these, having their
meals served to them there, if they so desired; or at their pleasure to
mingle with the others in the breakfast parlor, dining-room,
drawing-rooms, library, etc.
The first fortnight was made a complete holiday to all, the days being
filled up with games, walks, rides, drives and excursions by land and
water.
In consequence of the changes occasioned by the war, they found but
little society in the neighborhood now, yet scarcely missed it; having
so much within themselves.
But at length even the children began to grow somewhat weary of constant
play. Harry Duncan and Horace Jr. announced their speedy departure to
attend to business, and the other adults of the party felt that it was
time to take up again the ordinary duties of life.
Mr. Daly, anxious to make some return for the kindness shown him,
offered to act as tutor to all the children who were old enough for
school duties; but Rosie put her arms about her father's neck and
looking beseechingly into his eyes, said she preferred her old
tutor;--at which he smiled, and stroking her hair, said she should keep
him then, for he would be quite as loth to give up his pupil,--and
Elsie's children, clinging about her, entreated that their lessons might
still be said to mamma.
"So they shall, my darlings," she answered, "for mamma loves to teach
you."
The young Carringtons too, and their mother preferred the old way.
So Mr. Daly's kind offer was declined with thanks: and perhaps he was
not sorry; being weak and languid and in no danger of suffering from
ennui with horses to ride and plenty of books at hand.
A school-room was prepared, but only the Travillas occupied it, Sophie
preferring to use her dressing-room, and Rosie studying in her own room,
and reciting to her papa in his or the library.
Elsie expected her children to find it a little hard to go back to the
old routine; but it was not so. They came to her with bright, happy
faces, were quiet and diligent and when the recitations were over,
gathered about her for a little chat before returning to their play.
"Mamma," said Eddie, "we've had a nice long holiday, and it's really
pleasant to get back to lessons again."
"So it is!" said Vi, "don't you think so, Elsie?"
"Yes, indeed! nice to get back to our books, but we've had lessons
almost every day, grandpa and papa and mamma teaching us so much about
the birds, insects, and all sorts of living things, and the flowers and
plants, trees, stones and oh, I don't know how many things that are
different here from what we have at home."
"At home! why this is home; isn't it, mamma?" exclaimed Eddie.
"Yes, my son, one of our homes."
"Yes, and so beautiful," said Vi; "but Ion 'pears the homest to me."
"Does it, darling?" asked mamma, giving her a smile and a kiss.
"Yes, mamma; and I love Ion dearly: Viamede 'most as well, though,
because you were born here, and your dear mamma."
"And because that dear grandma is buried here;" remarked her sister,
"and because of all those dear graves. Mamma, I do like those lessons I
was speaking of, and so do Eddie and Vi; but Herbert and Meta and Harry
don't; they say they think them very stupid and dull."
"I am glad, my children, that you love knowledge," their mother said,
"because it is useful; the more knowledge we have the more good we can
do if we will."
"And then it is a lasting pleasure. God's works are so wonderful that we
can never learn all about them while we live in this world, and I
suppose throughout the endless ages of eternity, we shall be ever
learning, yet always finding still more to learn."
"Mamma, how pleasant that will be," said Elsie thoughtfully.
"And oh, mamma!" cried Vi, "that reminds me that we've been out of doors
'most all the day-times, and haven't seen grandma's play-room and things
yet. Won't you show them to us?"
"Yes, we will go now."
"Me too, mamma?" asked Harold.
"Yes, all of you come. I want you all to see everything that I have that
once belonged to my dear mother."
"Aunt Rosie wants to see them too," said Vi.
"And Herbert and Meta and the others," added Elsie.
"They shall see them afterwards. I want no one but my own little
children now," replied mamma, taking Harold's hand, and leading the way.
She led them to the room, a large and very pleasant one, light and airy,
where flowers were blooming and birds singing, vines trailing over and
about the windows, lovely pictures on the walls, cosy chairs and
couches, work-tables, well supplied with all the implements for sewing,
others suited for drawing, writing or cutting out upon, standing here
and there, quantities of books, games and toys; nothing seemed to have
been forgotten that could give pleasant employment for their leisure
hours, or minister to their amusement.
There was a burst of united exclamations of wondering delight from the
children, as the door was thrown open and they entered. Now they
understood why mamma had put them off when several times they had asked
to be brought to this room: she was having it fitted up in a way to give
them a joyful surprise.
"Do you like it, my darlings?" she asked with a pleased smile.
"Oh, yes, yes! yes indeed!" they cried, jumping, dancing and clapping
their hands, "dear, dear mamma, how good, how good you are to us!" and
they nearly smothered her with caresses.
Releasing herself, she opened another door leading into an adjoining
room which, to Eddie's increased delight, was fitted up as a work-room
for boys, with every sort of tool used by carpenters and cabinet makers.
He had such at Ion and was somewhat acquainted with their use.
"Oh what nice times Herbert and Harry and I shall have!" he exclaimed.
"What pretty things we'll make! Mamma, I don't know how to thank you and
my dear father!" he added, catching her hand and pressing it to his lips
with passionate affection.
"Be good and obedient to us, kind and affectionate to your brothers,
sisters and playmates," she said, stroking his hair: "that is the kind
of thanks we want, my boy; we have no greater joy than to see our
children good and happy."
"If we don't be, it's just our own fault, and we're ever so wicked and
bad!" cried Vi, vehemently.
Mamma smiled at her little girl's impetuosity, then in grave, tender
tones, said, "And is there not some One else more deserving of love and
thanks than even papa and mamma?"
"God, our kind heavenly Father," murmured little Elsie, happy, grateful
tears shining in her soft eyes.
"Yes, it is from his kind hand all our blessings come."
"I love God," said Harold, "and so does Fank: Mamma, can Fank come up
here to play wis me?"
"Yes, indeed: Frank is a dear, good little boy, and I like to have you
together."
Mamma unlocked the door of a large light closet, as she spoke, and the
children, looking eagerly in, saw that its shelves were filled with
beautiful toys.
"Grandma's things!" they said softly.
"Yes, these are what my dear mother played with when she was a little
girl like Elsie and Vi" said mamma. "You may look at them."
There was a large babyhouse, beautifully furnished; there were many
dolls of various sizes, and little chests and trunks full of nicely made
clothes for them to wear--night-clothes, morning wrappers, gay silks and
lovely white dresses, bonnets and hats, shoes and stockings too, and
ribbons and laces, for the lady dolls; and for the gentlemen, coats,
hats, vests, cravats and everything that real grown-up men wear; and for
the baby dolls there were many suits of beautiful baby clothes; and all
made so that they could be easily taken off and put on again.
There were cradles to rock the babies in, and coaches for them to ride
in; there were dinner and tea-sets of the finest china and of solid
silver; indeed almost everything in the shape of toys that the childish
heart could desire.
The lonely little girl had not lacked for any pleasure that money could
procure: but she had hungered for that best earthly gift--the love of
father, mother, brothers and sisters--which can be neither bought nor
sold.
The children examined all these things with intense interest and a sort
of wondering awe, then begged their mother to tell them again about
"dear grandma."
They had heard the story--all that mamma and mammy could tell--many
times, but it never lost its charm.
"Yes, dears, I will: I love to think and speak of her," Elsie said,
sitting down in a low chair while they gathered closely round her, the
older two, one on each side, the others leaning upon her lap.
"Mamma, it is a sad story; but I love it," little Elsie said, drawing a
deep sigh, as the tale came to an end.
"Yes, poor little girl, playing up here all alone," said Eddie.
"'Cept mammy," corrected Vi.
"Yes, mammy to love her and take care of her, but no brother or sister
to play with, and no dear mamma or papa like ours."
"Yes, poor dear grandma!" sighed little Elsie. "And it was almost as
hard for you, mamma, when you were a little girl: didn't you feel very
sad?"
"Ah, daughter, I had Jesus to love me, and help me in all my childish
griefs and troubles," the mother answered, with a glad smile; "and mammy
to hug and kiss and love me just as she does you."
"But oh, didn't you want your mamma and papa?"
"Yes, sorely, sorely at times; but I think no little child could be
happier than I was when at last; my dear father came home, and I found
that he loved me dearly. Ah, I am so glad, so thankful that my darlings
have never suffered for lack of love."
"I too, mamma."
"And I."
"And I," they exclaimed, clinging about her and loading her with
caresses.
"Hark!" she said, "I hear your dear grandpa's step, and there, he is
knocking at the door."
Eddie ran to open it.
"Ah, I thought I should find you here, daughter," Mr. Dinsmore said,
coming in. "I, too, want to see these things; it is long since I looked
at them."
She gave him a pleased look and smile, and stepping to the closet he
stood for some moments silently gazing upon its treasures.
"You do well to preserve them with care as mementoes of your mother," he
remarked, coming back and seating himself by her side.
"O grandpa, you could tell us more about her, and dear mamma too, when
she was a little girl!" said little Elsie, seating herself upon his
knee, twining her arms about his neck, and looking coaxingly into his
face.
"Ah, what a dear little girl your mamma was at your age!" he said,
stroking her hair and gazing fondly first at her and then at her
mother, "the very joy of my heart and delight of my eyes! though not
dearer than she is now."
Elsie returned the loving glance and smile, while her namesake daughter
remarked, "Mamma couldn't be nicer or sweeter than she is now; nobody
could."
"No, no! no indeed!" chimed in the rest of the little flock. "But
grandpa please tell the story. You never did tell it to us."
"No," he said, half sighing, "but you shall have it now." Then went on
to relate how he had first met their mother's mother, then a very
beautiful girl of fifteen.
An acquaintance took him to call upon a young lady friend of his, to
whom Elsie Grayson was paying a visit, and the two were in the
drawing-room together when the young men entered.
"What did you think the first minute you saw her, grandpa?" asked Eddie.
"That she had the sweetest, most beautiful face and perfect form I had
ever laid eyes on, and that I would give all I was worth to have her for
my own."
"Love at first sight," his daughter remarked, with a smile, "and it was
mutual."
"Yes she told me afterward that she had loved me from the first; though
the longer I live the more I wonder it should have been so, for I was a
wild, wayward youth. But she, poor thing, had none to love or cherish
her but her mammy."
"Grandpa, I think you're very nice," put in little Vi, leaning on his
knee, and gazing affectionately into his face.
"I'm glad you do," he said, patting her soft round cheek.
"But to go on with my story. I could not keep away from my charmer, and
for the next few weeks we saw each other daily.
"I asked her to be my own little wife and she consented. Then early one
morning we went to a church and were married; no one being present
except the minister, the sexton, and her friend and mine, who were
engaged to each other, and her faithful mammy.
"Her guardian was away in a distant city and knew nothing about the
matter. He was taken sick there and did not return for three months, and
during that time Elsie and I lived together in a house she owned in New
Orleans.
"We thought that now that we were safely married, no one could ever
separate us, and we were very, very happy.
"But one evening her guardian came suddenly upon us, as we sat together
in her boudoir, and in a great passion ordered me out of the house.
"Elsie was terribly frightened and I said, 'I will go to-night for peace
sake; but Elsie is my wife, and to-morrow I shall come and claim her as
such, and I think you'll find I have the law on my side.' Elsie clung to
me and wept bitterly; but I comforted her with the assurance that the
parting was only for a few hours."
Mr. Dinsmore's voice faltered. He paused a moment, then went on in tones
husky with emotion.
"We never saw each other again. When I went back in the morning the
house was closed and quite deserted; not even a servant in it, and I
knew not where to look for my lost wife.
"I went back to my hotel and there found my father waiting for me in my
room. He was very angry about my marriage, the news of which had brought
him from home. He made me go back with him at once and sent me North to
college. I heard nothing of my wife for months, and then only that she
was dead and had left me a little daughter."
"And that was our mamma!" cried the children, once more crowding about
her to lavish caresses upon her.
They thanked their grandfather for his story, and Vi looking in at the
closet door again, said in her most coaxing tones, "Mamma, I should so,
_so_ like to play a little with some of those lovely things; and I would
be very careful not to spoil them."
"Not now, daughter, though perhaps I may allow it some day when you are
older. But see here! will not these do quite as well?"
And rising, Mrs. Travilla opened the door of another closet displaying
to the children's delighted eyes other toys as fine and in as great
profusion and variety as those she considered sacred to her mother's
memory.
"Oh, yes, yes, mamma! how lovely! how kind you are! are they for us?"
they exclaimed in joyous tones.
"Yes," she said, "I bought them for you while we were in New Orleans,
and you shall play with them whenever you like. And now we will lock the
doors and go down to dress for dinner. The first bell is ringing."
After dinner the play-room and the contents of the two closets were
shown to Mrs. Dinsmore, Rosie, and the Carringtons: then Mrs. Travilla
locked the door of the one that held the treasured relics of her
departed mother, and carried away the key.
Chapter Twenty-fifth.
"She'd lift the teapot lid
To peep at what was in it,
Or tilt the kettle if you did
But turn your back a minute."
Meta Carrington had many excellent traits of character; was frank,
generous, unselfish and sincere; but these good qualities were offset by
some very serious faults; she was prying and full of desire for whatever
was forbidden.
The other children played contentedly with the toys provided for them;
but Meta secretly nursed a great longing for those Mrs. Travilla had
chosen to withhold; and was constantly endeavoring to devise some plan
by which to get possession of them.
She attempted to pick the lock with a nail, then with a knife, but
failing in that, seized every opportunity of doing so unobserved, to try
the keys from other doors in different parts of the house, till at
length she found one that would answer her purpose; then she watched her
chance to use it in the absence of her mates.
At length such a time came. The ladies had all gone out for an airing,
the little ones, too, in charge of their nurses, Vi and the boys were
sporting on the lawn, and Elsie was at the piano practicing; certain,
faithful little worker that she was, not to leave it till the allotted
hour had expired.
Having satisfied herself of all this, Meta flew to the play-room, and
half trembling at her own temerity, admitted herself to the forbidden
treasures.
There was no hesitancy in regard to her further proceedings; for weeks
past, she had had them all carefully arranged in her mind; she would
have a tea-party, though, unfortunately, there could be no guests
present but the dolls; yet at all events, she could have the great
pleasure of handling that beautiful china and silver and seeing how a
table would look set out with them. A pleasure doubled by the fact that
she was enjoying it in opposition to the known wishes and commands of
her mother and the owner; for in Meta's esteem 'stolen waters were
sweet' indeed.
She selected a damask table cloth from a pile that lay on one of the
lower shelves, several napkins to match, slipping each of these last
into a silver ring taken from a little basket that stood alongside, and
proceeded with quiet glee, to deck a table with them, and the sets of
china and silver she most admired.
"Beautiful! beautiful! I never saw anything so pretty!" she exclaimed
half aloud, as, her task finished, she stood gazing in rapt delight at
the result of her labors. "Oh I think it's real mean in Aunt Elsie, to
say we sha'n't play with these, and to lock them up away from us. But
now for the company!" and running into the closet again, she brought out
several of the largest dolls.
"I'll dress them for dinner," she said, still talking to herself in an
undertone: "that'll be fun. What lots of lovely things I shall find in
these trunks; I'll look them over and select what I like best to have
them wear. I'll have time enough: it isn't at all likely anybody will
come to disturb me for an hour:" and as she opened the first trunk, she
glanced hastily at the clock on the mantel.
She was mistaken. Time flew away much faster than she was aware of, and
scarce half an hour had passed when a pair of little feet came dancing
along the hall, the door--which in her haste and pre-occupation Meta had
forgotten to lock--flew open, and Vi stood before her.
The great blue eyes turning toward the table opened wide with
astonishment. "Why, why, Meta!"
Meta's face flushed deeply for a moment, but thinking the best plan
would be to brave it out, "Isn't it pretty?" she asked, as unconcernedly
as she could.
"Yes, oh lovely! but--where did you--aren't they my grandma's things? O
Meta, how could you ever dare--"
"Pooh! I'm not going to hurt 'em. And why should you think they were
hers? can't other people have pretty things?"
"Yes, but I know they're grandma's, I rec--recog--recognize them. Oh
what shall we do? I wouldn't venture to touch 'em, even to put them
back."
"What a big word that was you used just now," said Meta, laughing, "It
'most choked you."
"Well when I'm bigger it won't," returned Vi, still gazing at the table.
"Oh how lovely they are! I do wish mamma would let us play with them."
"So do I: and these dolls too. It's just delightful to dress and undress
them. Here, Vi, help me put this one's shoes on."
The temptation to handle the tiny, dainty shoes and see how well they
fitted the feet of the pretty doll, was great, and not giving herself
time to think, Violet dropped down on the carpet by Meta's side and
complied with the request. "Just to slip on those lovely shoes, now that
they were there right before her, was not much," so said the tempter:
then, "Now having done a little, what difference if she did a little
more?"
Thoughtless and excitable, she presently forgot mamma and her commands,
and became as eagerly engaged as Meta herself in the fascinating
employment of looking over the contents of the trunks, and trying now
one, and now another suit upon the dollies.
"Now this one's dressed, and I'll set her up to the table," said Meta,
jumping up. "Oh my!"
Something fell with a little crash on the lid of the trunk by Vi's side,
and there at her feet lay one of the beautiful old china plates broken
into a dozen pieces.
The child started up perfectly aghast, the whole extent of her
delinquency flashing upon her in that instant. "Oh, oh! what have I
done! what a wicked, wicked girl I am! what will mamma say!" And she
burst into an agony of grief and remorse.
"You didn't do it, nor I either," said Meta; stooping to gather up the
fragments, "the doll kicked it off. There, Vi, don't cry so; I'll put
the things all back just as they were, and never, never touch one of
them again."
"But you can't; because this one's broken. Oh dear, oh dear! I wish you
had let them alone, Meta. I wish, I wish I'd been a good girl and obeyed
mamma!"
"Never mind: if she goes to whip you, I'll tell her it was 'most all my
fault. But she needn't know: it won't be a story to put them back and
say nothing about it. And most likely it won't be found out for years
and years; maybe never. You see I'll just put this plate between the
others in the pile and it won't be noticed at all that it's broken;
unless somebody takes them all down to look."
"But I must tell mamma," sobbed Violet. "I couldn't hide it; I always
tell her everything; and I'd feel so wicked."
"Violet Travilla, I'd never have believed you'd be so mean as to tell
tales," remarked Meta, severely. "I'd never have played with you if I'd
known it."
"I'll not; I didn't mean that. I'll only tell on myself."
"But you can't do that without telling on me too, and I say it's real
mean. I'll never tell a story about it, but I don't see any harm in just
getting the things away and saying nothing. 'Taint as if you were
throwing the blame on somebody else," pursued Meta, gathering up the
articles abstracted from the closet and replacing them, as nearly as
possible as she had found them.
"Come, dry your eyes, Vi," she went on, "or somebody'll see you've been
crying and ask what it was about."
"But I must tell mamma," reiterated the little girl, sobbing anew.
"And make her feel worried and sorry because the plate's broken, when it
can't do any good, and she needn't ever know about it. I call that real
selfishness."
This, to Vi, was a new view of the situation. She stopped crying to
consider it.
It certainly would grieve mamma to know that the plate was broken, and
perhaps even more to hear of her child's disobedience, and if not told
she would be spared all that pain.
But on the other hand, mamma had always taught her children that wrong
doing should never be concealed. The longer Vi pondered the question the
more puzzled she grew.
Meta perceived that she wavered and immediately seized her advantage.
"Come now, Vi, I'm sure you don't want to give pain to your mamma, or to
get me into trouble. Do you?"
"No, Meta, indeed I don't, but--"
"Hush! somebody's coming," exclaimed Meta, locking the closet door,
having just finished her work, and hastily dropping the key into her
pocket.
"Come, girls, come quick! we're sending up a balloon, from the lawn!"
cried Eddie throwing open the door to make his announcement, then
rushing away again.
The girls ran after him, in much excitement, and forgetting for the
time the trouble they were in; for spite of Meta's sophistry her
conscience was by no means easy.
The ladies had returned and in dinner dress were gathered on the
veranda. Mr. Travilla seemed to be managing the affair, with Mr.
Dinsmore's assistance, while the other gentlemen, children and servants,
were grouped about them on the lawn.
Meta and Violet quickly took their places with the rest and just at that
moment the balloon, released from its fastenings, shot up into the air.
There was a general shout and clapping of hands, but instantly hushed by
a shrill sharp cry of distress from overhead.
"Oh! oh! pull it down again! pull it down! pull it down! I only got in
for fun, and I'm so frightened! I shall fall out! I shall be killed! oh!
oh! oh!"
The voice grew fainter and fainter, till it quickly died away in the
distance as the balloon rose rapidly higher and higher into the deep
blue of the sky.
A wild excitement seized upon the little crowd.
"Oh, oh, oh I which ob de chillins am up dar?" the mammies were asking,
each sending a hasty glance around the throng to assure herself of the
safety of her own particular charge.
"Who is it? who is it?" asked the children, the little girls beginning
to sob and cry.
"Oh it's Fank! it's Fank!" screamed Harold. "Papa, papa, please stop it
quick. Fank, don't cry, any more: papa will get you down. Won't you,
papa?" And he clung to his father's arm, sobbing bitterly.
"Son, Frank is not there," said Mr. Travilla; taking the little weeper
in his arms. "There is no one in the balloon; it is not big enough to
hold even a little boy like you or Frank."
"Isn't it, papa?" returned the child, dropping his head on his father's
shoulder with a sigh of relief.
"Oh it's Cousin Ronald, it's just Cousin Ronald!" exclaimed the
children, their tears changing at once to laughter.
"Ah ha, ah ha! um h'm, um h'm! so it is, bairnies, just Cousin Ronald at
his old tricks again," laughed Mr. Lilburn.
"Oh there's nobody in it; so we needn't care how high it goes," cried
Eddie, jumping and clapping his hands, "See! see! it's up in the clouds
now, and doesn't look as big as my cap."
"Not half so big, I should say," remarked Herbert. "And there, it's
quite gone."
The dinner bell rang and all repaired to the dining-room.
Chapter Twenty-sixth.
"Train up a child in the way he should go; and when he is old,
he will not depart from it."
--PROVERBS, xxii: 6.
As naturally as the helianthus to the sun, did the faces of Elsie's
little ones turn to her when in her loved presence. At the table, at
their sports, their lessons, everywhere and however employed, it was
always the same, the young eyes turning ever and anon to catch the
tender, sympathetic glance of mamma's.
But at dinner to-day, Vi's great blue orbs met hers but once and
instantly dropped upon her plate again, while a vivid blush suffused the
fair face and neck.
And when the meal was ended and all gathered in the drawing-room, Vi
still seemed to be unlike her usual gay, sunny self, the merriest
prattler of all the little crowd of children, the one whose sweet
silvery laugh rang out the oftenest. She stood alone at a side table
turning over some engravings, but evidently with very little interest.
The mother, engaged in conversation with the other ladies, watched her
furtively, a little troubled and anxious, yet deeming it best to wait
for a voluntary confidence on the part of her child.
Longing, yet dreading to make it, Vi was again puzzling her young brain
with the question whether Meta was right in saying it would be selfish
to do so. Ah, if she could only ask mamma which was the right way to do!
This was the first perplexity she had not been able to carry to her for
disentanglement.
Remembering the words of the Lord Jesus, "Sanctify them through thy
truth: thy word is truth," Elsie had been careful to store her
children's minds with the blessed teachings and precious promises of
God's holy Book. She had also taught them to go to God their heavenly
Father, with every care, sorrow, doubt and difficulty.
"I'll ask Jesus," thought Vi; "he'll help me to know, because the Bible
says, 'If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God that giveth to all
men liberally and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.'"
She slipped into an adjoining room, where she was quite alone, and
kneeling down, whispered softly, with low sobs and many tears, "Dear
Father in heaven, I've been a very, very naughty girl; I disobeyed my
dear mamma; please forgive me for Jesus' sake and make me good. Please
Lord Jesus, help me to know if I ought to tell mamma."
A text--one of the many she had learned to recite to her mother in that
precious morning half hour--came to her mind as she rose from her knees.
"He that covereth his sins shall not prosper: but whoso confesseth and
forsaketh them shall have mercy."
"I didn't cover them;" she said to herself, "I told God: but then God
knew all about it before; he sees and knows everything; but mamma
doesn't know. Perhaps it means I musn't cover them from her. I think
Jesus did tell me."
Wiping away her tears she went back into the drawing-room. The gentlemen
were just leaving it, her father among the rest. A sudden resolution
seized her and she ran after them.
"Papa!"