The celebration of Grandma Elsie’s approaching semi-centennial was
now the most important event in the near future, the principal theme
of conversation in the connection, and grand preparations for it were
going forward.
By her express wish, all the poor of the neighborhood—white and black,
in two distinct assemblies—were invited to spend a large part of the
day on the plantation, amusing themselves with outdoor games and
enjoying a bountiful feast spread for them in the shade of the wood in
which Mr. Leland, the uncle of the present occupant of Fairview, had
once concealed himself when attacked by the Ku Klux.
Another party, consisting of all the relatives, connections, and
intimate friends residing in the vicinity, would be given the freedom
of the house and grounds to enjoy themselves as they should please.
Circumstances were auspicious; all the preparations had been thoroughly
well attended to; the day dawned bright and beautiful, and found every
one in high health and spirits.
She whom all were seeking to honor and make the happiest of the happy,
awoke with a heart full of love and gratitude for the unnumbered
mercies and blessings of her lot in life. Her first act was to rise
from her bed, and, kneeling beside it, pour out her thanksgivings and
praises, mingled with confession of sins, petitions for herself and
others, and a renewal of her oft-repeated consecration to His service.
She had scarce completed her morning toilet, singing the while in low,
sweet strains, a song of praise, when a light tap at the door was
followed by her father’s entrance.
He folded her in his arms, and holding her close to his heart, wished
her, in moved tones, many happy returns of the day.
“I know not how to believe that you have seen fifty years,” he said,
holding her off a little to gaze searchingly into her face,—still as
sweet, and well-nigh as fair and smooth, as it had been thirty years
before—“there are no silver threads in your hair, no lines on your
forehead, or about your eyes or mouth; you are no less beautiful than
you were in your early girlhood; my darling’s charms have only matured,
not lessened.”
“Ah, papa,” she returned, shaking her head with an incredulous smile,
“you always did see me through rose-colored glasses. I dare say any
eyes but yours—so blinded by love—can readily perceive many traces left
by the passing years.
“Yet, dear father, why should we regret it? Why care that we are both
growing old, since each day as it passes brings us a step nearer to our
heavenly home.”
“That is a delightful thought,” he responded, with a smile and a sigh;
“a thought that more than reconciles me to the inevitable in my own
case.”
“And surely in mine, too, papa, for you would not want to be in heaven
without me,” she said, creeping closer into his embrace and half hiding
her face on his breast.
“No,” he replied with emotion, tightening the clasp of his arm about
her waist and pressing his lips again and again to her cheek and brow,
“not for long; but in the course of nature I shall probably be called
away first, and for your children’s sake I hope you may yet live many
years, and that those years may be for you as free as possible from the
infirmities of age.”
“And it is that I wish for you, dear father, for _your_ children’s
sake; my own especially,” she returned, gazing lovingly into his eyes.
Another tap at the door, and Edward and Zoe entered, each carrying a
baby.
“Here we come, mamma, with your birthday gifts,” cried Zoe gayly, “and
wishing you many, many happy returns of the day.”
“Thank you, my dears; but O Zoe, this is too much exertion for you!
you should not have done it, my child!” Elsie answered, stepping
hastily forward and taking little Laurie from his young mother’s arms,
while Zoe sank into an easy-chair, panting a little, the color coming
and going in her cheeks.
“The nurse carried him to the very door, mamma,” she said; “and I
thought I was stronger than I am.”
“It is my fault,—I should not have allowed it,” said Edward, looking
anxiously at Zoe.
“Don’t be alarmed, my dear; I am not injured in the least,” she
responded, smiling up into his face as he stood over her, forgetting
everything else in concern for her. “You haven’t presented your half of
the gift to mamma; nor any good wishes either.”
“As if both halves didn’t belong to both of us,” he responded, with an
amused smile. “Mamma, I wish you many, many happy returns of the day,
and beg to present you with what I consider a priceless treasure—my
little daughter, your youngest granddaughter,” laying the babe in the
arms she held out to receive it, having already resigned the other to
its great-grandsire.
“They are indeed priceless treasures, and very dear to their
grandmamma’s heart,” she said, cuddling it close in her arms and
pressing kisses on the tiny velvet cheek.
“Now, mamma, it’s Laurie’s turn,” remarked the young mother laughingly;
“you didn’t take time to kiss him, in your concern for me, and it will
never do to be partial.”
“No, certainly not,” Grandma Elsie said, exchanging babies with her
father, “but they are so exactly alike in looks that one will have to
be a little careful to make sure of avoiding such a mistake.”
But now came Mrs. Dinsmore, Rosie, and Walter with their
congratulations and good wishes.
The scene was a lively one for a little while; then the old people, and
Zoe and Edward with their babies, withdrew, leaving Grandma Elsie alone
with the youngest two of her flock.
They spent a short time together in the usual way, then the breakfast
bell rang, and at the same moment the family carriage drove up to the
door bringing her college boys, who had arrived in the village by an
early train which the carriage had been sent to meet.
Each in turn must hold his mother in a long, tender embrace; then
greetings with the others were to be exchanged, questions asked and
answered on both sides; so that it was some time before any attention
was paid to the summons to the breakfast-table; and when they did
gather about the board the flow of talk was such as to seriously
interfere with the business of eating, so that the meal was prolonged
to twice its ordinary length.
Zoe, down for the first time since the advent of the twins, was
smiling, happy, eager to show her darlings to the young uncles.
They had already given congratulations by letter to her and Edward, and
had not been many minutes in their company before renewing them.
“I am quite in haste to see my new niece and nephew,” said Harold. “I
presume, Zoe, they are the prettiest, brightest, sweetest wee mortals
that ever were seen. Isn’t it so?”
“Of course they are to their mother,” she answered laughingly, “but
she doesn’t expect anybody else, except papa,”—with an arch look at
Edward—“to see the darlings through the same rose-colored glasses. You
and Herbert shall judge for yourselves presently though; they will be
on exhibition as soon as prayers are over.”
“We may judge for ourselves, you say, Zoe, but dare we express our
opinions freely, should they not coincide with that of the parents?”
queried Herbert, in a bantering tone.
“At a safe distance I think you may venture,” returned Zoe demurely.
“But Zoe won’t be the only one to take part with Laurie and Lily should
anybody have the bad taste to utter a word in depreciation of them,”
remarked Rosie warningly.
“And yet this is called a free country!” exclaimed Harold, with an
expressive shrug of his shoulders.
“Ion’s to be a monarchy to-day,” remarked Walter. “Mamma’s to be
crowned queen of it in the arbor.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed his mother in surprise and amusement. “It is the
first hint I have had that such doings were in contemplation.”
“Yes, mamma,” said Rosie, “we have been keeping it a secret from you,
and Walter’s communication is a little premature. But it really doesn’t
signify, for you would have had to know very soon.”
“Yes, I suppose so, for some of our guests—the nearest relations at
least—will soon begin to arrive. But when is this important ceremony to
take place?”
“I suppose as soon as the guests are all here, mamma.”
“The other ceremony—the presentation of the babies to their newly
arrived uncles—will be gone through with first, doubtless?” Harold
remarked, in an inquiring tone.
“Oh, yes; of course,” answered several voices, as they all rose from
the table and withdrew to the library to unite in the usual morning
worship.
The babies’ dainty crib had been brought down to an adjoining room for
the day, and there they lay sweetly sleeping.
As soon as the short service had come to an end, Zoe, motioning to
Harold and Herbert to follow, led the way to the side of the crib, and
laying back the cover brought the two tiny forms to view lying side by
side, the little plump faces turned toward each other, round, rosy, and
dimpled.
“There, aren’t they beauties, boys?” exclaimed Zoe, bending over her
treasures in a perfect rapture of mother-love and admiration. “Did you
ever see anything half so sweet?”
“Well, really, they are quite passable, considering their extreme
youth,” returned Harold sportively. “I say, Ned, what would you take
for them?”
“They are not in the market, sir,” replied the young father, regarding
them with pride and admiration. “Though you should offer every dollar
you possess it would be utterly contemned.”
“Ah, ’tis just as well, Ned, for I should not know what to do with such
tender, delicate little morsels of humanity if I had them.”
“You don’t half appreciate them,” said Zoe, half jestingly, half in
earnest, “you don’t deserve the honor of being their uncle.”
“We’ll enjoy and appreciate them more a year or two hence, when they
can be romped and played with,” remarked Herbert. “But, really, Zoe,
they’re as pretty as any young baby I ever saw.”
Rosie looked in at the door with the announcement, “The Woodburn
carriage is coming up the avenue,” and the three brothers hurried out
to greet its occupants. They were the whole Raymond family, from the
captain down to baby Ned, and scarcely had greetings been exchanged
with them when the Lelands from Fairview arrived, and Grandma Elsie had
all her children about her.
She was the centre of attraction; everybody had an embrace, good
wishes, and a gift for her, and all were most graciously received.
But her daughters presently hurried her away to her private apartment,
where they busied themselves in attiring her for the day in such manner
as suited their own ideas of what would be most fitting and becoming,
she smilingly submitting to their will.
“You must wear white, mamma,” said Violet; “nothing could be more
suitable to the weather or more becoming to you. Do you not say so,
Elsie?”
“Yes,” replied Mrs. Leland, opening her mother’s wardrobe and glancing
over the dresses hanging there; “and it will please grandpa better than
anything else. There,” taking down a nun’s veiling, “this is just the
thing.”
“My dears, remember how many years have flown over your mother’s head,
and don’t dress me too youthfully,” Grandma Elsie said, with an amused
look and smile.
“Never fear, mamma,” returned Violet in her sprightly way, “how can you
fear for a moment that your daughters would do such discredit to the
training of so good and wise a mother as theirs?”
“What ornaments shall mamma wear?” asked Rosie.
“Only flowers—natural flowers,” returned her sisters, both speaking at
once.
“Oh, yes; and they must be roses and lilies; a knot of them at her
throat, and another at her waist. I’ll go and get them myself,”
exclaimed Rosie, hurrying from the room.
In one of the lower apartments of the mansion she found Zoe, Edward,
and his brothers, Mr. Leland and Evelyn, Captain Raymond and his
children, all busy with flowers from conservatories, gardens, fields,
and woods, which were piled in fragrant heaps upon tables and in
baskets, making them into bouquets, wreaths, garlands, and arranging
them in vases.
With deft fingers Zoe was weaving a beautiful wreath.
“Oh, Zoe, how lovely!” exclaimed Rosie. “It is to be mamma’s crown,
isn’t it?”
“Yes; and everything in it has a meaning; these laurel leaves are to
say to mamma, and everybody, that she is the glory of this house; this
calla lily, that she is beautiful (though of course no one who looks
at her can help seeing that without being told); this sweet alyssum,
that she has worth beyond beauty; this white jessamine, that she is
amiability itself; the yellow, that she has grace and elegance; this
china rose means the same; this moss rose, superior merit; this myrtle,
that we all love her dearly, dearly!”
“Oh, what a nice story they tell!” exclaimed Rosie; “the wreath has my
entire approval,” she added, with a merry laugh.
“What a relief to my mind!” said Zoe, joining in the laugh. “We’re
going to make a perfect bower of the dining-room, the only room in the
house that will be much used by the company to-day.”
“That’s a nice idea; we must have flowers everywhere to-day in mamma’s
honor. I have come to select some for the adornment of her person.”
“This is for that very purpose,” said Zoe, holding up her nearly
completed wreath, and regarding it with satisfaction.
“Yes, I know; but I want a knot of flowers for her throat, and another
for her belt. Roses, lilies, and heliotrope.”
“Grandma Elsie is versed in the language of flowers, isn’t she?” asked
Evelyn.
“Yes, indeed!” answered Rosie.
“Oh, then, wouldn’t it be a nice idea for each of us to select a few
flowers expressing our feelings of love, admiration, and so forth;
then, after Grandpa Dinsmore has put the crown on her head, go one at
a time, kneel before her on one knee, kiss her hand, and present the
little floral offering?”
“Capital!” “Quite a bright thought, Eva!” “Just the thing!” exclaimed
several voices, in response to the suggestion.
“Oh, let’s do it!” said Lulu. “I think it would be ever so nice!”
“All in favor say aye,” said Harold.
A chorus of “Ayes,” in response.
“Contrary, no!”
A dead silence.
“The ayes have it,” he announced; “but of course everybody is at
liberty to do exactly as he or she pleases.”
“I don’t know anything about the language of flowers,” remarked Grace
shyly.
“And my memory needs refreshing on the subject,” Herbert said, smiling
pleasantly on the little girl. “So I’ll bring a book from the library
that will tell us what we want to know.”
“Will it be objectionable if several of us choose the same flower?”
asked Lulu.
“Oh no, not at all,” replied Harold. “I shall take some of these
beautiful pinks. This one means pure affection; this clove pink,
dignity; this double red, pure, ardent love; this white one, ‘You are
fair.’ I should like to say all that to mamma.”
“So should I,” said Grace. “May I take some of the same flowers, Uncle
Harold?”
“Surely, dear child,” he returned, selecting them for her.
“A bit of myrtle, too, please,” she said; “because I do love Grandma
Elsie dearly.”
“I want a bit of that, too,” Lulu said, “and all the kinds of lilies
and roses that mean something nice. I do think they are the loveliest
flowers!”
“I’ll have heliotrope, ‘I love you,’ pansy, ‘Think of me,’ purple
heartsease, some of the myrtle, and honeysuckle, ‘bond of love,’”
Evelyn said, after consulting the book Herbert had brought, and culling
them from the fragrant heaps as she spoke.
In the mean time Rosie had made up the two bouquets she had come for.
“See!” she said, holding them up to view, “aren’t these roses and
lilies just the perfection of beauty? They’ll put the finishing touch
to mamma’s attire, and I’ll be back presently to select others as my
offering to the queen of the day.”
So saying she tripped gayly away.
“There, the crown is done!” said Zoe, turning it about in her hands and
viewing it with a satisfied smile.
The others pronounced it beautiful.
“Now I’ll help with the wreaths for the rooms.”
“No, no, my dear, you have exerted yourself quite enough for one day,”
said her husband. “Just lie back in that easy-chair and give as many
directions as you please.”
“Nonsense!” she exclaimed, laughing, “you are as careful of me as if I
were made of the finest china or glass.”
“A great deal more so,” he returned, with a look that spoke volumes of
loving appreciation, and bending over her to bring his lips close to
her ear, “Your price is above rubies, my darling,” he added, in a low
aside.
“Dear Ned, you are so good to me!” she responded, lifting to his eyes
as full of love as his own.
“The queen of the day! the queen of all our hearts!” announced Rosie,
preceding her mother and sisters into the room.
“We are all ready to do her homage,” said the captain, stepping forward
and saluting his mother-in-law with much respect and affection.
The others were prompt to follow his example, all crowding about her
with expressions of love and admiration.
“You are too good to me, my dear children and grandchildren,” she said,
glad tears springing to her eyes. “I am quite sensible that I am by no
means the beautiful and admirable person your affectionate appreciation
leads you to imagine.”
“O mamma,” exclaimed Zoe, “there’s no imagination about it! Girls, you
have shown great taste in arraying her for the occasion; it only needs
the addition of my floral crown to make her dress quite perfect.”
But carriages were driving up the avenue, and near friends and
relatives came pouring in with their congratulations and gifts, which
last were received with grateful thanks and bestowed, for the present,
in a small reception-room set apart for the purpose.
When the last of the guests had arrived all repaired to the grounds,
wending their way toward the arbor where the heroine of the day was
seated on an extemporized throne garlanded with flowers, while her
father made a neat little speech and placed the floral crown on her
head, then, dropping on one knee at her feet, kissed her hand and
presented a bouquet of calla lilies, pinks, and roses.
It was altogether a surprise to her, and a vivid blush mantled her
cheek.
“My dear father,” she said, low and tenderly, looking up into his face,
with eyes half filled with tears, as he rose and stood by her side,
“you should never have knelt to me—your own child.”
“Only in sport, dearest,” he said, bending down and imprinting a kiss
upon her lips; “you know young lads like myself must be allowed to
indulge in a trifle of that kind occasionally.”
He stepped aside, and amid much jesting and mirth, the others followed
his example till the throne and its occupant were half hidden in the
fragrant heaps of floral offerings.
But father and sons, coming to the rescue, extricated her without
damage to person or attire, and she went about among her guests doing
the honors of the place with a sweet and gentle dignity all her own.
There were no strangers among them, however, and everybody felt at home
and free to follow his or her own inclinations, to sit and converse in
the grateful shade of the fine old trees, wander about lawn, shrubbery,
and gardens, or take part in the active sports with which the children
and youth of the company were delighting themselves.
But it was not in the kind heart of Grandma Elsie to neglect her poorer
guests. Her father, sons, and a few others accompanying her, she paid
a short visit to each assembly, went about among them with kindly
inquiries concerning their health and welfare (no air of condescension
marring their enjoyment of her sweet looks and words), and distributing
gifts—from a large basket carried by two men-servants—of such articles
of food and clothing as she knew would be acceptable; for, ever, like
her Master, going about doing good, she was a frequent visitor in their
dwellings and well acquainted with their needs.
And they looked upon her as a kind, powerful friend, from whom they
might ever expect with confidence, sympathy and help in their trials and
struggles with life’s hard problems.
The birthday feast at the mansion was served somewhat later in the
day; a banquet, not only of such things as appease the hunger of the
physical man, but also “a feast of reason and a flow of soul.”
The celebration of Grandma Elsie’s semi-centennial was pronounced by
every one so fortunate as to have a share in it to have been from
beginning to end a most decided success.