"Woes cluster; rare are solitary woes:
They love a train, they tread each other's heel."
YOUNG.
For a number of weeks events moved on their even course at Viamede; they
were all well and happy, though Lulu's continued obstinacy caused most of
them more or less mental disquietude.
She still remained at Oakdale, making no complaint to any one but Evelyn
of her fare or accommodations, and was studious and well-behaved in every
respect, except that she steadily refused to have anything whatever to do
with Signor Foresti.
She had attended church regularly with the family, had seen them all
occasionally on weekdays, but had not been once permitted to visit
Viamede, Magnolia Hall, or the parsonage.
If either she or Mr. Dinsmore regretted having begun the struggle which
now appeared so interminable, no one else was aware of the fact.
Grace had kept up her habit of driving over to Oakdale every morning and
afternoon, and the pleasure of seeing her so often had helped Lulu
greatly in the endurance of her exile, as had also her daily intercourse
with Max, Evelyn, and Rosie.
But one morning in March they came without Grace, and all looking grave
and troubled.
"Where's Gracie? Why didn't she come?" asked Lulu, with a vague feeling
of uneasiness.
"She's sick," Max answered, trying to swallow a lump in his throat, and
keep the tears from coming into his eyes; "and so is the baby, and the
doctor--Cousin Dick Percival--says they both have the scarlet-fever in
almost its worst form."
Lulu, who knew something of the deadly nature of the disease, stood
speechless with surprise and dismay; the other two girls were crying now.
Presently Lulu burst out vehemently, "I must go home! I _will_ go! It's
the cruelest thing in the world to keep me away from my darling Gracie
when she's so sick and may be going to--oh, I can't say it! I can't bear
to think it!" and she began sobbing as if her heart would break.
Evelyn put an arm about her.
"Lu, dear Lu, don't be so distressed. The doctor has not said that either
case is hopeless; and they may both get well."
"The dear baby, too!" sobbed Lulu; "oh I do love her, she is such a
darling!"
"Indeed she is," said Max, vainly trying to steady his tones; "and it's
hard to see her suffer. Gracie, too--she's so sweet and patient, and so
good. I heard some of the old servants talking together this morning
about her, saying she was just like a little angel, and too good to live;
and--and I'm afraid she is."
He quite broke down with the last word.
"No, she ain't," cried Rosie; "she's just as good as they think her, but
good children are not any more likely to die than bad ones. Everybody
that knew mamma when she was a child says she was as good as she could
be, and see how long she has lived."
"That's true, and I'm obliged to you for reminding me of it, Rosie," said
Max, looking slightly relieved.
"But I must go home," repeated Lulu; "Gracie is sure to be wanting me,
and I can't stay away from her."
"No," the others said; "none of us are allowed to go into the room for
fear of the contagion. Indeed, we're not to go back to Viamede, but to
stay at either Magnolia Hall or the parsonage till the danger is over."
"Mamma and Violet are nursing the sick ones, with the help of old Aunt
Phillis," said Rosie. "Sister Elsie has gone to the parsonage with little
Ned, and she and Isa will have to keep away from Viamede on account of
their babies; so will Cousin Molly.
"Grandpa telegraphed for Cousin Arthur this morning, because we know he
is a skilful physician, and Gracie is begging for her own doctor."
"I'm glad: I hope he'll come quickly," said Lulu. "And oh, how I wish
papa was here!"
"Yes; we always want papa when we're in trouble," said Max; "we can't
help feeling as if he could help us somehow. But perhaps it's a very good
thing that he's not here just now to see the children suffer."
"Oh, are they suffering very much?" Lulu asked tearfully.
"Yes," answered Rosie; "mamma told me they were both very ill: Gracie
especially--her head aching badly, her throat distressingly sore, and her
fever very high; but that she was sweetly patient under it all."
"I'm not surprised to hear that," sobbed Lulu; "for she always was
patient and good; never a bit like me. Oh, it is so hard that I can't be
with her."
They were standing together in a little group on the veranda while they
talked, and the agitation in their faces and voices had attracted
attention from scholars and teachers who happened to be within sight and
hearing.
Miss Emily now drew near, and asked in a kindly, sympathetic tone what
was the matter.
Rosie answered, telling briefly of the serious illness of the two little
sisters of Max and Lulu.
"Ah! I am extremely sorry," Miss Emily said. "You will find it difficult
to give your minds to your lessons under such trying circumstances; but I
will go to my father and the others, and ask that you may be excused if
your recitations should be imperfect to-day,"
"That was a kind thought," said Max, as she went into the house. "She's
much the best and kindest of the family."
The ensuing week was one of great sorrow and anxiety to Violet, scarcely
less so to her mother; for the children were so dangerously ill that it
was greatly feared both would succumb to the power of the disease.
It was a time of sore trial, but it brought out in strong relief the
beauty and nobility of character in both Violet and her mother. They
proved themselves the most devoted of nurses, patient, cheerful, hopeful,
never giving way to despondency, or wearying in efforts to relieve the
little sufferers or wile them into forgetfulness of their pain.
Till the crisis was past they watched over them day and night, aided by
Drs. Conly and Percival.
Arthur had obeyed the summons with all possible dispatch, approved of
what Dick was doing, and joined him in the care of the little patients.
One or the other was always close at hand.
"This is a sad, anxious time for you, my dear Vi," Elsie said one evening
as they sat together in the sick-room--Violet with her almost dying babe
on her lap, while Grace lay on the bed in an equally critical condition;
"but you are bearing up bravely."
"Dear mamma, you help me very much in so doing," Violet said, low and
tremulously; "so do Arthur and Dick. But best of all, 'underneath are the
everlasting arms.' O mamma, it seems as if my heart must break if either
of the children is taken, and I may be called to part with both--and
their father, my dear, dear husband, so far away."
She paused, overcome by her emotions.
"'God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble,'" her
mother whispered, with a tenderly sympathetic look. "'He will never leave
nor forsake you, dear child.'"
"No, mamma; my heart is constantly saying to Him,
'I have called thee Abba, Father!
I have stayed my heart on thee;
Storms may howl and clouds may gather--
All must work for good to me.'"
"Yes, dear child," Elsie said with emotion, "'we know that all things
work together for good to them that love God.'"
"And my baby is so young, Gracie such a dear little Christian child,
that, if I must give them up, I shall know that they are safe--
'Safe in the arms of Jesus,
Safe on His gentle breast.'"
Grace, whom they had deemed quite unconscious, opened her eyes and fixed
them on Violet's face with a look of ardent affection.
"Yes, mamma," she said feebly, "I'm not afraid to die; because I know
that Jesus loves me. My head aches; I'd like to lay it down on His
breast. And--He'll comfort you and papa, and--the rest."
Violet could not speak for weeping, but Elsie bent over the child, and
tenderly smoothing her pillow, said, "Yes, darling, He will; and whether
we live or die, we are all His, and we know that He will do what is best
for each one of us."
Grace dropped asleep again almost immediately, and Elsie resumed her seat
by her daughter's side.
"Oh," murmured Violet, "dearly as I love Gracie, I should far rather see
her go than Lulu, because I am sure she is ready for the change; and I
know their father would feel so too. Mamma, how long it is since I have
heard from him! I begin to feel very anxious. Ah, what comfort and
support his presence would be to me now!"
"Yes, dearest; but console yourself with the thought of how much anxiety
and distress he is spared by his ignorance of the critical condition of
these little ones. We may be able in a few days to write that they are
better--out of danger, with careful nursing, so that the news of their
convalescence will reach him at the same time with that of their severe
illness."
"Yes, mamma, there is comfort in that," Violet said, smiling through her
tears.
On going down to breakfast the next morning Elsie found her father seated
at the table, with the morning paper before him. He glanced up at her as
she came in, and something in his expression of countenance set her heart
to throbbing wildly.
"Oh, papa, what is wrong?" she asked. "My boys? have you?--is there bad
news of them?" and she dropped into a chair, trembling in every limb.
"No, no, daughter," he hastened to say. "I think they are all right; here
are letters from all three," pointing to a pile on the table before him.
She drew a long breath of relief; then with another glance at his face,
"But what is wrong? certainly something is distressing you greatly. And
mamma is shedding tears," as she saw Rose furtively lift her handkerchief
to her eyes.
"Yes," he sighed, "something is wrong; and not to keep you in
suspense--it is a report that Captain Raymond is lost. It is now some
weeks since his vessel should have been heard from, and it is greatly
feared that she has gone down with all on board."
"Vi! oh, my poor Vi!" gasped Elsie; "her heart will be overwhelmed: we
must keep it from her as long as we can; at least till the children are
better."
"Certainly," Mr. Dinsmore said, "my dear child," going to Elsie and
taking her hand in his in tender, fatherly fashion. "Remember it is only
a report,--or rather a conjecture,--which may be without any foundation
in fact. The captain may be alive and well at this moment."
A slight sound caused them all--Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore and Elsie--to look
toward the door opening into the hall.
Max stood there with a face from which every vestige of color had fled,
his features quivering with emotion.
"What--what is it about, papa?" he asked hoarsely. "Oh, Grandpa Dinsmore,
Grandma Elsie, don't hide it from me! I must know!"
"Max, my boy, how came you here?" Mr. Dinsmore asked in a kindly pitying
tone, going to the lad and making him sit down, while he took a glass of
water from the table and held it to his lips.
Max put it aside. "My father?--what about my father?"
His tone was full of agonized inquiry, and Mr. Dinsmore saw the question
was not to be evaded.
"My poor fellow," he said, "I am truly sorry you should be distressed by
hearing what is as yet only a rumor: fears are reported that your
father's vessel is lost; but nothing is known certainly yet, and we must
hope for the best."
For a moment the boy seemed utterly stunned; then, "I don't believe it! I
_won't_ believe it!" he exclaimed. "We can't do without him; and God
wouldn't take him from us. Would He, Grandma Elsie?" and his eyes sought
hers with a look of anguished entreaty that she knew not how to
withstand.
"My dear Max, I trust we shall have better news to-morrow," she said
tenderly; "but whatever comes, we know that all things work together for
good to them that love God. He is our kind, Heavenly Father, who loves us
with far more than an earthly parent's love, and will let no real evil
befall any of His children."
"Yes, and--oh, I'm sure it couldn't be good for Lulu and me to be without
our father to help us to grow up right."
No one present thought it necessary to combat that idea, or show that it
might be a mistaken one, since it seemed to afford some comfort to the
boy.
"We will hope for the best, Max; so do not let possibilities distress
you," Mr. Dinsmore said kindly. "Come to the table now, and take some
breakfast with us."
"Thank you, sir; but I couldn't eat," returned Max brokenly. "Grandma
Elsie, how are Gracie and baby?"
"I'm afraid no better, Max," she said in faltering tones; "the crisis of
the disease has not yet come; but in regard to them also we must try to
hope for the best. Indeed, whatever the result, we shall know it is for
the best," she added with tears in her soft, sweet eyes, "because 'He
doeth all things well.'"
It was Saturday, and there was no school; but Max had promised Lulu that
he would go over to Oakdale after breakfast and carry her the news in
regard to the sick children.
She was extremely anxious and distressed about them, and as soon as at
liberty to follow her inclination, hastened to a part of the grounds
overlooking the road by which he must come.
She had not been there long when she saw him approaching, walking slowly,
dejectedly along, with his eyes on the ground.
"Oh, they are no better," she said to herself; "for if they were better,
Max wouldn't hang his head like that."
She stood still, watching him with a sinking heart as he came in at the
gate and drew near her, still with his eyes cast down. And now she
perceived that his countenance was pale and distressed.
"O Max," she cried, "are they worse?--dying? Oh, don't say they are!"
"No; they are no better: perhaps they may be to-morrow; but--"
He stopped, his eyes full of tears as he lifted them for a moment to her
face, his features working with emotion.
"Max, Max, what is it?" she asked, clutching at his arm. "Oh, what is the
matter? You must tell me."
"My father--our father--" He covered his face with his hands and sobbed
aloud.
"O Max, what about papa?" she cried wildly. "Oh, don't say anything has
happened to him! I couldn't bear it!--oh I couldn't!--but I must know. O
Maxie, tell me what it is?"
She had put her arms round his neck and laid her cheek to his. He
returned the embrace, hugging her tightly to his breast.
"It mayn't be true, Lu," he said brokenly; "but oh, I'm afraid it is:
they say it's feared his ship has gone down with all on board."
"Gone down?" she repeated in a dazed tone, as if unable to believe in the
possibility of so terrible a disaster. "Gone down?"
"Yes, in the sea--the dreadful sea! O Lu, shall we ever see our father
again in this world?"
"Do you mean that papa is drowned? Oh, I can't, I _won't_ have it so!
He'll come back again, Max--he surely will! I couldn't live without him,
and neither could you, or Gracie; but oh maybe she will die too! And I'm
afraid it's because I'm so bad; God is taking away everybody I love,
because I don't deserve to have them. I've been disobeying my father by
not doing as Grandpa Dinsmore bade me; and now maybe I haven't any father
to obey! Oh, Max, Max, what shall I do? everybody's being taken away!"
"I'm left, Lu," he said, brushing away a tear; "I'm left to you, and
you're left to me; and we don't know certainly yet, that anybody is
really taken from us, or going to be."
"Oh," she cried lifting her head, which had dropped upon his shoulder as
he held her closely clasped in his arms, "I'll stop being so bad; I'll be
good and do as Grandpa Dinsmore has ordered me, and maybe God will
forgive me and spare papa and Gracie and the baby. Do you think he will,
Max?"
"Perhaps; you remember how ill papa was when you were obstinate and
disobedient to him once before, and you gave up and did as he bade you,
and we all prayed for papa and he got well?"
"Yes, oh yes, I'll do it now, this minute; I can't go to Viamede to tell
Grandpa Dinsmore, but I'll write a little note, Max, and you can carry it
to him."
"I have a note-book in my pocket, pencil too," he said, pulling them out
in haste to get the thing done, lest her mood should change. "I'll tear
out a leaf and you can write on that. Grandpa Dinsmore won't mind what
kind of paper it is so the words are there."
He led the way to a rustic seat, tore out the leaf, spread it on the
cover of the book and handed that and the pencil to her.
"I needn't say much--need I, Max?" she asked, looking at him through
tear-dimmed eyes.
"No; just the few words you would say if he were here beside you."
"I can't write nicely, my hand trembles so, and I can hardly see," she
sobbed, taking out her handkerchief and wiping away the fast-falling
tears."
"Never mind; I know he won't care how it looks; he'll know why you
couldn't do better."
Thus encouraged, Lulu wrote with trembling fingers:
"Grandpa Dinsmore, I'm sorry for having been so naughty, obstinate, and
disobedient. Please forgive me, and I will do whatever you bid me; even
if you still say I must take lessons again of Signor Foresti."
She signed her name in full, and handing it to Max, asked,
"Will that do?"
"Yes; I'm sure it will; and I'm ever so glad you've done it at last, Lu."
"But, oh! Max, how can I go back to that horrid man after I've said so
many times that I never would?"
She seemed inclined to snatch the note out of his hand, but he stepped
back quickly out of reach, hastily deposited it in the note-book, and
that in his pocket.
"Don't repent of doing right, Lu," he said. "Think that you may be
averting sorrow and bereavement. I think I'd better go now, before you
change your mind."
"Oh no, don't, Max," she entreated; "I'm so lonesome without you; let us
keep together and comfort each other."
Max yielded, and they sat down again side by side.
Just then one of the school-girls came flying down the walk toward them,
crying out half-breathlessly as she drew near, "Lu Raymond, don't you
want to hear the news?"
"What is it?" Lulu asked indifferently. "Something you'll be glad to
hear. You know the spring term closes next week; well, it seems that the
time of Signor Foresti's engagement here expires with it, and, as he has
been offered a higher salary elsewhere, he refuses to renew the contract
with Professor Manton. I overheard their talk; something was said about
you, and the signor remarked in a passionate tone that you had already
missed your last chance to take another lesson of him, or even to finish
that interrupted one. Now, aren't you glad?"
"Yes," Lulu said, a momentary flash of joy illuminating her countenance,
but only to be instantly replaced by the very sad and anxious expression
it had worn before.
"Oh, Max, will Grandpa Dinsmore think I--?"
"No," interrupted Max, "I'll tell him all about it; and he knows you're
honest as the day. Why," turning his head at the sound of approaching
wheels, "there's Grandpa Dinsmore now! I'll run and tell him, Lu;" and,
without waiting for a reply, he sprang up and went.
"What's he going to tell?" asked the girl who had brought the news about
Signor Foresti.
"That's our private affair," replied Lulu, coloring.
"Oh! is it indeed?" and she walked off with an offended air.
Lulu was too much agitated by contending emotions to care whether she had
given offence or not. She sat still, watching from afar the interview
between Mr. Dinsmore and Max. She saw the latter hand her note to the
former, who took it with a pleased look, read it, said something to Max,
then alighted and came toward her, Max accompanying him.
She watched their approach in some agitation, and noticed that Max seemed
to be talking fast and earnestly as they moved slowly onward.
At length they were close beside her.
She rose with a respectful "Good-morning, Grandpa Dinsmore," and, taking
her hand in his, he bent down and kissed her, saying, "I am very glad, my
dear, to be able to take you back into favor." Then he sat down on one
side of her, Max on the other.
CHPTER XXII.
SKIES BRIGHTEN.
"Oh, Grandpa Dinsmore!" cried Lulu, with a burst of sobs and tears, "do
you think it's true that--that papa's ship is lost?"
"I hope it is not," he said, "such reports have often proved false. So do
not grieve too much over it: it is never wise to break our hearts over
possibilities."
"But I know you and Max cannot help feeling anxious about both your
father and your little sisters; and that being the case, I do not think
you can study to any profit; and as the term has so nearly expired, I
shall, if you wish it, take you away from here at once.
"Not to Viamede, of course, but to Magnolia Hall, Mr. and Mrs. Embury
having sent you a warm invitation to make their house your home for the
present. What do you say to my proposition?"
"Oh, Grandpa Dinsmore, how nice and kind is Cousin Molly and her
husband!" exclaimed Lulu. "I shall be, oh, so glad to go away from, here,
especially to such a lovely home as theirs."
"Very well, then," he said with a smile, "go and gather up your
belongings, while I settle matters with Professor Manton; then I will
drive you both over to Magnolia Hall, for Max is included in the
invitation."
Lulu needed no second bidding, but started up at once to obey.
"I'll go with you, sis, and help you pack, if you like," said Max. The
offer was accepted gladly; and as Mr. Dinsmore's business with the
professor would take him to the house, all three walked thither together.
An hour later the children had bidden a final good-by to Oakdale, and
were on their way to Magnolia Hall.
Arrived there, they received a warm welcome, and Lulu was greatly pleased
to find Evelyn a guest also, and that they were to share the same room.
"Oh, Eva!" she cried, "I'm delighted that you are here; but I thought you
were staying at the parsonage."
"So I was," Evelyn said, "and Rosie was here; but we have exchanged; she
and Walter have gone to visit Cousin Isa, while you, Max, and I let
Cousin Molly entertain us in her turn. I find it delightful at both
places."
"But oh, Lu, how you have been crying! Is it about the sick little
sisters?"
"Partly," Lulu answered, hardly able to speak for emotion, "for they are
still in great danger; but oh, much worse than that! they say--that--that
it's feared papa's ship is lost with--all on board. Oh, Eva, I've been so
disobedient to my father for months past, and now--I'm afraid I'll never,
never see him again!"
Before she had finished her sentence, Evelyn's arms were around her,
holding her close, while she wept with her.
"I can feel for you, dear," she sobbed, "for I know only too well how
dreadful it is to be fatherless; but it is only a report, which may be
false. Do try to hope for the best. We will both pray for your dear
father, if he is still living; and for the little ones, that they may get
well."
After her long trial of the privations to be endured at Oakdale Academy,
Lulu greatly enjoyed the comforts and luxuries of Magnolia Hall; yet the
suspense in regard to her father and little sisters was very hard to
bear.
For two days longer there was no relief from that, but on the morning of
the third, Max came bounding in on his return from Viamede, where he had
been to make his usual inquiries about Grace and the baby, his face
glowing with happiness.
"Oh, Lulu, good, good news!" he cried, tossing up his cap and capering
about in the exuberance of his joy; "the children are considered out of
danger if well taken care of--and we know they'll be that; and papa's
ship has been heard from, all well on board; and we'll see him again, I
do believe; perhaps before a great while!"
Lulu wept for joy. "Oh, I am so glad, so happy!" she sobbed; "but oh, how
I do want to see papa! the children too. Can't I go to them now, Max?"
"No, not yet; they wouldn't let me go into the wing where they are. I
mean the doctors wouldn't; because the danger of contagion is not over,
and won't be for a week or more."
"So long to wait?" she sighed.
"Yes," Max said, "but we ought to wait very patiently, now that we have
had such glorious news. And perhaps there'll be letters from papa by
to-morrow."
His hope was fulfilled: the next morning's mail brought letters from
Captain Raymond to his wife and each of his children--the baby, of
course, excepted.
Max handed Lulu hers.
She almost snatched it from him in her joy and eagerness, and hurried
with it to her room, where she could be quite alone at this hour, Evelyn
being at school; for she was finishing out the term, not having the same
reason for leaving before its close that Max and Lulu had.
But now that she held the precious, longed-for missive in her hand, Lulu
could scarce find courage to open and read it; because she had good
reason to expect a severe reprimand from the father, whom, in spite of
their mutual love, she had been persistently disobeying for the last
three months. She would have given much to recall that past, and feel
herself deserving of his commendation and such words of tender fatherly
affection as he had often addressed to her by both tongue and pen.
At last she tore open the envelope, spread out the sheet, and with
burning cheeks and fast beating heart, read:
"My dear little daughter; my heart misgives me that there is something
very much amiss with you. Not sickness, for your mamma, Max, and Gracie
all make casual mention of you, and say directly that you are well; yet I
have not seen a stroke of your pen for three months or more.
"Your little letters, so full of 'love to papa,' have been very sweet to
me, so that I am loath to have them discontinued; but in addition to
that, daughter, I have, as you know, directed you to constantly report to
me your progress in your studies, your conduct, etc., and in failing to
do so you have been guilty of positive disobedience. What excuse have you
to offer for such disregard of your father's commands?
"I cannot think there is any that will at all exonerate you from blame.
Now I bid you write at once, giving me as full and detailed a report of
the past three months as you possibly can.
"My child, I love you very dearly; there is never a day, I believe never
a waking hour, in which my heart does not go out in love to my darling
Lulu, and send up a petition to a throne of grace on her behalf. I think
there is no sacrifice I would not willingly make for the good of any one
of my dear children, and my requirements are all meant to promote their
welfare and happiness in this world and the next.
"My child, my dear, dear child, your father's heart bleeds for you when
he thinks what a hard battle you have to fight with the evil nature
inherited from him!
"But the battle must be fought, the victory won, if you would reach
heaven at last.
"'The kingdom of heaven suffereth violence, and the violent take it by
force.'
"You have a strong will, my Lulu: make good use of it by determining that
you will in spite of every hindrance, fight the good fight of faith and
lay hold on eternal life; that you will win the victory over your
besetting sins, and come off more than conqueror through Him that loved
us.
"I can hardly hope to hear that you have not been again in sad trouble
and disgrace through the indulgence of your wilful, passionate temper,
and you will dislike very much to confess it all to me; you will be sorry
to pain me by the story of your wrong-doing; and certainly it will give
me much pain: yet I am more than willing to bear that for my dear child's
sake; and as I have given you the order to tell me all, to refrain from
so doing would be but a fresh act of disobedience.
"How glad I am to know that my little daughter is open and honest as the
day! I repeat, write at once, a full report, to your loving father, LEVIS
RAYMOND."
"Oh," cried Lulu, speaking aloud in the excitement of feeling, "I do wish
papa wouldn't make me confess everything to him! I think it's dreadfully
hard! And what's the use when it hurts him so to hear it?
"And I'm sure it hurts me to tell it. I'll have to, though, and I won't
keep anything back, though I'm terribly afraid he'll write that I must be
sent away to some boarding-school, so that Grandpa Dinsmore won't be
bothered with me any more. Oh dear! if papa could only come home, I'd
rather take the hardest whipping he could give me, for though that's
dreadful while it lasts, it's soon over. But he can't come now; they
wouldn't think of letting him come home again so soon; so he can't punish
me in that way; and I wouldn't take it from anybody else," she added,
with hotly flushing cheeks and flashing eyes; "and I don't believe he'd
let anybody else do it."
She turned to his letter and gave it a second reading.
"How kind and loving papa is!" she said to herself, penitent tears
springing to her eyes, "It's plain he hasn't been told a word about my
badness--by Grandpa Dinsmore or Mamma Vi, or anybody else. That was good
in them.
"But now I must tell it all myself; he says for me to do it at once, and
I won't go on disobeying him by waiting; besides, I may as well have it
over."
Her writing-desk stood on a table near at hand, and opening it, she set
to work without delay.
She began with a truthful report of her efforts to escape becoming one of
Signor Foresti's pupils and its failure; giving verbatim the
conversations on the subject in which she had taken part; then described
with equal faithfulness all that had passed between the signor and
herself on the day of their collision, and all that followed in the
school-room and at Viamede.
She told of the fortnight in which all her time at home had to be spent
in the confinement of her own room, then of the long weeks passed as a
boarding-scholar at Oakdale Academy, describing her bedroom there, the
sort of meals served in the dining-room, the rules that she found so
irksome, and the treatment received at the hands of teachers and
fellow-boarders; repeating as she went along every conversation that she
felt belonged to the confession required of her.
But the long story was not all told in that one day; it took several; for
Lulu was too young and inexperienced in composition and penmanship to
make very rapid work of it.
Evelyn was taken into her confidence, Capt. Raymond's letter read to her,
then parts of the confession as it progressed from day to day, till she
had heard the whole.
"Do you think I have told papa everything I ought, Eva?" Lulu asked when
she had finished reading aloud the last page of her report.
"Yes; I can't see that you've kept back a single thing: I'm sure your
father is right in saying that you are open and honest as the day! And
Oh, Lulu! what a nice, good father he must be! I don't wonder his
children all love him so dearly, or that you and Max were so distressed
when that bad news came."
"No," Lulu said, hastily brushing away a tear, "but I am sure you must
wonder how I can ever be disobedient to such a dear father; and I often
wonder too, and just hate myself for it.
"Now my report is ready; I'm glad it's done; it seems an immense load off
my mind; but I must write a little note to go with it."
"Of course you must," said Evelyn; "and I'll run away and talk to Cousin
Molly while you do it."
She hastened from the room, and Lulu's pen was again set to work.
"My own dear, dear papa, I have your letter--such a nice, kind one to be
written to such a bad, disobedient girl: it came last Wednesday, and this
is Saturday; for though I did obey you about the report, by beginning at
once to write it, I had to make it so long that I couldn't finish it till
now.
"I have tried to tell 'the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the
truth,' and Eva thinks I have succeeded.
"Papa, I am really and truly sorry for having been so disobedient and
obstinate; passionate, too; but I'm always being naughty and then sorry,
then naughty again.
"I don't see how you can keep on loving such a bad child; but oh, I'm so
glad you do! Though it makes me sorrier than ever, and oh, so ashamed! I
know I deserve punishment at your hands, and I have no doubt you would
inflict it if you were here. I'm afraid you will say I must be sent away
to a boarding-school; but oh, dear papa, please don't. I do intend to be
good, and not give any trouble to Grandpa Dinsmore or any of the rest. I
think I was the first part of the winter, and would have been all the
time if they hadn't forced me to take lessons of that horrid man.
"Papa, I've always thought you wouldn't have said I must go back to him
after he struck me. Would you? And don't you think Grandpa Dinsmore was
very hard on me to say I must? I don't think anybody but my father has
any right to punish me in that way, and I don't believe you would say he
had.
"Dear papa, won't you please write soon again and say that you forgive
me?"
But we will not give the whole of Lulu's letter to her father. She had
something to say of her own and Max's distress over the report that his
vessel was supposed to be lost, of the sickness of the dear little
sisters, the pleasant time she was having at Magnolia Hall, etc.
The letter and report together made quite a bulky package; Mr.
Embury--not being in the secret of the report--laughed when he saw it,
remarking that "she must be a famous letter-writer for so young a one."
Lulu rejoiced when it was fairly on its way to her father, yet could not
altogether banish a feeling of anxiety in regard to the nature of the
reply he would send her.
Grace and Baby Elsie improved steadily till they were quite well and past
the danger of a relapse.
All the members of the Viamede family gathered there again as soon as the
physicians pronounced it entirely safe to do so; and a week or two later,
when the little ones seemed quite strong enough for the journey, they all
set out on their return to Ion, where they arrived in safety and health;
received a joyful welcome from Edward, Zoe, other relatives and friends
gathered for the occasion, the servants and numerous dependants, and
found their own hearts filled with gladness in the consciousness of being
again in their best-loved home.
THE END.