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ELSIE'S GIRLHOOD
A SEQUEL TO
"ELSIE DINSMORE" AND "ELSIE'S HOLIDAYS AT ROSELANDS"
BY
MARTHA FINLEY
1872
"Oh! time of promise, hope, and innocence, Of trust, and love, and
happy ignorance! Whose every dream is heaven, in whose fair joy
Experience yet has thrown no black alloy."
--THOUGHTS OF A RECLUSE
PREFACE
Some years have now elapsed since my little heroine "ELSIE DINSMORE"
made her début into the great world. She was sent out with many an
anxious thought regarding the reception that might await her there.
But she was kindly welcomed, and such has been the favor shown her
ever since that Publishers and Author have felt encouraged to prepare
a new volume in which will be found the story of those years that have
carried Elsie on from childhood to womanhood--the years in which
her character was developing, and mind and body were growing and
strengthening for the real work and battle of life.
May my readers who have admired and loved her as a child find her
still more charming in her fresh young girlhood; may she prove to all
a pleasant companion and friend; and to those of them now treading the
same portion of life's pathway a useful example also, particularly in
her filial love and obedience.
M.F.
CHAPTER I.
It is a busy, talking world.
--ROWE.
"I think I shall enjoy the fortnight we are to spend here, papa; it
seems such a very pleasant place," Elsie remarked, in a tone of great
satisfaction.
"I am glad you are pleased with it, daughter," returned Mr. Dinsmore,
opening the morning paper, which John had just brought up.
They--Mr. Dinsmore and Elsie, Rose and Edward Allison--were occupying
very comfortable quarters in a large hotel at one of our fashionable
watering-places. A bedroom for each, and a private parlor for the
joint use of the party, had been secured in advance, and late the
night before they had arrived and taken possession.
It was now early in the morning, Elsie and her papa were in his room,
which was in the second story and opened upon a veranda, shaded by
tall trees, and overlooking a large grassy yard at the side of the
building. Beyond were green fields, woods, and hills.
"Papa," said Elsie, gazing longingly upon them, as she stood by the
open window, "can't we take a walk?"
"When Miss Rose is ready to go with us."
"May I run to her door and ask if she is?--and if she isn't, may I
wait for her out here on the veranda?"
"Yes."
She skipped away, but was back again almost immediately. "Papa, what
do you think? It's just too bad!"
"What is too bad, daughter? I think I never before saw so cross a look
on my little girl's face," he said, peering at her over the top of his
newspaper. "Come here, and tell me what it is all about."
She obeyed, hanging her head and blushing. "I think I have some reason
to be cross, papa," she said; "I thought we were going to have such a
delightful time here, and now it is all spoiled. You could never guess
who has the rooms just opposite ours; on the other side of the hall."
"Miss Stevens?"
"Why, papa; did you know she was here?"
"I knew she was in the house, because I saw her name in the hotel book
last night when I went to register ours."
"And it just spoils all our pleasure."
"I hope not, daughter. I think she will hardly annoy you when you are
close at my side; and that is pretty much all the time, isn't it?"
"Yes, papa, and I'll stick closer than ever to you if that will make
her let me alone," she cried, with a merry laugh, putting her arm
round his neck and kissing him two or three times.
"Ah, now I have my own little girl again," he said, drawing her to his
knee and returning her caresses with interest: "But there, I hear Miss
Rose's step in the hall. Run to mammy and have your hat put on."
Miss Stevens' presence proved scarcely less annoying to Elsie than the
child had anticipated. She tried to keep out of the lady's way, but it
was quite impossible. She could scarcely step out on the veranda, go
into the parlor, or take a turn in the garden by herself, but in
a moment Miss Stevens was at her side fawning upon and flattering
her--telling her how sweet and pretty and amiable she was, how dearly
she loved her, and how much she thought of her papa too: he was so
handsome and so good; everybody admired him and thought him such a
fine-looking gentleman, so polished in his manners, so agreeable and
entertaining in conversation.
Then she would press all sorts of dainties upon the little girl
in such a way that it was next to impossible to decline them, and
occasionally even went so far as to suggest improvements, or rather
alterations, in her dress, which she said was entirely too plain.
"You ought to have more flounces on your skirts, my dear," she
remarked one day. "Skirt flounced to the waist are so very pretty and
dressy, and you would look sweetly in them, but I notice you don't
wear them at all. Do ask your papa to let you get a new dress and have
it made so; I am sure he would consent, for any one can see that he is
very fond of you. He doesn't think of it; we can't expect gentlemen
to notice such little matters; you ought to have a mamma to attend
to such things for you. Ah! if you were my child, I would dress you
sweetly, you dear little thing!"
"Thank you, ma'am, I daresay you mean to be very kind," replied Elsie,
trying not to look annoyed, "but I don't want a mamma, since my own
dear mother has gone to heaven; papa is enough for me, and I like the
way he dresses me. He always buys my dresses himself and says how they
are to be made. The dressmaker wanted to put more flounces on, but
papa didn't want them and neither did I. He says he doesn't like to
see little girls loaded with finery, and that my clothes shall be of
the best material and nicely made, but neat and simple."
"Oh, yes; I know your dress is not cheap; I didn't mean that at all:
it is quite expensive enough, and some of your white dresses are
beautifully worked; but I would like a little more ornament. You wear
so little jewelry, and your father could afford to cover you with it
if he chose. A pair of gold bracelets, like mine for instance, would
be very pretty, and look charming on your lovely white arms: those
pearl ones you wear sometimes are very handsome--any one could tell
that they are the real thing--but you ought to have gold ones too,
with clasps set with diamonds. Couldn't you persuade your papa to buy
some for you?"
"Indeed, Miss Stevens, I don't want them! I don't want anything but
what papa chooses to buy for me of his own accord. Ah! there is Miss
Rose looking for me, I must go," and the little girl, glad of an
excuse to get away, ran joyfully to her friend who had come to the
veranda, where she and Miss Stevens had been standing, to tell her
that they were going out to walk, and her papa wished to take her
along.
Elsie went in to get her hat, and Miss Stevens came towards Rose,
saying, "I think I heard you say you were going to walk; and I
believe, if you don't forbid me, I shall do myself the pleasure of
accompanying you. I have just been waiting for pleasant company. I
will be ready in one moment." And before Rose could recover from her
astonishment sufficiently to reply she had disappeared through the
hall door.
Elsie was out again in a moment, just as the gentlemen had joined
Rose, who excited their surprise and disgust by a repetition of Miss
Stevens' speech to her.
Mr. Dinsmore looked excessively annoyed, and Edward "pshawed, and
wished her at the bottom of the sea."
"No, brother," said Rose, smiling, "you don't wish any such thing; on
the contrary, you would be the very first to fly to the rescue if you
saw her in danger of drowning."
But before there was time for anything more to be said Miss Stevens
had returned, and walking straight up to Mr. Dinsmore, she put her arm
through his, saying with a little laugh, and what was meant for a
very arch expression, "You see I don't stand upon ceremony with old
friends, Mr. Dinsmore. It isn't my way."
"No, Miss Stevens, I think it never was," he replied, offering the
other arm to Rose.
She was going to decline it on the plea that the path was too narrow
for three, but something in his look made her change her mind and
accept; and they moved on, while Elsie, almost ready to cry with
vexation, fell behind with Edward Allison for an escort.
Edward tried to entertain his young companion, but was too much
provoked at the turn things had taken to make himself very agreeable
to any one; and altogether it was quite an uncomfortable walk: no
one seeming to enjoy it but Miss Stevens, who laughed and talked
incessantly; addressing nearly all her conversation to Mr. Dinsmore,
he answering her with studied politeness, but nothing more.
Miss Stevens had, from the first, conceived a great antipathy to
Rose, whom she considered a dangerous rival, and generally avoided,
excepting when Mr. Dinsmore was with her; but she always interrupted
a tête-à-tête between them when it was in her power to do so without
being guilty of very great rudeness. This, and the covert sneers with
which she often addressed Miss Allison had not escaped Mr. Dinsmore's
notice, and it frequently cost him quite an effort to treat Miss
Stevens with the respectful politeness which he considered due to her
sex and to the daughter of his father's old friend.
"Was it not too provoking, papa?" exclaimed Elsie, as she followed him
into his room on their return from their walk.
"What, my dear?"
"Why, papa, I thought we were going to have such a nice time, and she
just spoiled it all."
"She? who, daughter?"
"Why, papa, surely you know I mean Miss Stevens!"
"Then why did you not mention her name, instead of speaking of her as
she? That does not sound respectful in a child of your age, and I wish
my little girl always to be respectful to those older than herself.
I thought I heard you the other day mention some gentleman's name
without the prefix of Mr., and I intended to reprove you for it at the
time. Don't do it again."
"No, sir, I won't," Elsie answered with a blush. "But, papa," she
added the next moment, "Miss Stevens does that constantly."
"That makes no difference, my daughter," he said gravely. "Miss
Stevens is the very last person I would have you take for your model;
the less you resemble her in dress, manners, or anything else, the
better. If you wish to copy any one let it be Miss Allison, for she is
a perfect lady in every respect."
Elsie looked very much pleased. "Yes, indeed, papa," she said, "I
should be glad if I could be just like Miss Rose, she is always kind
and gentle to everybody; even the servants, whom Miss Stevens orders
about so crossly."
"Elsie!"
"What, papa?" she asked, blushing again, for his tone was reproving.
"Come here and sit on my knee; I want to talk to you. I am afraid my
little daughter is growing censorious," he said, with a very grave
look as he drew her to his side. "You forget that we ought not to
speak of other people's faults."
"I will try not to do it any more, papa," she replied, the tears
springing to her eyes; "but you don't know how very annoying Miss
Stevens is. I have been near telling her several times that I did wish
she would let me alone."
"No, daughter, don't do that. You must behave in a lady-like manner
whether she does or not. We must expect annoyances in this world, my
child; and must try to bear them with patience, remembering that
God sends the little trials as well as the great, and that He has
commanded us to 'let patience have her perfect work.' I fear it is a
lack of the spirit of forgiveness that makes it so difficult for us to
bear these trifling vexations with equanimity. And you must remember
too, dear, that the Bible bids us be courteous, and teaches us to
treat others as we ourselves would wish to be treated."
"I think you always remember the command to be courteous, papa," she
said, looking affectionately into his face. "I was wondering all the
time how you could be so very polite to Miss Stevens; for I was quite
sure you would rather not have had her along. And then, what right had
she to take your arm without being asked?" and Elsie's face flushed
with indignation.
Her father laughed a little. "And thus deprive my little girl of her
rights," he said, softly kissing the glowing cheek. "Ah! I doubt if
you would have been angry had it been Miss Rose," he added, a little
mischievously.
"Oh, papa, you know Miss Rose would never have done such a thing!"
exclaimed the little girl warmly.
"Ah! well, dear," he said in a soothing tone; "we won't talk any more
about it. I acknowledge that I do not find Miss Stevens the most
agreeable company in the world, but I must treat her politely, and
show her a little attention sometimes; both because she is a lady and
because her father once saved my father's life; for which I owe a debt
of gratitude to him and his children."
"Did he, papa? I am sure it was very good of him, and I will try to
like Miss Stevens for that. But won't you tell me about it?"
"It was when they were both quite young men," said Mr. Dinsmore,
"before either of them was married: they were skating together and
your grandfather broke through the ice, and would have been drowned,
but for the courage and presence of mind of Mr. Stevens, who saved him
only by very great exertion, and at the risk of his own life."
A few days after this, Elsie was playing on the veranda, with several
other little girls. "Do you think you shall like your new mamma,
Elsie?" asked one of them in a careless tone, as she tied on an apron
she had just been making for her doll, and turned it around to see how
it fitted.
"My new mamma!" exclaimed Elsie, with unfeigned astonishment, dropping
the scissors with which she had been cutting paper dolls for some of
the little ones. "What can you mean, Annie? I am not going to have any
new mamma."
"Yes, indeed, but you are though," asserted Annie positively; "for I
heard my mother say so only yesterday; and it must be so, for she Miss
Stevens told it herself."
"Miss Stevens! and what does she know about it? what has she to do
with my papa's affairs?" asked Elsie indignantly, the color rushing
over face, neck, and arms.
"Well, I should think she might know, when she is going to marry him,"
returned the other, with a laugh.
"She isn't! it's false! my"--but Elsie checked herself and shut her
teeth hard to keep down the emotion that was swelling in her breast.
"It's true, you may depend upon it," replied Annie; "everybody in the
house knows it, and they are all talking about what a splendid match
Miss Stevens is going to make; and mamma was wondering if you knew
it, and how you would like her; and papa said he thought Mr. Dinsmore
wouldn't think much of her if he knew how she flirted and danced until
he came, and now pretends not to approve of balls, just because he
doesn't."
Elsie made no reply, but dropping scissors, paper, and everything,
sprang up and ran swiftly along the veranda, through the hall,
upstairs, and without pausing to take breath, rushed into her father's
room, where he sat quietly reading.
"Why, Elsie, daughter, what is the matter?" he asked in a tone of
surprise and concern, as he caught sight of her flushed and agitated
face.
"Oh, papa, it's that hateful Miss Stevens; I can't bear her!" she
cried, throwing herself upon his breast, and bursting into a fit of
passionate weeping.
Mr. Dinsmore said nothing for a moment; but thinking tears would prove
the best relief to her overwrought feelings, contented himself with
simply stroking her hair in a soothing way, and once or twice pressing
his lips gently to her forehead.
"You feel better now, dearest, do you not?" he asked presently, as she
raised her head to wipe away her tears.
"Yes, papa."
"Now tell me what it was all about."
"Miss Stevens does say such hateful things, papa!"
He laid his finger upon her lips. "Don't use that word again. It does
not sound at all like my usually gentle sweet-tempered little girl."
"I won't, papa," she murmured, blushing and hanging her head. Then
hiding her face on his breast, she lay there for several minutes
perfectly silent and still.
"What is my little girl thinking of?" he asked at length.
"How everybody talks about you, papa; last evening I was out on the
veranda, and I heard John and Miss Stevens' maid, Phillis, talking
together. It was moonlight, you know, papa," she went on, turning her
face toward him again: "and they were out under the trees and John had
his arm round her, and he was kissing her, and telling her how pretty
she was; and then they began talking about Miss Stevens and you, and
John told Phillis that he reckoned you were going to marry her--"
"Who? Phillis?" asked Mr. Dinsmore, looking excessively amused.
"Oh, papa; no; you know I mean Miss Stevens," Elsie answered in a tone
of annoyance.
"Well, dear, and what of it all?" he asked, soothingly. "I don't think
the silly nonsense of the servants need trouble you. John is a sad
fellow, I know; he courts all the pretty colored girls wherever he
goes. I shall have to read him a serious lecture on the subject. But
it is very kind of you to be so concerned for Phillis."
"Oh, papa, don't!" she said, turning away her face. "Please don't
tease me so. You know I don't care for Phillis or John; but that isn't
all." And then she repeated what had passed between Annie and herself.
He looked a good deal provoked as she went on with her story; then
very grave indeed. He was quite silent for a moment after she had
done. Then drawing her closer to him, he said tenderly, "My poor
little girl, I am sorry you should be so annoyed; but you know it is
not true, daughter, and why need you care what other people think and
say?"
"I don't like them to talk so, papa! I can't bear to have them say
such things about you!" she exclaimed indignantly.
He was silent again for a little; then said kindly, "I think I had
better take you away from these troublesome talkers. What do you say
to going home?"
"Oh, yes, papa, do take me home," she answered eagerly. "I wish we
were there now. I think it is the pleasantest place in the world and
it seems such a long, long while since we came away. Let us start
to-morrow, papa; can't we?"
"But you know you will have to leave Miss Rose."
"Ah! I forgot that," she said a little sadly; but brightening again,
she asked: "Couldn't you invite her to go home with us and spend the
winter? Ah! papa, do! it would be so pleasant to have her."
"No, my dear, it wouldn't do," he replied with a grave shake of the
head.
"Why, papa?" she asked with a look of keen disappointment.
"You are too young to understand why," he said in the same grave tone,
and then relapsed into silence; sitting there for some time stroking
her hair in an absent way, with his eyes on the carpet.
At last he said, "Elsie!" in a soft, low tone that quite made the
little girl start and look up into his face; for she, too, had been in
a deep reverie.
"What, papa?" she asked, and she wondered to see how the color had
spread over his face, and how bright his eyes looked.
"I have been thinking," he said, in a half hesitating way, "that
though it would not do to invite Miss Rose to spend the winter with
us, it might do very nicely to ask her to come and live at the Oaks."
Elsie looked at him for a moment with a bewildered expression; then
suddenly comprehending, her face lighted up.
"Would you like it, dearest?" he asked; "or would you prefer to go on
living just as we have been, you and I together? I would consult your
happiness before my own, for it lies very near my heart, my precious
one. I can never forgive myself for all I have made you suffer, and
when you were restored to me almost from the grave, I made a vow to do
all in my power to make your future life bright and happy."
His tones were full of deep feeling, and as he spoke he drew her
closer and closer to him and kissed her tenderly again and again.
"Speak, daughter, and tell me what you wish," he said, as she still
remained silent.
At last she spoke, and he bent down to catch the words. "Dear papa,"
she whispered, "would it make you happy? and do you think mamma knows,
and that she would like it?"
"Your mamma loves us both too well not to be pleased with anything
that would add to our happiness," he replied gently.
"Dear papa, you won't be angry if I ask another question?'"'
"No, darling; ask as many as you wish."
"Then, papa, will I have to call her mamma? and do you think my own
mamma would like it?"
"If Miss Allison consents to take a mother's place to you, I am sure
your own mamma, if she could speak to you, would tell you she deserved
to have the title; and it would hurt us both very much if you refused
to give it. Indeed, my daughter, I cannot ask her to come to us unless
you will promise to do so, and to love and obey, her just as you do
me. Will you?"
"I will try to obey her, papa; and I shall love her very dearly, for I
do already; but I can not love anybody quite so well as I love you, my
own dear, dear father!" she said, throwing her arms around his neck.
He returned her caress, saying tenderly, "That is all I can ask,
dearest; I must reserve the first place in your heart for myself."
"Do you think she will come, papa?" she asked anxiously.
"I don't know, daughter; I have not asked her yet. But shall I tell
her that it will add to your happiness if she will be your mamma?"
"Yes, sir; and that I will call her mamma, and obey her and love her
dearly. Oh, papa, ask her very soon, won't you?"
"Perhaps; but don't set your heart too much on it, for she may not be
quite so willing to take such a troublesome charge as Miss Stevens
seems to be," he said, returning to his playful tone.
Elsie looked troubled and anxious.
"I hope she will, papa," she said; "I think she might be very glad to
come and live with you; and in such a beautiful home, too."
"Ah! but everyone does not appreciate my society as highly as you do,"
he replied, laughing and pinching her cheek; "and besides, you forget
about the troublesome little girl. I have heard ladies say they would
not marry a man who had a child."
"But Miss Rose loves me, papa; I am sure she does," she said,
flushing, and the tears starting to her eyes.
"Yes, darling, I know she does," he answered soothingly. "I am only
afraid she loves you better than she does me."
A large party of equestrians were setting out from the hotel that
evening soon after tea, and Elsie, in company with several other
little girls, went out upon the veranda to watch them mount and ride
away. She was absent but a few moments from the parlor, where she had
left her father, but when she returned to it he was not there. Miss
Rose, too, was gone, she found upon further search, and though she had
not much difficulty in conjecturing why she had thus, for the first
time, been left behind, she could not help feeling rather lonely and
desolate.
She felt no disposition to renew the afternoon's conversation with
Annie Hart, so she went quietly upstairs to their private parlor and
sat down to amuse herself with a book until Chloe came in from eating
her supper. Then the little girl brought a stool, and seating herself
in the old posture with her head in her nurse's lap, she drew her
mother's miniature from her bosom, and fixing her eyes lovingly upon
it, said, as she had done hundreds of times before: "Now, mammy,
please tell me about my dear, dear mamma."
The soft eyes were full of tears; for with all her joy at the thought
of Rose, mingled a strange sad feeling that she was getting farther
away from that dear, precious, unknown mother, whose image had been,
since her earliest recollection, enshrined in her very heart of
hearts.