"She had waited for their coming,
She had kiss'd them o'er and o'er--
And they were so fondly treasured
For the words of love they bore,
Words that whispered in the silence,
She had listened till his tone
Seemed to linger in the echo
'Darling, thou art all mine own!'"
--MRS. J. C. NEAL.
"Pray, what weighty matter is troubling your young brain, birdie?"
asked Adelaide, laughingly laying her hand on Elsie's shoulder.
"Judging from the exceeding gravity of your countenance, one might
imagine that the affairs of the nation had been committed to your care."
"O auntie! can't you help me? won't you?" answered the little girl,
looking up coaxingly into the bright, cheerful face bent over her.
"Help you in what? reading with your book upside down, eh?" asked
Adelaide, pointing with a quizzical look at the volume of fairy tales
in her little niece's lap.
"Oh!" cried Elsie, coloring and laughing in her turn, "I was not
reading, and did not know that my book was wrong side up. But, Aunt
Adelaide, you know Christmas is coming soon, and I want to give papa
something, and I am quite puzzled about it. I thought of slippers, but
he has a very handsome pair, and besides there would hardly be time to
work them, as I have so many lessons; a purse won't do either, because
I have given him one already, and I would like it to be something worth
more than either slippers or purse. But you are so much wiser than I,
can't you help me think?"
"So _this_ is what has kept you so quiet and demure all day that I have
scarcely once heard you laugh or sing; quite an unusual state of things
of late," and Adelaide playfully pinched the round, rosy cheek. "Ahem!
let me put on my thinking cap," assuming an air of comic gravity. "Ah!
yes, I have it! your miniature, little one, of course; what could
please him better?"
"Oh! yes," cried Elsie, clapping her hands, "that will do nicely; why
didn't I think of it? Thank you, auntie. But then," she added, her
countenance falling, "how can I get it taken without his knowledge? you
know the surprise is half the fun."
"Never mind, my dear, I'll find a way to manage that," replied
Adelaide, confidently; "so just run away with you now, and see how much
money you can scrape together to spend on it."
"It won't take long to count it," Elsie said with a merry laugh. "But
here is papa just coming in at the door; I hope he won't suspect what
we have been talking about," and she bounded away to meet him and claim
the kiss he never refused her now.
Once Adelaide would not have been surprised at Elsie's quietness.
Patient and sweet tempered the little girl had always been, but more
especially after her father's return from Europe--very quiet and timid,
seeming to shrink from observation, with a constant dread of incurring
reproof or punishment; but the last few happy months, during which her
father had continued to lavish upon her every proof of the tenderest
affection, had wrought a great change in her; her manner had lost its
timidity, she moved about the house with a light and joyous step, and
it was no unusual thing to hear her merry, silvery laugh ring out, or
her sweet voice carolling like some wild bird of the wood--the natural
outgushings of her joy and thankfulness; for the little heart that had
so long been famishing for love, that had often grown so weary and sick
in its hungering and thirsting for it, was now fully satisfied, and
revelled in its new-found happiness.
"I have got it all arranged nicely, Elsie," Adelaide said, coming into
the room with a very pleased face as the little girl was preparing for
bed that evening. "Your papa is going away in a day or two to attend to
some business matters connected with your property, and will be absent
at least two weeks; so, unless he should take it into his head to carry
you along, we can easily manage about the picture."
Elsie looked up with a countenance of blank dismay.
"Why," said Adelaide, laughing, "I thought you'd be delighted with my
news, and instead of that, you look as if I had read you your
death-warrant."
"O Aunt Adelaide! two whole weeks without seeing papa! just think how
long."
"Pooh! nonsense, child! it will be gone before you know it. But now
tell me, how much money have you?"
"I have saved my allowance for two months; that makes twenty dollars,
you know, auntie, and I have a little change besides; do you think it
will be enough?"
"Hardly, I'm afraid; but I can lend you some, if necessary."
"Thank you, auntie," Elsie answered gratefully, "you are very kind; but
I couldn't take it, because papa has told me expressly that I must
never borrow money, nor run into debt in any way."
"Dear me!" exclaimed Adelaide, a little impatiently; "Horace certainly
is the most absurdly strict person I ever met with. But never mind, I
think we can manage it somehow," she added, in a livelier tone, as she
stooped to kiss her little niece good-night.
Elsie's gentle rap was heard very early at her papa's door the next
morning.
He opened it immediately, and springing into his arms, she asked,
almost tearfully, "Are you going away, papa?"
"Yes, darling," he said, caressing her fondly. "I must leave home for a
few weeks; and though I at first thought of taking you with me, upon
further consideration I have decided that it will be better to leave
you here; yet, if you desire it very much, my pet, I will take you
along. Shall I?"
"You know I would always rather be with you than anywhere else, papa,"
she answered, laying her head on his shoulder; "but you know best, and
I am quite willing to do whatever you say."
"That is right, daughter; my little Elsie is a good, obedient child,"
he said, pressing her closer to him.
"When are you going papa?" she asked, her voice trembling a little.
"To-morrow, directly after dinner, daughter."
"So soon," she sighed.
"The sooner I leave you the sooner I shall return, you know, darling,"
he said, patting her cheek, and smiling kindly on her.
"Yes, papa; but two weeks seems such a long, long time."
He smiled. "At your age I suppose it does, but when you are as old as I
am, you will think it very short. But to make it pass more quickly, you
may write me a little letter every day, and I will send you one just as
often."
"Oh! thank you, papa; that will be so pleasant," she answered, with a
brightening countenance. "I do so love to get letters, and I would
rather have one from you than from anybody else."
"Ah? then I think you ought to be willing to spare me for two weeks. I
have been thinking my little girl might perhaps be glad of a little
extra pocket-money for buying Christmas gifts," he said, taking out his
purse. "Would you?"
"Yes, papa; oh! _very_ much, indeed."
He laughed at her eager tone, and putting a fifty-dollar note into her
hand, asked, "Will that be enough?"
Elsie's eyes opened wide with astonishment.
"I never before had half so much as this," she exclaimed. "May I spend
it _all_, papa?"
"Provided you don't throw it away," he answered gravely; "but don't
forget that I require a strict account of all your expenditure."
"Must I tell you _every_ thing I buy?" she asked, her countenance
falling considerably.
"Yes, my child, you must; not until after Christmas, however, if you
would rather not."
"I will not mind it so much then," she answered, looking quite
relieved; "but indeed, papa, it is a great deal of trouble."
"Ah! my little girl must not be lazy," he said, shaking his head
gravely.
This was Elsie's first parting from her father since they had learned
to know and love each other; and when the time came to say good-by, she
clung to him, and seemed so loath to let him go, that he quite repented
of his determination to leave her at home.
"O papa, papa! I cannot bear to have you go, and leave me behind," she
sobbed. "I feel as if you were never coming back."
"Why, my own darling," he said, kissing her again and again, "why do
you talk so? I shall certainly be at home again in a fortnight; but if
I had thought you would feel so badly, I would have made arrangements
to take you with me. It is too late now, however, and you must let me
go, dearest. Be a good girl while I am gone, and when I return I will
bring you some handsome presents."
So saying, he embraced her once more, then putting her gently from him,
sprang into the carriage and was driven rapidly away.
Elsie stood watching until it was out of sight, and then ran away to
her own room to put her arms round her nurse's neck and hide her tears
on her bosom.
"Dere, dere, darlin'! dat will do now. Massa Horace he be back 'fore
long, and ole Chloe don' like for to see her chile 'stressin' herself
so," and the large, dusky hand was passed lovingly over the bright
curls, and tenderly wiped away the falling tears.
"But, O mammy! I'm afraid he will never come back. I'm afraid the
steamboat boiler will burst, or the cars will run off the track, or----"
"Hush, hush, darlin'! dat's wicked; you must jes' trust de Lord to take
care of Massa Horace; He's jes' as able to do it one place as in
tudder; an ef you an' your ole mammy keep prayin' for Massa, I'se
_sure_ he'll come back safe, kase don't you remember what de good book
says, 'If any two of you agree----'"
"Oh! yes, dear mammy, thank you for remembering it," exclaimed the
little girl, lifting her head and smiling through her tears. "I won't
cry any more now, but will just try to keep thinking how glad I will be
when papa comes home again."
"A very sensible resolution, my dear," said Adelaide, putting her head
in at the door; "so come, dry your eyes, and let mammy put on your
bonnet and cloak as fast as possible, for I have begged a holiday for
you, and am going to carry you off to the city to do some shopping, et
cetera."
"Ah! I think I know what that et cetera means, auntie, don't I?"
laughed Elsie, as she hastened to obey.
"Dear me! how very wise some people are," said her aunt, smiling and
nodding good-naturedly. "But make haste, my dear, for the carriage is
at the door."
When Elsie laid her head upon her pillow that night she acknowledged to
herself, that in spite of her father's absence--and she had, at times,
missed him sadly--the day had been a very short and pleasant one to
her, owing to her Aunt Adelaide's thoughtful kindness in taking her out
into new scenes, and giving agreeable occupation to her thoughts.
She rose at her usual early hour the next morning, and though feeling
lonely, comforted herself with the hope of receiving the promised
letter; and her face was full of eager expectation, as her grandfather,
in his usual leisurely manner, opened the bag and distributed its
contents.
"Two letters for Elsie!" he said, in a tone of surprise, just as she
was beginning to despair of her turn coming at all. "Ah; one is from
Horace, I see; and the other from Miss Allison, no doubt."
Elsie could hardly restrain her eagerness while he held them in his
hand, examining and commenting upon the address, postmark, etc.
But at length he tossed them to her, remarking, "There! if you are done
your breakfast, you had better run away and read them."
"Oh! thank you, grandpa," she said, gladly availing herself of his
permission.
"Elsie is fortunate to-day," observed Lora looking after her. "I wonder
which she will read first."
"Her father's, of course," replied Adelaide. "He is more to her than
all the rest of the world put together."
"A matter of small concern to the rest of the world, I opine," remarked
Mrs. Dinsmore, dryly.
"Perhaps so, mamma," said Adelaide, quietly; "yet I think there are
_some_ who prize Elsie's affection."
Yes, Adelaide was right. Miss Rose's letter was neglected and almost
forgotten, while Elsie read and reread her papa's with the greatest
delight.
It gave an amusing account of the day's journey; but what constituted
its chief charm for the little girl was that it was filled with
expressions of the tenderest affection for her.
Then came the pleasant task of answering, which occupied almost all her
spare time, for letter-writing was still, to her, a rather new and
difficult business, Miss Allison having hitherto been her only
correspondent. And this was a pleasure which was renewed every day, for
her papa faithfully kept his promise, each morning bringing her a
letter, until at length one came announcing the speedy return of the
writer.
Elsie was almost wild with delight.
"Aunt Adelaide," she cried, running to her to communicate the glad
tidings, "papa says he will be here this very afternoon."
"Well, my dear, as we have already attended to all the business that
needed to be kept secret from him, I am very glad to hear it,
especially for _your_ sake," replied Adelaide, looking up for a moment
from the book she was reading, and then returning to it again, while
her little niece danced out of the room, with her papa's letter still
in her hand, and a face beaming with happiness.
She met Mrs. Dinsmore in the hall.
"Why are you skipping about in that mad fashion, Elsie?" she asked,
severely; "I believe you will never learn to move and act like a lady."
"I will try, madam, indeed," Elsie answered, subsiding into a slow and
steady gait which would not have disgraced a woman of any age; "but I
was so glad that papa is coming home to-day, that I could not help
skipping."
"Indeed!" and with a scornful toss of the head, Mrs. Dinsmore sailed
past her and entered the drawing-room.
Elsie had once, on her first arrival at Roselands, addressed Mrs.
Dinsmore, in the innocence of her heart, as "grandma," but that lady's
horrified look, and indignant repudiation of the ancient title, had
made a deep impression on the little girl's memory, and effectually
prevented any repetition of the offence.
As the hour drew near when her father might reasonably be expected,
Elsie took her station at one of the drawing-room windows overlooking
the avenue, and the moment the carriage appeared in sight, she ran out
and stood waiting for him on the steps of the portico.
Mr. Dinsmore put out his head as they drove up the avenue, and the
first object that caught his eye was the fairy-like form of his little
daughter, in her blue merino dress, and the golden brown curls waving
in the wind. He sprang out and caught her in his arms the instant the
carriage stopped.
"My darling, darling child," he cried, kissing her over and over again,
and pressing her fondly to his heart, "how glad I am to have you in my
arms again!"
"Papa, papa, my own dear, dear papa!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms
around his neck, "I'm _so_ happy, now that you have come home safe and
well."
"Are you, darling? but I must not keep you out in this wind, for it is
quite chilly."
He set her down, and leaving the servant to attend lo his baggage, led
her into the hall.
"Will you come into the drawing-room, papa?" she said; "there is a
bright, warm fire there."
"Is there not one in my dressing-room?" he asked.
"Yes, papa, a very good one."
"Then we will go there. I dare say the rest of the family are in no
great hurry to see me, and I want my little girl to myself for half an
hour," he said, leading the way up-stairs as he spoke.
They found, as Elsie had reported, a very bright fire in the
dressing-room. A large easy chair was drawn up near it, and a handsome
dressing-gown and slippers were placed ready for use; all the work of
Elsie's loving little hands.
He saw it all at a glance, and with a pleased smile, stooped and kissed
her again, saying, "My dear little daughter is very thoughtful for her
papa's comfort."
Then exchanging his warm out-door apparel and heavy boots for the
dressing-gown and slippers, he seated himself in the chair and took her
on his knee.
"Well, daughter," he said, passing his hand caressingly over her curls,
"papa has brought you a present; will you have it now, or shall it be
kept for Christmas?"
"Keep it for Christmas, papa," she answered gayly. "Christmas is almost
here, and besides, I don't want to look at anything but you to-night."
"Very well, look at me as much as you like," was his laughing
rejoinder. "And now tell me, have you been a good girl in my absence?"
"As good as I ever am, I believe, papa. I tried very hard; but you can
ask Miss Day."
"No, I am entirely satisfied with your report, for I know my little
daughter is quite truthful."
Elsie colored with pleasure, then calling to mind the time when he had
for a moment suspected her of falsehood, she heaved a deep sigh,
dropping her head upon his breast.
He seemed to understand her thoughts, for, pressing his lips to her
forehead, he said gently and kindly, "I think I shall never again doubt
my little daughter's truth."
She looked up with a grateful smile.
"Miss Day has gone away to stay until after New Year's day, papa," she
said, "and so our holidays have begun."
"Ah! I am very well satisfied," said he. "I think you have earned a
holiday, and I hope you will enjoy it. But I don't know that I shall
let _you_ play _all_ the time," he added with a smile; "I have some
notion of giving you a lesson now and then, myself."
"Dear papa, how pleasant!" she exclaimed delightedly; "I do so love to
say lessons to you."
"Well, then, we will spend an hour together every morning. But are you
not to have some company?"
"Oh! yes, papa, quite a house full," she said with a slight sigh. "The
Percys, and the Howards, and all the Carringtons, and some others too,
I believe."
"Why do you sigh, daughter?" he asked; "do you not expect to enjoy
their company?"
"Yes, sir, I hope so," she answered, rather dubiously; "but when there
are so many, and they stay so long, they are apt to disagree, and that,
you know, is not pleasant. I am sure I shall enjoy the hour with you
better than anything else; it is so sweet to be quite alone with my own
darling papa," and the little arm stole softly round his neck again,
and the rosy lips touched his cheek.
"Well, when are the little plagues coming?" he asked, returning her
caress.
"Some of them to-morrow, papa; no, Monday--to-morrow is Sabbath day."
"Shall I bring in de trunks now, massa?" asked Mr. Dinsmore's servant,
putting his head in at the door.
"Yes, John, certainly."
"Why, you brought back a new one, papa, didn't you?" asked Elsie, as
John carried in one she was sure she had never seen before, and in
obedience to a motion of her father's hand, set it down quite near them.
"Yes, my dear, it is yours. There, John, unlock it," tossing him the
key. "And now, daughter, get down and see what you can find in it worth
having."
Elsie needed no second bidding, but in an instant was on her knees
beside the trunk, eager to examine its contents.
"Take the lid off the band-box first, and see what is there," said her
father.
"O papa, how _very_ pretty!" she cried, as she lifted out a beautiful
little velvet hat adorned with a couple of ostrich feathers.
"I am very glad it pleases you, my darling," he said, putting it on her
head, and gazing at her with proud delight in her rare beauty. "There!
it fits exactly, and is very becoming."
Then taking it off, he returned it to the box, and bade her look
further.
"I am reserving the present for Christmas," he said, in answer to her
inquiring look.
Elsie turned to the trunk again.
"Dear papa, how good you are to me!" she said, looking up at him almost
with tears of pleasure in her eyes, as she lifted out, one after
another, a number of costly toys, which she examined with exclamations
of delight, and then several handsome dresses, some of the finest,
softest merino, and others of thick rich silk, all ready made in
fashionable style, and doing credit to his taste and judgment; and
lastly a beautiful velvet pelisse, trimmed with costly fur, just the
thing to wear with her pretty new hat.
He laughed and patted her cheek.
"We must have these dresses tried on," he said, "at least one of them;
for as they were all cut by the same pattern--one of your old dresses
which I took with me--I presume they will all fit alike. There, take
this one to mammy, and tell her to put it on you, and then come back to
me."
"Oh! I wondered how you could get them the right size, papa," Elsie
answered, as she skipped gayly out of the room.
She was back again in a very few moments, arrayed in the pretty silk he
had selected.
"Ah! it seems to be a perfect fit," said he, turning her round and
round, with a very gratified look.
"Mammy must dress you to-morrow in one of these new frocks, and your
pretty hat and pelisse."
Elsie looked troubled.
"Well, what is it?" he asked.
"I am afraid I shall be thinking of them in church, papa, if I wear
them then for the first time."
"Pooh! nonsense! what harm if you do? This squeamishness, Elsie, is the
one thing about you that displeases me very much. But there! don't look
so distressed, my pet. I dare say you will get over it by-and-by, and
be all I wish; indeed I sometimes think you have improved a little
already, in that respect."
Oh! what a pang these words sent to her heart! was it indeed true that
she was losing her tenderness of conscience? that she was becoming less
afraid of displeasing and dishonoring her Saviour than in former days?
The very thought was anguish.
Her head drooped upon her bosom, and the small white hands were clasped
convulsively together, while a bitter, repenting cry, a silent earnest
prayer for pardon and help went up to Him whose ear is ever open to the
cry of His children.
Her father looked at her in astonishment.
"What is it, darling?" he asked, drawing her tenderly toward him, and
pushing back the curls from her face; "why do you look so pained? what
did I say that could have hurt you so? I did not mean to be harsh and
severe, for it was a very trifling fault."
She hid her face on his shoulder and burst into an agony of tears.
"It was not that, papa, but--but----"
"But what, my darling? don't be afraid to tell me," he answered,
soothingly.
"O papa! I--I am afraid I don't--love Jesus--as much as I did," she
faltered out between her sobs.
"Ah! _that_ is it, eh? Well, well, you needn't cry any more. _I_ think
you are a very good little girl, though rather a silly one, I am
afraid, and quite too morbidly conscientious."
He took her on his knee as he spoke, wiped away her tears, and then
began talking in a lively strain of something else.
Elsie listened, and answered him cheerfully, but all the evening he
noticed that whenever she was quiet, an unusual expression of sadness
would steal over her face.
"What a strange child she is!" he said to himself, as he sat musing
over the fire, after sending her to bed. "I cannot understand her; it
is very odd how often I wound, when I intend to please her."
As for Elsie, she scarcely thought of her new finery, so troubled was
her tender conscience, so pained her little heart to think that she had
been wandering from her dear Saviour.
But Elsie had learned that "if any man sin, we have an advocate with
the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous," and to Him she went with her
sin and sorrow; she applied anew to the pardoning, peace-speaking blood
of Christ--that "blood of sprinkling that speaketh better things than
that of Abel;" and thus the sting of conscience was taken away and her
peace restored, and she was soon resting quietly on her pillow, for,
"so He giveth His beloved sleep."
Even her father's keen, searching glance, when she came to him in the
morning, could discover no trace of sadness in her face; very quiet and
sober it was, but entirely peaceful and happy, and so it remained all
through the day. Her new clothes did not trouble her; she was hardly
conscious of wearing them, and quite able to give her usual solemn and
fixed attention to the services of the sanctuary.
"Where are you going, daughter?" Mr. Dinsmore asked, as Elsie gently
withdrew her hand from his on leaving the dining-room.
"To my room, papa," she replied.
"Come with me," he said; "I want you."
"What do you want me for, papa?" she asked, as he sat down and took her
on his knee.
"What for? why to keep, to love, and to look at," he said laughing. "I
have been away from my little girl so long, that now I want her close
by my side, or on my knee, all the time. Do you not like to be with me?"
"_Dearly_ well, my own darling papa," she answered, flinging her little
arms around his neck, and laying her head on his breast.
He fondled her, and chatted with her for some time, then, still keeping
her on his knee, took up a book and began to read.
Elsie saw with pain that it was a novel and longed to beg him to put it
away, and spend the precious hours of the holy Sabbath in the study of
God's word, or some of the lesser helps to Zion's pilgrims which the
saints of our own or other ages have prepared. But she knew that it
would be quite out of place for a little child like her to attempt to
counsel or reprove her father; and that, tenderly as he loved and
cherished her, he would never for one moment allow her to forget their
relative positions.
At length she ventured to ask softly, "Papa, may I go to my own room
now?"
"What for?" he asked; "are you tired of my company?"
"No, sir, _oh! no;_ but I want--" she hesitated and hung her head for
an instant, while the rich color mounted to cheek and brow; then
raising it again, she said fearlessly, "I always want to spend a little
while with my best Friend on Sabbath afternoon, papa."
He looked puzzled, and also somewhat displeased.
"I don't understand you, Elsie," he said; "you surely can have no
better friend than your own father; and can it be _possible_ that you
love any one else better than you love me?"
Again the little arms were round his neck, and hugging him close and
closer, she whispered, "It was Jesus I meant, papa; you know He loves
me even better than you do, and I must love Him best of all; but there
is no one else that I love half so much as I love you, my own dear,
dear precious father."
"Well, you may go; but only for a little while, mind," he answered,
giving her a kiss, and setting her down. "Nay," he added hastily, "stay
as long as you like; if you feel it a punishment to be kept here with
me, I would rather do without you."
"Oh! no, no, papa," she said beseechingly, and with tears in her eyes;
"I do so love to be with you. Please don't be angry; please let me come
back soon."
"No, darling, I am not angry," he answered, smoothing her hair and
smiling kindly on her; "come back just when you like, and the sooner
the better."
Elsie did not stay away very long; in less than an hour she returned,
bringing her Bible and "Pilgrim's Progress" with her.
Her father welcomed her with a smile, and then turned to his novel
again, while she drew a stool to his side, and, sitting down, leaned
her head against his knee, and read until the short winter day began to
close in, and Mr. Dinsmore, whose hand had been every now and then laid
caressingly upon her curls, said, "Put away your book now, daughter; it
is growing too dark for you to read without straining your eyes."
"Please, papa, let me finish the paragraph first; may I?" she asked.
"No; you must always obey the instant I speak to you."
Elsie rose at once, and without another word laid her books upon the
table; then coming back, claimed her accustomed place upon his knee,
with her head resting on his shoulder.
He put his arm around her, and they sat silently thus for some moments.
At length Elsie asked, "Papa, did you ever read 'Pilgrim's Progress!'"
"Yes; a good while ago, when I was quite a boy."
"And you did not like it, papa?"
"Yes, very much, though I have nearly forgotten the story now. Do _you_
like it?"
"Very much, indeed, papa; I think it comes next to the Bible."
"Next to the Bible, eh? well, I believe you are the only little girl of
my acquaintance who thinks _that_ the most beautiful and interesting
book in the world. But, let me see, what is this 'Pilgrim's Progress'
about? some foolish story of a man with a great load on his back; is it
not?"
"Foolish! papa; oh! I am sure you don't mean it; you couldn't think it
foolish. Ah! I know by your smile that you are only saying it to tease
me. It is a beautiful story, papa, about Christian: how he lived in the
City of Destruction, and had a great burden on his back, which he tried
in every way to get rid of, but all in vain, until he came to the
Cross; but then it seemed suddenly to loosen of itself, and dropped
from his back, and rolled away, and fell into the sepulchre, where it
could not be seen any more."
"Well, and is not _that_ a foolish story? can you see any sense or
meaning in it?" he asked, with a slight smile, and a keen glance into
the eager little face upturned to his.
"Ah! papa, I know what it means," she answered, in a half-sorrowful
tone. "Christian, with the load on his back, is a person who has been
convinced of sin by God's Holy Spirit, and feels his sins a heavy
burden--too heavy for him to bear; and then he tries to get rid of them
by leaving off his wicked ways, and by doing good deeds; but he soon
finds he can't get rid of his load that way, for it only grows heavier
and heavier, until at last he gives up trying to save himself, and just
goes to the cross of Jesus Christ; and the moment he looks to Jesus and
trusts in Him, his load of sin is all gone."
Mr. Dinsmore was surprised; as indeed he had often been at Elsie's
knowledge of spiritual things.
"Who told you all that?" he asked.
"I read it in the Bible, papa; and besides, I know, because I have felt
it."
He did not speak again for some moments; and then he said very gravely,
"I am afraid you read too many of those dull books. I don't want you to
read things that fill you with sad and gloomy thoughts, and make you
unhappy. I want my little girl to be merry and happy as the day is
long."
"Please don't forbid me to read them, papa," she pleaded with a look of
apprehension, "for indeed they don't make me unhappy, and I love them
so dearly."
"You need not be alarmed. I shall not do so unless I see that they do
affect your spirits," he answered in a reassuring tone, and she thanked
him with her own bright, sweet smile.
She was silent for a moment, then asked suddenly, "Papa, may I say some
verses to you?"
"Some time," he said, "but not now, for there is the tea-bell;" and
taking her hand, he led her down to the dining-room.
They went to the drawing-room after tea, but did not stay long. There
were no visitors, and it was very dull and quiet there, no one seeming
inclined for conversation. Old Mr. Dinsmore sat nodding in his chair,
Louise was drumming on the piano, and the rest were reading or sitting
listlessly, saying nothing, and Elsie and her papa soon slipped away to
their old seat by his dressing-room fire.
"Sing something for me, my pet, some of those little hymns I often hear
you singing to yourself," he said, as he took her on his knee; and
Elsie gladly obeyed.
Some of the pieces she sang alone, but in others which were familiar to
him, her father joined his deep bass notes to her sweet treble, at
which she was greatly delighted. Then they read several chapters of the
Bible together, and thus the evening passed so quickly and pleasantly
that she was very much surprised when her papa, taking out his watch,
told her it was her bed-time.
"O papa! it has been such a nice, _nice_ evening!" she said, as she
bade him good-night; "so like the dear old times I used to have with
Miss Rose, only--"
She paused and colored deeply.
"Only what, darling?" he asked, drawing her caressingly to him.
"Only, papa, if you would pray with me, like she did," she whispered,
winding her arms about his neck, and hiding her face on his shoulder.
"That I cannot do, my pet, I have never learned how; and so I fear you
will have to do all the praying for yourself and me too," he said, with
a vain effort to speak lightly, for both heart and conscience were
touched.
The only reply was a tightening of the clasp of the little arms about
his neck, and a half-suppressed sob; then two trembling lips touched
his, a warm tear fell on his cheek, and she turned away and ran quickly
from the room.
Oh! how earnest and importunate were Elsie's pleadings at a throne of
grace that night, that her "dear, _dear_ papa might soon be taught to
love Jesus, and how to pray to Him." Tears fell fast while she prayed,
but she rose from her knees feeling a joyful assurance that her
petitions had been heard, and would be granted in God's own good time.
She had hardly laid her head upon her pillow, when her father came in,
and saying, "I have come to sit beside my little girl till she falls
asleep," placed himself in a chair close by her side, taking her hand
in his and holding it, as she loved so to have him do.
"I am _so_ glad you have come, papa," she said, her whole face lighting
up with pleased surprise.
"Are you?" he answered with a smile. "I'm afraid I am spoiling you; but
I can't help it to-night. I think you forget your wish to repeat some
verses to me?"
"Oh! yes, papa!" she said, "but may I say them now?"
He nodded assent, and she went on. "They are some Miss Rose sent me in
one of her letters. She cut them out of a newspaper, she said, and sent
them to me because she liked them so much; and I too think they are
very sweet. The piece is headed:
"'THE PILGRIM'S WANTS.'
"'I want a sweet sense of Thy pardoning love,
That my manifold sins are forgiven;
That Christ, as my Advocate, pleadeth above,
That my name is recorded in heaven.
"'I want every moment to feel
That thy Spirit resides in my heart--
That his power is present to cleanse and to heal,
And newness of life to impart.
"'I want--oh! I want to attain
Some likeness, my Saviour, to thee!
That longed for resemblance once more to regain,
Thy comeliness put upon me.
"'I want to be marked for thine own--
Thy seal on my forehead to wear;
To receive that new name on the mystic white stone
Which none but thyself can declare.
"'I want so in thee to abide
As to bring forth some fruit to thy praise;
The branch which thou prunest, though feeble and dried,
May languish, but never decays.
"'I want thine own hand to unbind
Each tie to terrestrial things,
Too tenderly cherished, too closely entwined,
Where my heart so tenaciously clings.
"'I want, by my aspect serene,
My actions and words, to declare
That my treasure is placed in a country unseen,
That my heart's best affections are there.
"'I want as a trav'ller to haste
Straight onward, nor pause on my way;
Nor forethought in anxious contrivance to waste
On the tent only pitched for a day.
"'I want--and this sums up my prayer--
To glorify thee till I die;
Then calmly to yield up my soul to thy care,
And breathe out in faith my last sigh.'"
[Footnote: These beautiful words are not mine, nor do I know either the
name of the author or where they were originally published.]
He was silent for a moment after she had repeated the last verse, then
laying his hand softly on her head, and looking searchingly into her
eyes, he asked, "And does my little one really wish all that those
words express?"
"Yes, papa, for myself and for you too," she answered. "O papa! I do
want to be all that Jesus would have me! just like Him; so like Him
that everybody who knows me will see the likeness and know that I
belong to Him."
"Nay, you belong to me," he said, leaning over her and patting her
cheek. "Hush! not a syllable from your lips. I will have no gainsaying
of my words," he added, with a mixture of authority and playfulness, as
she seemed about to reply. "Now shut your eyes and go to sleep; I will
have no more talking to-night."
She obeyed at once; the white lids gently closed over the sweet eyes,
the long, dark lashes rested quietly on the fair, round cheek, and soon
her soft regular breathing told that she had passed into the land of
dreams.
Her father sat, still holding the little hand, and still gazing
tenderly upon the sweet young face, till, something in its expression
reminding him of words she had just repeated,
"I want to be marked for thine own--
Thy seal on my forehead to wear,"
he laid it gently down, rose, and bent over her with a troubled look.
"Ah, my darling, _that_ prayer is granted already!" he murmured; "for,
ah me! you seem almost too good and pure for earth. But oh, God forbid
that you should be taken from me to that place where I can see that
your heart is even now. How desolate should I be!" and he turned away
with a shiver and a heavy sigh, and hastily quitted the room.