“The mountain rill
Seeks with no surer flow the far, bright sea,
Than my unchanged affections flow to thee.”
――PARK BENJAMIN.
The Landreths and Annis returned to the Oaks on Monday of the next
week, and on Tuesday all went to Ion, where the rest of the week was
spent most delightfully.
There was a large dinner party the first day, but after that they were
the only guests, and their host and hostess quite laid themselves out
for their entertainment.
Rose and Mildred enjoyed many a nice, quiet chat with Mrs. Travilla in
the mornings, while the little girls were busy with their tasks; the
afternoons, when the weather permitted, were spent in the open air,
walking, riding, or driving; and in the evenings all gathered about
the fire, and lively conversation, enigmas, stories, games, and music
made the time fly so fast that the little folks could scarcely believe
the clock was right when it told them their hour for going to bed had
come.
Annis would sometimes have lingered if Elsie might have done so too;
but that Mr. Dinsmore would not allow; so with a pleasant good-night
to all they went away together; for they shared the same room and
enjoyed it greatly.
On Saturday evening they returned to the Oaks, and on Monday the old
round of duties and pleasures was taken up again.
One stormy afternoon, as the little girls sat together in Elsie’s
dressing-room, pleasantly busied in millinery and mantua-making for
the family of dolls, Annis said, “I read ‘Oliver Twist’ while we were
at Holly Hall.”
Elsie looked up in surprise. “Did you? Would your father and mother
let you read such books?”
“Well,” returned Annis, blushing, “I never heard them mention ‘Oliver
Twist’ at all, and I peeped into it one day and found it so
interesting I just couldn’t help going on and reading the whole story.
I thought why shouldn’t I read what Milly and Brother Charlie and
Cousin Horace and Cousin Rose do?”
“Papa says,” returned Elsie slowly, “that I might as well ask why the
baby may not eat everything that we older ones do.”
“I suppose he means that our minds haven’t cut their teeth yet,” said
Annis, laughing. “But don’t you wish you were grown up enough to read
novels?”
“I don’t know; I’d like to read them dearly well, but I love to be
papa’s little girl and sit on his knee.”
“You’ll do that when you’re grown up,” remarked Annis, with a wise nod
of her pretty head. “I’ll tell you the story of ‘Oliver Twist’ if you
want me to.”
The offer was a tempting one, Elsie did want so very much to know what
became of Oliver finally, and all about several of the other
characters in whom she had become interested; for one minute she
hesitated; then said firmly, “It wouldn’t be right for me to hear it,
Annis dear, without papa’s leave, and that I shouldn’t even dare to
ask. But I thank you all the same.”
“Elsie, you are so good and obedient that you often make me feel
ashamed of myself,” Annis said, with a look of hearty, affectionate
admiration into her cousin’s face.
The fair face crimsoned. “No, no, Annis, I am not! indeed I am not!”
she exclaimed in tremulous tones, the tears springing to her eyes.
“Oh, I know you’re a hypocrite and only pretend to be good!” returned
Annis, laughingly. “But there, I hear Milly calling me,” and hastily
laying aside her work away she ran.
“I wonder if I ought to tell her,” Elsie said to herself, wiping away
a tear. “Oh, I don’t want her to know! but I’m afraid it isn’t right
to let her think me so much better than I am.”
Just then there was a gentle tap at the door leading into her boudoir.
She rose quickly and opened it.
“O Mr. Travilla! I am glad to see you, sir!” she said, offering her
hand.
He took it and lifted it gallantly to his lips.
“Excuse me for coming in without an invitation, my little friend,” he
said. “I knocked at the other door, but no one seemed to hear, so I
came on to this one.”
“Please always feel free to do so, Mr. Travilla,” she answered; “I
think you have almost as much right as papa. Won’t you take this
easy-chair?”
“Thank you, my dear,” he said, accepting the invitation. “And now if
you will allow me another of your papa’s privileges――that of taking
you on my knee, you will make me very happy.”
“Am I not growing too large and heavy, sir?” she asked, passively
submitting to his will.
“No, not at all; I only wish you belonged to me so that I could have
you here every day.”
“Mr. Travilla, I thought you would never think well of me again, never
love me any more, after you learned how very naughty I was one day a
few weeks ago,” she murmured, blushing and hanging her head.
“My dear little girl,” he said, stroking her hair, “that did not
lessen my good opinion of you; on the contrary, your sorrow for what
seemed to me but a slight misdemeanor, and your frank confession of
it, raised you in my esteem, if that were possible; for I have long
thought you very nearly perfect.”
She shook her head, the blush deepening on her cheek. “Ah, sir, you
make me feel like a hypocrite! And Annis has been talking so too, and
I――”
She hesitated, a troubled, anxious look on her sweet, innocent face.
“What is it, dear child?” he asked, “anything I can help you with?”
“I was wondering if――if I ought to tell Annis about my――my naughtiness
that day.”
“I am quite sure you are under no obligation to do so,” he said, “and
perhaps it would be better not to tell her.”
Elsie looked relieved.
“Ah,” he exclaimed, drawing something from his pocket, “I am
forgetting the particular errand on which I came. Here is a book that
you will enjoy, I think; and with your father’s approval; for I
submitted it to him before bringing it to you.”
Elsie accepted the gift with warm thanks and looks of delight which
well repaid him for his thoughtful kindness.
Annis came back presently, and after a little chat with her, Mr.
Travilla left them to enjoy the book together.
Mr. Dinsmore’s prohibition had not been removed, and Elsie still felt
it keenly, though, while carefully observing it, she said nothing on
the subject, to her papa or any one else.
One morning she and Annis came in from a walk about the grounds, and
while Annis went on into the house, Elsie lingered on the veranda,
petting and playing with a favorite dog.
Looking round at the sound of horse’s hoofs on the drive, she saw Dr.
Landreth just reining in his steed at the foot of the veranda steps.
The day being quite cold, there was no servant just at hand, though
usually several could be seen lounging near this, the principal
entrance to the mansion; so he called to her.
“Elsie, my dear, I have ridden back from the gate to recover my
note-book, which I think I must have left on the table in your
father’s study. Will you run and get it for me?”
Elsie felt her cheeks grow hot. What should she do? She was almost
certain her father was not in the house. Must she explain to the
doctor why she could not go into his study when he was not there? No;
she would summon a servant to do the errand; though that would take
longer than to do it herself, and the doctor seemed in haste, and
would wonder and probably be vexed at the delay. But it could not be
helped, she dared not, would not disobey her father. All this passed
through her mind in an instant.
“I will get it as quickly as I can, sir,” she said, and hurried into
the house.
She rapped lightly on the study-door, then opened it and peeped in. It
was just possible her papa might be there.
Yes, oh joy! there he was, sitting by the fire reading the morning
paper, and looking up from it, “I am here; come in, daughter,” he said
pleasantly.
“The doctor sent me for his note-book, papa,” she said, glancing about
in search of it.
“Yes, there it is on my writing-desk.”
“May I come back when I have given it to him, papa?” she asked, as she
took it up and turned to go.
“Yes; you may always come in when I am here; your father loves to have
you with him.”
There was a flash of joy in the beautiful eyes looking into his, and
the doctor thought, as he took the note-book from her hand, that he
had never seen a brighter, happier face.
“Many thanks, my dear,” he said, lifting his hat with a bow and smile,
then turned his horse’s head and galloped away.
Elsie looked after him for a moment, then hastened back to her father.
He greeted her entrance with a smile full of fatherly love and pride.
“Take off your hat and cloak,” he said, “and ring for a servant to
carry them away.”
She did so, then came and stood close at his side, putting her arm
around his neck, and laying her cheek to his.
“My papa! my own dear, dear papa!” she murmured lovingly.
“My precious little daughter!” he responded, laying down his paper and
drawing her to his knee. “I thought I saw a cloud on my darling’s face
as she peeped in at the door yonder a few moments since. What troubled
you, dearest? Tell papa all about it.”
“I was afraid you were not here, and so I couldn’t come in to do the
doctor’s errand; and I didn’t want to tell him so. I didn’t want him
to know why. It does seem, father, as if I’m in danger of having
everybody find out about my naughtiness and――and my punishment,” she
said, blushing and hanging her head, the troubled look again on her
face.
He did not answer immediately, but sat for some minutes silently
caressing her hair and cheek. Then, “My little girl,” he said, in low,
tender accents, “I think I may fully trust you now. I remove the
prohibition, and give you full permission to come in here when you
will as freely as ever.”
“Dear, papa, thank you! oh, thank you very much!” she cried joyfully,
repaying him with the sweetest kisses and smiles.
“Do you love me very much?” he asked.
“Oh, more than tongue can tell! I always did; always shall; I’m sure,
_sure_ I can never love anybody else half so dearly!”
“Suppose I should again become as cold, stern, and severe to my little
girl as I once was?” he said, with a tremor of pain and remorse in his
tones, and pressing her close to his heart as he spoke.
“I should love you still, papa,” she answered, tightening her clasp of
his neck, and showering kisses on his face; “but, oh, don’t ever be
so! it would break my heart if you should quit petting me, and not let
me sit here and hug and kiss you.”
“Don’t fear it, my precious one,” he said with emotion; “you could
scarcely suffer more than I from a cessation of these sweet love
passages between us.”