Elsie sped onward, crying bitterly as she went.
"Where is papa!" she inquired of a servant whom she met in the avenue.
"Dunno, Miss Elsie, but I reckon Massa Horace am in de house, kase his horse am in de stable."
Elsie hardly waited for the answer, but hurrying into the house, went from room to room, looking and asking in vain for her father. He was not in the drawing-room, or the library, or his own apartments. She had just come out of this, and meeting a chamber-maid in the hall, she exclaimed, "O Fanny! whereispapa? can't you tell me? for I must see him."
"Here I am, Elsie; what do you want with me?" called out her father's voice from the veranda, where she had neglected to look.
"What do you want?" he repeated, as his little girl appeared before him with her flushed and tearful face. Elsie moved slowly toward him, with a timid air and downcast eyes.
"I wanted to tell you something, papa," she said in a low, tremulous tone.
"Well, I am listening," said he, taking hold of her hand and drawing her to his side. "What is it? are you sick or hurt?"
"No, papa, not either; but—but, O papa! I have been a very naughty girl," she exclaimed, bursting into tears, and sobbing violently. "I disobeyed you, papa. I—I have been in the meadow."
"Is it possible! Would youdareto do so when I so positively forbade it only the other day?" he said in his sternest tone, while a dark frown gathered on his brow. "Elsie, I shall have to punish you."
"I did not intend to disobey you, papa," she sobbed; "I quite forgot that you had forbidden me to go there."
"That is no excuse, no excuse at all," said he severely; "You mustremembermy commands; and if your memory is so poor I shall find means to strengthen it."
He paused a moment, still looking sternly at the little, trembling, sobbing girl at his side; then asked, "What were you doing in the meadow? tell me the whole story, that I may understand just how severely I ought to punish you."
Elsie gave him all the particulars; and when, upon questioning her closely, he perceived how entirely voluntary her confession had been, his tone and manner became less stern, and he said quite mildly, "Well, Elsie, I shall not be very severe with you this time, as you seem to be very penitent, and have made so full and frank a confession; but beware how you disobey me again, for you will not escape so easily another time; and remember I will not take forgetfulness as any excuse. Go now to Aunt Chloe, and tell her from me that she is to put you immediately to bed."
"It is only the middle of the afternoon, papa," said Elsie, deprecatingly.
"If it were muchearlier, Elsie, it would make no difference; you must go at once to your bed, and stay there until to-morrow morning."
"What will Lucy and Herbert think when they come in and can't find me, papa?" she said, weeping afresh.
"You should have thought of that before you disobeyed me," he answered very gravely. "If you are hungry," he added, "you may ask Chloe to get you a slice of bread or a cracker for your supper, but you can have nothing else."
Elsie lingered, looking timidly up into his face as though wanting to say something, but afraid to venture.
"Speak, Elsie, if you have anything more to say," he said encouragingly.
"Dear papa, I amsosorry I have been so naughty," she murmured, leaning her head against the arm of his chair, while the tears rolled fast down her cheeks; "won't you please forgive me, papa? it seems to me I can't go to sleep to-night if you are angry with me."
He seemed quite touched by her penitence. "Yes, Elsie," he said, "I do forgive you. I am not at all angry with you now, and you may go to sleep in peace. Good night, my little daughter," and he bent down and pressed his lips to her brow.
Elsie held up her face for another, and he kissed her lips.
"Good night, dear papa," she said, "I hope I shall never be such a naughty girl again." And she went to her room, made almost happy by that kiss of forgiveness.
Elsie was up quite early the next morning and had learned all her lessons before breakfast. As she came down the stairs she saw, through the open door, her papa standing with some of the men-servants, apparently gazing at some object lying on the ground. She ran out and stood on the steps of the portico, looking at them and wondering what they were doing.
Presently her father turned round, and seeing her, held out his hand, calling, "Come here, Elsie."
She sprang quickly down the steps, and running to him, put her hand in his, saying, "Good morning, papa."
"Good morning, daughter," said he, "I have something to show you."
And leading her forward a few paces, he pointed to a large rattlesnake lying there.
"O papa!" she cried, starting back and clinging to him.
"It will not hurt younow" he said; "it is dead; the men killed it this morningin the meadow. Do you seenowwhy I forbade you to go there?"
"O papa!" she murmured, in a low tone of deep feeling, laying her cheek affectionately against his hand, "I might have lost my life by my disobedience. How good God was to take care of me! Oh! I hope I shall never be so naughty again."
"I hope not," said he gravely, but not unkindly; "and I hope that you will always, after this, believe that your father has some good reason for his commands, even although he may not choose to explain it to you."
"Yes, papa, I think I will," she answered, humbly.
The breakfast-bell had rung, and he now led her in and seated her at the table.
Lucy Carrington looked curiously at her, and soon took an opportunity to whisper, "Where were you last night, Elsie? I couldn't find you, and your papa wouldn't say what had become of you, though I am quite sure he knew."
"I'll tell you after breakfast," replied Elsie, blushing deeply.
Lucy waited rather impatiently until all had risen from the table, and then, putting her arm round Elsie's waist, she drew her out on to the veranda, saying, "now, Elsie, tell me; you know you promised."
"I was in bed," replied Elsie, dropping her eyes, while the color mounted to her very hair.
"In bed! before five o'clock!" exclaimed Lucy in a tone of astonishment. "Why, what was that for?"
"Papa sent me," replied Elsie, with an effort. "I had been naughty, and disobeyed him."
"Why, how strange! Do tell me what you had done!" exclaimed Lucy, with a face full of curiosity.
"Papa had forbidden me to go into the meadow, I forgot all about it, and ran in there to get Herbert's arrow for him," replied Elsie, looking very much ashamed.
"Wasthat all?whymypapa wouldn't have punished me for that," said Lucy. "He might have scolded me a little if I had done it on purpose, but if I had told him I had forgotten, he would only have said, 'You must remember better next time.'"
"Papa says that forgetfulness is no excuse; that I am to remember his commands, and if I forget, he will have to punish me, to make me remember better next time," said Elsie.
"He must be very strict indeed; I'm glad he is notmypapa," repliedLucy, in a tone of great satisfaction.
"Come, little girls, make haste and get ready; we are to start in half an hour," said Adelaide Dinsmore, calling to them from the hall door.
The whole family, old and young, including visitors, were on that day to go on a picnic up the river, taking their dinner along, and spending the day in the woods. They had been planning this excursion for several days, and the children especially had been looking forward to it with a great deal of pleasure.
"Am I to go, Aunt Adelaide? did papa say so?" asked Elsie anxiously, as she and Lucy hastened to obey the summons.
"I presume you are to go of course, Elsie; we have been discussing the matter for the last three days, always taking it for granted that you were to make one of the party, and he has never said you should not," replied Adelaide, good-naturedly; "so make haste, or you will be too late. But here comes your papa now." she added, as the library door opened, and Mr. Dinsmore stepped out into the hall where they were standing.
"Horace, Elsie is to go of course?"
"I do not see theof course, Adelaide," said he dryly. "No; Elsie isnotto go; she must stay at home and attend to her lessons as usual."
A look of keen disappointment came over Elsie's face, but she turned away without a word and went upstairs; while Lucy, casting a look of wrathful indignation at Mr. Dinsmore, ran after her, and following her into her room, she put her arm round her neck, saying, "Never mind, Elsie; it's too bad, and I wouldn't bear it. I'd go in spite of him."
"No, no, Lucy, I must obey my father; God says so; and besides, I couldn't do that if I wanted to, for papa is stronger than I am, and would punish me severely if I were to attempt such a thing," replied Elsie hastily, brushing away a tear thatwouldcome into her eye.
"Then I'd coax him," said Lucy. "Come, I'll go with you, and we will both try."
"No," replied Elsie, with a hopeless shake of the head, "I have found out already that my papa never breaks his word; and nothing could induce him to let me go, now that he has once said I should not. But you will have to leave me, Lucy, or you will be too late."
"Good-bye, then," said Lucy, turning to go; "but I think it is a great shame, and I shan't half enjoy myself without you."
"Well now, Horace, I think you might let the child go," was Adelaide's somewhat indignant rejoinder to her brother, as the two little girls disappeared; "I can't conceive what reason you can have for keeping her at home, and she looks so terribly disappointed. Indeed, Horace, I am sometimes half inclined to think you take pleasure in thwarting that child."
"You had better call me a tyrant at once, Adelaide," said he angrily, and turning very red; "but I must beg to be permitted to manage my own child in my own way; and I cannot see that I am under any obligation to give my reasons either to you or to any one else."
"Well, if you did not intend to let her go, I think you might have said so at first, and not left the poor child to build her hopes upon it, only to be disappointed. I must say I think it was cruel."
"Until this morning, Adelaide," he replied, "I did intend to let her go, for I expected to go myself; but I find I shall not be able to do so, as I must meet a gentleman on business; and as I know that accidents frequently occur to such pleasure parties, I don't feel willing to let Elsie go, unless I could be there myself to take care of her. Whether you believe it or not, it is really regard for my child's safety, andnotcruelty, that leads me to refuse her this gratification."
"You are full of notions about that child, Horace," said Adelaide, a little impatiently. "I'm sure some of the rest of us could take care of her."
"No; in case of accident you would all have enough to do to take care of yourselves, and I shall not think of trusting Elsie in the company, since I cannot be there myself," he answered decidedly; and Adelaide, seeing he was not to be moved from his determination, gave up the attempt, and left the room to prepare for her ride.
It was a great disappointment to Elsie, and for a few moments her heart rose up in rebellion against her father. She tried to put away the feeling, but it would come back; for she could not imagine any reason for his refusal to let her go, excepting the disobedience of the day before, and it seemed hard and unjust to punish her twice for the same fault, especially as he would have known nothing about it but for her own frank and voluntary confession. It was a great pity she had not heard the reasons he gave her Aunt Adelaide, for then she would have been quite submissive and content. It is indeed true that she ought to have been as it was; but our little Elsie, though sincerely desirous to do right, was not yet perfect, and had already strangely forgotten the lesson of the morning.
She watched from the veranda the departure of the pleasure-seekers, all apparently in the gayest spirits. She was surprised to see that her father was not with them, and it half reconciled her to staying at home, although she hardly expected to see much of him; but there was something pleasant in the thought that he wanted her at home because he was to be there himself; it looked as though he really had some affection for her, and even a selfish love was better than none. I do not mean that these were Elsie's thoughts; no, she never would have dreamed of calling her father selfish; but the undefined feeling was there, as she watched him hand the ladies into the carriage, and then turn and reenter the house as they drove off.
But Miss Day's bell rang, and Elsie gathered up her books and hastened to the school-room. Her patience and endurance were sorely tried that morning, for Miss Day was in an exceedingly bad humor, being greatly mortified and also highly indignant that she had not been invited to make one of the picnic party; and Elsie had never found her more unreasonable and difficult to please; and her incessant fault-finding and scolding were almost more than the little girl could bear in addition to her own sad disappointment. But at last the morning, which had seldom seemed so long, was over, and Elsie dismissed from the school-room for the day.
At dinner, instead of the usual large party, there were only her father and the gentleman with whom he was transacting business, Miss Day, and herself.
The gentleman was not one of those who care to notice children, but continued to discuss business and politics with Mr. Dinsmore, without seeming to be in the least aware of the presence of the little girl, who sat in perfect silence, eating whatever her father saw fit to put upon her plate; and Elsie was very glad indeed when at length Miss Day rose to leave the table, and her papa told her she might go too.
He called her back though, before she had gone across the room, to say that he had intended to ride with her that afternoon, but found he should not be able to do so, and she must take Jim for a protector, as he did not wish her either to miss her ride or to go entirely alone.
He spoke very kindly; Elsie thought with remorse of the rebellious feelings of the morning, and, had she been alone with her father, would certainly have confessed them, expressing her sorrow and asking forgiveness; but she could not do so before a third person, more especially a stranger; and merely saying, "Yes, papa, I will," she turned away and left the room. Jim was bringing up her horse as she passed the open door; and she hastened up-stairs to prepare for her ride.
"O mammy!" she suddenly exclaimed, as Chloe was trying on her hat, "isPomp going to the city to-day?"
"Yes, darlin', he gwine start directly," said Chloe, arranging her nursling's curls to better advantage, and finishing her work with a fond caress.
"Oh! then, mammy, take some money out of my purse, and tell him to buy me a pound of the very nicest candy he can find," said the little girl, eagerly. "I haven't had any for a long time, and I feel hungry for it to-day. What they had bought for the picnic looked so good, but you know I didn't get any of it."
The picnic party returned just before tea-time, and Lucy Carrington rushed into Elsie's room eager to tell her what a delightful day they had had. She gave a very glowing account of their sports and entertainment, interrupting herself every now and then to lament over Elsie's absence, assuring her again and again that it had been the only drawback upon her own pleasure, and that she thought that Elsie's papa was very unkind indeed to refuse her permission to go. As Elsie listened the morning's feelings of vexation and disappointment returned in full force; and though she said nothing, she allowed her friend to accuse her father of cruelty and injustice without offering any remonstrance.
In the midst of their talk the tea-bell rang, and they hurried down to take their places at the table, where Lucy went on with her narrative, though in a rather subdued tone, Elsie now and then asking a question, until Mr. Dinsmore turned to his daughter, saying, in his stern way, "Be quiet, Elsie; you are talking entirely too much for a child of your age; don't let me hear you speak again until you have left the table."
Elsie's face flushed, and her eyes fell, under the rebuke; and during the rest of the meal not a sound escaped her lips.
"Come, Elsie, let us go into the garden and finish our talk," said Lucy, putting her arm affectionately around her friend's waist as they left the table; "your papa can't hear us there, and we'll have a good time."
"Papa only stopped us because we were talking too much at the table," said Elsie, apologetically; "I'm sure he is willing you should tell me all about what a nice time you all had. But, Lucy," she added, lowering her voice, "please don't say again that you think papa was unkind to keep me at home to-day. I'm sure he knows best, and I ought not to have listened to a word of that kind about him."
"O! well, never mind, I won't talk so any more," said Lucy, good-naturedly, as they skipped down the walk together; "but I do think he's cross, and I wish you were my sister, that you might have my kind, good papa for yours too," she added, drawing her arm more closely about her friend's waist.
"Thank you, Lucy," said Elsie, with a little sigh, "I would like to be your sister, but indeed I would not like to give up my own dear papa, for I love him, oh!somuch."
"Why, how funny, when he's so cross to you!" exclaimed Lucy, laughing.
Elsie put her hand over her friend's mouth, and Lucy pushed it away, saying, "Excuse me; I forgot; but I'll try not to say it again."
While the little girls were enjoying their talk in the garden, a servant with a small bundle in her hand came out on the veranda, where Mr. Horace Dinsmore was sitting smoking a cigar, and, casting an inquiring glance around, asked if he knew where Miss Elsie was?
"What do you want with her?" he asked.
"Only to give her dis bundle, massa, dat Pomp jus brought from de city."
"Give it to me," he said, extending his hand to receive it.
A few moments afterward Elsie and her friend returned to the house, and meeting Pomp, she asked him if he had brought her candy.
He replied that he had got some that was very nice indeed, and he thought that Fanny had carried it to her; and seeing Fanny near, he called to her to know what she had done with it.
"Why, Pomp, Massa Horace he told me to give it to him," said the girl.
Elsie turned away with a very disappointed look.
"You'll go and ask him for it, won't you?" asked Lucy, who was anxious to enjoy a share of the candy as well as to see Elsie gratified.
"No," said Elsie, sighing, "I had rather do without it."
Lucy coaxed for a little while, but finding it impossible to persuade Elsie to approach her father on the subject, finally volunteered to do the errand herself.
Elsie readily consented, and Lucy, trembling a little in spite of her boast that she was not afraid of him, walked out on to the veranda where Mr. Dinsmore was still sitting, and putting on an air of great confidence, said:
"Mr. Dinsmore, will you please to give me Elsie's candy? she wants it."
"Did Elsie send you?" he asked in a cold, grave tone.
"Yes, sir," replied Lucy, somewhat frightened.
"Then, if you please, Miss Lucy, you may tell Elsie to come directly to me."
Lucy ran back to her friend, and Elsie received the message in some trepidation, but as no choice was now left her, she went immediately to her father.
"Did you want me, papa?" she asked timidly.
"Yes, Elsie; I wish to know why you send another person to me for what you want, instead of coming yourself. It displeases me very much, and you may rest assured that you will never get anything that you ask for in that way."
Elsie hung her head in silence.
"Are you going to answer me?" he asked, in his severe tone. "Why did you send Lucy instead of coming yourself?"
"I was afraid, papa," she whispered, almost under her breath.
"Afraid! afraid of what?" he asked, with increasing displeasure.
"Of you, papa," she replied, in a tone so low that he could scarcely catch the words, although he bent down his ear to receive her reply.
"If I were a drunken brute, in the habit of knocking you about, beating and abusing you, there might be some reason for your fear, Elsie," he said, coloring with anger; "but, as it is, I see no excuse for it at all and I am both hurt and displeased by it."
"I am very sorry, papa; I won't do so again," she said, tremblingly.
There was a moment's pause, and then she asked in a timid hesitating way, "Papa, may I have my candy, if you please?"
"No, you may not," he said decidedly; "and understand and remember that I positively forbid you either to buy or eat anything of the kind again without my express permission."
Elsie's eyes filled, and she had a hard struggle to keep down a rising sob as she turned away and went slowly back to the place where she had left her friend.
"Have you got it?" asked Lucy, eagerly.
Elsie shook her head.
"What a shame!" exclaimed Lucy, indignantly. "He's just as cross as he can be. He's a tyrant, so he is! just a hateful old tyrant, and I wouldn't care a cent for him, if I were you, Elsie. I'm glad he is not my father, so I am."
"I'm afraid he doesn't love me much," sighed Elsie in low, tearful tones, "for he hardly ever lets me have anything, or go anywhere that I want to."
"Well, never mind,I'llsend and buy a good lot tomorrow, and we'll have a regular feast," said Lucy, soothingly, as she passed her arm around her friend's waist and drew her down to a seat on the portico step.
"Thank you, Lucy; you can buy for yourself if you like, but not for me, for papa has forbidden me to eat anything of the sort."
"Oh! of course we'll not let him know anything about it," said Lucy.
But Elsie shook her head sadly, saying with a little sigh, "No, Lucy, you are very kind, but I cannot disobey papa, even if he should never know it, because that would be disobeying God, and He would know it."
"Dear me, how particular you are!" exclaimed Lucy a little pettishly.
"Elsie," said Mr. Dinsmore, speaking from the door, "what are you doing there? Did I not forbid you to be out in the evening air?"
"I did not know you meant the doorstep, papa. I thought I was only not to go down into the garden," replied the little girl, rising to go in.
"I see you intend to make as near an approach to disobedience as you dare," said her father. "Go immediately to your room, and tell mammy to put you to bed."
Elsie silently obeyed, and Lucy, casting an indignant glance at Mr. Dinsmore, was about to follow her, when he said, "I wish her to go alone, if you please, Miss Lucy;" and with a frown and a pout the little girl walked into the drawing-room and seated herself on the sofa beside her mamma.
Mr. Dinsmore walked out on to the portico, and stood there watching the moon which was just rising over the treetops.
"Horace," said Arthur, emerging from the shadow of a tree near by and approaching his brother, "Elsie thinks you're a tyrant. She says you never let her have anything, or go anywhere, and you're always punishing her. She and Lucy have had a fine time out here talking over your bad treatment of her, and planning to have some candy in spite of you."
"Arthur, I do not believe that Elsie would deliberately plan to disobey me; and whatever faults she may have, I am very sure she is above the meanness of telling tales," replied Mr. Dinsmore, in a tone of severity, as he turned and went into the house, while Arthur, looking sadly crestfallen, crept away out of sight.
When Elsie reached her room, she found that Chloe was not there; for, not expecting that her services would be required at so early an hour, she had gone down to the kitchen to have a little chat with her fellow-servants. Elsie rang for her, and then walking to the window, stood looking down into the garden in an attitude of thoughtfulness and dejection. She was mentally taking a review of the manner in which she had spent the day, as was her custom before retiring. The retrospect had seldom been so painful to the little girl. She had a very tender conscience, and it told her now that she had more than once during the day indulged in wrong feelings toward her father; that she had also allowed another to speak disrespectfully of him, giving by her silence a tacit approval of the sentiments uttered, and, more than that, had spoken complainingly of him herself.
"Oh!" she murmured half aloud as she covered her face with her hands, and the tears trickled through her fingers, "how soon I have forgotten the lesson papa taught me this morning, and my promise to trust him without knowing his reasons. I don't deserve that he should love me or be kind and indulgent, when I am so rebellious."
"What's de matter, darlin'?" asked Chloe's voice in pitiful tones, as she took her nursling in her arms and laid her little head against her bosom, passing her hand caressingly over the soft bright curls; "your ole mammy can't bear to see her pet cryin' like dat."
"O mammy, mammy! I've been such a wicked girl to-day! Oh! I'm afraid I shall never be good, never be like Jesus. I'm afraid He is angry with me, for I have disobeyed Him to-day," sobbed the child.
"Darlin'," said Chloe, earnestly, "didn't you read to your ole mammy dis very morning dese bressed words: 'If any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous,' an' de other: 'If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins.' Go to de dear, bressed Lord Jesus, darlin', an' ax Him to forgive you, an' IknowsHe will."
"Yes, He will," replied the little girl, raising her head and dashing away her tears, "He will forgive my sins, and take away my wicked heart, and give me right thoughts and feelings. How glad I am you remembered those sweet texts, you dear old mammy," she added, twining her arms lovingly around her nurse's neck. And then she delivered her papa's message, and Chloe began at once to prepare her for bed.
Elsie's tears had ceased to flow, but they were still trembling in her eyes, and the little face wore a very sad and troubled expression as she stood patiently passive in her nurse's hands. Chloe had soon finished her labors, and then the little girl opened her Bible, and, as usual, read a few verses aloud, though her voice trembled, and once or twice a tear fell on the page; then closing the book she stole away to the side of the bed and knelt down.
She was a good while on her knees, and several times, as the sound of a low sob fell upon Chloe's ear, she sighed and murmured to herself: "Poor, darlin'! dear, bressed lamb, your ole mammy don't like to hear dat."
Then as the child rose from her kneeling posture she went to her, and taking her in her arms, folded her in a fond embrace, calling her by the most tender and endearing epithets, and telling her that her old mammy loved her better than life—better than anything in the wide world.
Elsie flung her arms around her nurse's neck, and laid her head upon her bosom, saying, "Yes, my dear old mammy, I know you love me, and I love you, too. But put me in bed now, or papa will be displeased."
"What makes you so onrestless, darlin'?" asked Chloe, half an hour afterward; "can't you go to sleep no how?"
"O mammy! if I could only see papa just for one moment to tell him something. Do you think he would come to me?" sighed the little girl. "Please, mammy, go down and see if he is busy. Don't say a word if he is; but if not, ask him to come to me for just one minute."
Chloe left the room immediately, but returned the next moment, saying, "I jes looked into de parlor, darlin', an' Mass Horace he mighty busy playin' chess wid Miss Lucy's mamma, an' I didn't say nuffin' to him. Jes you go sleep, my pet, an' tell Mass Horace all 'bout it in de mornin'."
Elsie sighed deeply, and turning over on her pillow, cried herself to sleep.
Chloe was just putting the finishing touches to the little girl's dress the next morning, when Lucy Carrington rapped at the door.
"Good morning, Elsie," she said; "I was in a hurry to come to you, because it is my last day, you know. Wasn't it too bad of your father to send you off to bed so early last night?"
"No, Lucy, papa has a right to send me to bed whenever he pleases; and besides, I was naughty and deserved to be punished; and it was not much more than half an hour earlier than my usual bedtime."
"You naughty!" exclaimed Lucy, opening her eyes very wide. "Mamma often says she wishes I was half as good."
Elsie sighed, but made no answer. Her thoughts seemed far away. She was thinking of what she had been so anxious, the night before, to say to her father, and trying to gain courage to do it this morning. "If I could only get close to him when nobody was by, and he would look and speak kindly to me, I could do it then," she murmured to herself.
"Come, Aunt Chloe, aren't you done? I want to have a run in the garden before breakfast," said Lucy, somewhat impatiently, as Chloe tied and untied Elsie's sash several times.
"Well, Miss Lucy, I'se done now," she answered, passing her hand once more over her nursling's curls: "but Mass Horace he mighty pertickler 'bout Miss Elsie."
"Yes," said Elsie, "papa wants me always to look very nice and neat; and when I go down in the morning he just gives me one glance from head to foot, and if anything is wrong he is sure to see it and send me back immediately to have it made right. Now, mammy, please give me my hat and let us go."
"You's got plenty ob time, chillens; de bell won't go for to ring dis hour," remarked the old nurse, tying on Elsie's hat.
"My chile looks sweet an' fresh as a moss rosebud dis mornin'," she added, talking to herself, as she watched the two little girls tripping down-stairs hand in hand.
They skipped up and down the avenue several times, and ran all round the garden before it was time to go in. Then Elsie went up to Chloe to have her hair made smooth again. She was just descending for the second time to the hall, where she had left Lucy, when they saw a carriage drive up to the front door.
"There's papa!" cried Lucy, joyfully, as it stopped and a gentleman sprang out and came up the steps into the portico; and in an instant she was in his arms, receiving such kisses and caresses as Elsie had vainly longed for all her life.
Lucy had several brothers, but was an only daughter, and a very great pet, especially with her father.
Elsie watched them with a wistful look and a strange aching at her heart.
But presently Mr. Carrington set Lucy down and turning to her, gave her a shake of the hand, and then a kiss, saying, "How do you do this morning, my dear? I'm afraid you are hardly glad to see me, as I come to take Lucy away, for I suppose you have been having fine times together."
"Yes, sir, indeed we have; and I hope you will let her come again."
"Oh! yes, certainly; but the visits must not be all on one side. I shall talk to your papa about it, and perhaps persuade him to let us take you along this afternoon to spend a week at Ashlands."
"Oh! how delightful!" cried Lucy, clapping her hands. "Elsie, do you think he will let you go?"
"I don't know, I'm afraid not," replied the little girl doubtfully.
"You must coax him, as I do my papa," said Lucy.
But at this Elsie only shook her head, and just then the breakfast-bell rang.
Mr. Dinsmore was already in the breakfast-room, and Elsie, going up to him, said, "Good morning, papa."
"Good morning, Elsie," he replied, but his tone was so cold that even if no one else had been by, she could not have said another word.
He had not intended to be influenced by the information Arthur had so maliciously given him the night before; yet unconsciously he was, and his manner to his little daughter was many degrees colder than it had been for some time.
After breakfast Lucy reminded Elsie of a promise she had made to show her some beautiful shells which her father had collected in his travels, and Elsie led the way to the cabinet, a small room opening into the library, and filled with curiosities.
They had gone in alone, but were soon followed by Arthur, Walter andEnna.
Almost everything in the room belonged to Mr. Horace Dinsmore; and Elsie, knowing that many of the articles were rare and costly, and that he was very careful of them, begged Enna and the boys to go out, lest they should accidentally do some mischief.
"I won't," replied Arthur. "I've just as good a right to be here as you."
As he spoke he gave her a push, which almost knocked her over, and in catching at a table to save herself from falling, she threw down a beautiful vase of rare old china, which Mr. Dinsmore prized very highly. It fell with a loud crash, and lay scattered in fragments at their feet.
"There, see what you've done!" exclaimed Arthur, as the little group stood aghast at the mischief.
It happened that Mr. Dinsmore was just then in the library, and the noise soon brought him upon the scene of action.
"Who did this?" he asked, in a wrathful tone, looking from one to the other.
"Elsie," said Arthur; "she threw it down and broke it."
"Troublesome, careless child! I would not have taken a hundred dollars for that vase," he exclaimed. "Go to your room! go this instant, and stay there until I send for you; and remember, if you ever come in here again without permission I shall punish you."
He opened the door as he spoke, and Elsie flew across the hall, up the stairs, and into her own room, without once pausing or looking back.
"Now go out, every one of you, and don't come in here again; this is no place for children," said Mr. Dinsmore, turning the others into the hall, and shutting and locking the door upon them.
"You ought to be ashamed, Arthur Dinsmore," exclaimed Lucy indignantly; "it was all your own fault, and Elsie was not to blame at all, and you know it."
"I didn't touch the old vase, and I'm not going to take the blame of it, either, I can tell you, miss," replied Arthur, moving off, followed by Walter and Enna, while Lucy walked to the other end of the hall, and stood looking out of the window, debating in her own mind whether she had sufficient courage to face Mr. Dinsmore, and make him understand where the blame of the accident ought to lie.
At length she seemed to have solved the question; for turning about and moving noiselessly down the passage to the library door, she gave a timid little rap, which was immediately answered by Mr. Dinsmore's voice saying, "Come in."
Lucy opened the door and walked in, closing it after her.
Mr. Dinsmore sat at a table writing, and he looked up with an expression of mingled surprise and impatience.
"What do you want, Miss Lucy?" he said, "speak quickly, for I am very busy."
"I just wanted to tell you, sir," replied Lucy, speaking up quite boldly, "that Elsie was not at all to blame about the vase; for it was Arthur who pushed her and made her fall against the table, and that was the way the vase came to fall and break."
"What made him push her?" he asked.
"Just because Elsie asked him, and Walter, and Enna to go out, for fear they might do some mischief."
Mr. Dinsmore's pen was suspended over the paper for a moment, while he sat thinking with a somewhat clouded brow; but presently turning to the little girl, he said quite pleasantly, "Very well, Miss Lucy, I am much obliged to you for your information, for I should be very sorry to punish Elsie unjustly. And now will you do me the favor to go to her and tell her that her papa says she need not stay in her room any longer?"
"Yes, sir, I will," replied Lucy, her face sparkling with delight as she hurried off with great alacrity to do his bidding.
She found Elsie in her room crying violently, and throwing her arms around her neck she delivered Mr. Dinsmore's message, concluding with, "So now, Elsie, you see you needn't cry, nor feel sorry any more; but just dry your eyes and let us go down into the garden and have a good time."
Elsie was very thankful to Lucy, and very glad that her papa now knew that she was not to blame; but she was still sorry for his loss, and his words had wounded her too deeply to be immediately forgotten; indeed it was some time before the sore spot they had made in her heart was entirely healed. But she tried to forget it all and enter heartily into the sports proposed by Lucy.
The Carringtons were not to leave until the afternoon, and the little girls spent nearly the whole morning in the garden, coming into the drawing-room a few moments before the dinner-bell rang.
Mrs. Carrington sat on a sofa engaged with some fancy work, while Herbert, who had not felt well enough to join the other children, had stretched himself out beside her, putting his head in her lap.
Mr. Carrington and Mr. Horace Dinsmore were conversing near by.
Lucy ran up to her papa and seated herself upon his knee with her arm around his neck; while Elsie stopped a moment to speak to Herbert, and then timidly approaching her father, with her eyes upon the floor, said in a low, half-frightened tone, that reached no ear but his, "I am very sorry about the vase, papa."
He took her hand, and drawing her close to him, pushed back the hair from her forehead with his other hand, and bending down to her, said almost in a whisper, "Never mind, daughter, we will forget all about it. I am sorry I spoke so harshly to you, since Lucy tells me you were not so much to blame."
Elsie's face flushed with pleasure, and she looked up gratefully; but before she had time to reply, Mrs. Carrington said, "Elsie, we want to take you home with us to spend a week; will you go?"
"I should like to, very much, indeed, ma'am, if papa will let me," replied the little girl, looking wistfully up into his face.
"Well, Mr. Dinsmore, what do you say? I hope you can have no objection," said Mrs. Carrington, looking inquiringly at him; while her husband added, "Oh! yes, Dinsmore, you must let her go by all means; you can certainly spare her for a week, and it need be no interruption to her lessons, as she can share with Lucy in the instructions of our governess, who is really a superior teacher."
Mr. Dinsmore was looking very grave, and Elsie knew from the expression of his countenance what his answer would be, before he spoke. He had noticed the indignant glance Lucy had once or twice bestowed upon him, and remembering Arthur's report of the conversation between the two little girls the night before, had decided in his own mind that the less Elsie saw of Lucy the better.
"I thank you both for your kind attention to my little girl," he replied courteously, "but while fully appreciating your kindness in extending the invitation, I must beg leave to decline it, as I am satisfied that home is the best place for her at present."
"Ah! no, I suppose we ought hardly to have expected you to spare her so soon after your return," said Mrs. Carrington; "but, really, I am very sorry to be refused, for Elsie is such a good child that I am always delighted to have Lucy and Herbert with her."
"Perhaps you think better of her than she deserves, Mrs. Carrington. I find that Elsie is sometimes naughty and in need of correction, as well as other children, and therefore, I think it best to keep her as much as possible under my own eye," replied Mr. Dinsmore, looking very gravely at his little daughter as he spoke.
Elsie's face flushed painfully, and she had hard work to keep from bursting into tears. It was a great relief to her that just at that moment the dinner-bell rang, and there was a general movement in the direction of the dining-room. Her look was touchingly humble as her father led her in and seated her at the table.
She was thinking, "Papa says I am naughty sometimes, but oh! howverynaughty he would think me if he knew all the wicked feelings I had yesterday."
As soon as they had risen from the table, Mrs. Carrington bade Lucy go up to her maid to have her bonnet put on, as the carriage was already at the door.
Elsie would have gone with her, but her father had taken her hand again, and he held it fast.
She looked up inquiringly into his face.
"Stay here," he said. "Lucy will be down again in a moment."
And Elsie stood quietly at his side until Lucy returned.
But even then her father did not relinquish his hold of her hand, and all the talking the little girls could do must be done close at his side.
Yet, as he was engaged in earnest conversation with Mr. Carrington, and did not seem to be listening to them, Lucy ventured to whisper to Elsie, "I think it's real mean of him; he might let you go."
"No," replied Elsie, in the same low tone, "I'm sure papa knows best; and besides, Ihavebeen naughty, and don't deserve to go, though I should like to, dearly."
"Well, good-bye," said Lucy, giving her a kiss.
It was not until Mr. Carrington's carriage was fairly on its way down the avenue, that Mr. Dinsmore dropped his little girl's hand; and then he said, "I want you in the library, Elsie; come to me in half an hour."
"Yes, papa, I will," she replied, looking a little frightened.
"You need not be afraid," he said, in a tone of displeasure; "I am not going to hurt you."
Elsie blushed and hung her head, but made no reply, and he turned away and left her. She could not help wondering what he wanted with her, and though she tried not to feel afraid, it was impossible to keep from trembling a little as she knocked at the library door.
Her father's voice said, "Come in," and entering, she found him alone, seated at a table covered with papers and writing materials, while beside the account book in which he was writing lay a pile of money, in bank notes, and gold and silver.
"Here, Elsie," he said, laying down his pen, "I want to give you your month's allowance. Your grandfather has paid it to you heretofore, but of course, now that I am at home, I attend to everything that concerns you. You have been receiving eight dollars—I shall give you ten," and he counted out the money and laid it before her as he spoke; "but I shall require a strict account of all that you spend. I want you to learn to keep accounts, for if you live, you will some day have a great deal of money to take care of; and here is a blank book that I have prepared, so that you can do so very easily. Every time that you lay out or give away any money, you must set it down here as soon as you come home; be particular about that, lest you should forget something, because you must bring your book to me at the end of every month, and let me see how much you have spent, and what is the balance in hand; and if you are not able to make it come out square, and tell me what you have done with every penny, you will lose either the whole or a part of your allowance for the next month, according to the extent of your delinquency. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very well. Let me see now how much you can remember of your last month's expenditures. Take the book and set down everything you can think of."
Elsie had a good memory, and was able to remember how she had spent almost every cent during the time specified; and she set down one item after another, and then added up the column without any mistake.
"That was very well done," said her father approvingly. And then running over the items half aloud, "Candy, half a dollar; remember, Elsie, there is to be no more money disposed of in that way; not as a matter of economy, by any means, but because I consider is very injurious. I am very anxious that you should grow up strong and healthy. I would not for anything have you a miserable dyspeptic."
Then suddenly closing the book and handing it to her, he said, inquiringly, "You were very anxious to go to Ashlands?"
"I would have liked to go, papa, if you had been willing," she replied meekly.
"I am afraid Lucy is not a suitable companion for you, Elsie. I think she puts bad notions into your head," he said very gravely.
Elsie flushed and trembled, and was just opening her lips to make her confession, when the door opened and her grandfather entered. She could not speak before him, and so remained silent.
"Does she not sometimes say naughty things to you?" asked her father, speaking so low that her grandfather could not have heard.
"Yes, sir," replied the little girl, almost under her breath.
"I thought so," said he, "and therefore I shall keep you apart as entirely as possible; and I hope there will be no murmuring on your part."
"No, papa, you know best," she answered, very humbly.
Then, putting the money into her hands, he dismissed her. When she had gone out he sat for a moment in deep thought. Elsie's list of articles bought with her last month's allowance consisted almost entirely of gifts for others, generally the servants. There were some beads and sewing-silk for making a purse, and a few drawing materials; but with the exception of the candy, she had bought nothing else for herself. This was what her father was thinking of.
"She is a dear, unselfish, generous little thing," he said to himself. "However, I may be mistaken; I must not allow myself to judge from only one month. She seems submissive, too,"—he had overheard what passed between her and Lucy at parting—"but perhaps that was for effect; she probably suspected I could hear her—and she thinks me a tyrant, and obeys from fear, not love."
This thought drove away all the tender feeling that had been creeping into his heart; and when he next met his little daughter, his manner was as cold and distant as ever, and Elsie found it impossible to approach him with sufficient freedom to tell him what was in her heart.
"Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally justiceTriumphs."—LONGFELLOW'SEvangeline.
"How disappointment tracksThe steps of hope!"—MISS LANDON.
One afternoon, the next week after the Carringtons had left, the younger members of the family, Arthur, Elsie, Walter and Enna, were setting out to take a walk, when Elsie, seeing a gold chain depending from the pocket of Arthur's jacket, exclaimed:
"O Arthur! howcouldyou take grandpa's watch?Doput it away, for you will be almost sure to injure it."
"Hold your tongue, Elsie; I'll do as I please," was the polite rejoinder.
"But, Arthur, youknowthat grandpa would never let you take it. I have often heard him say that it was very valuable, for it was seldom that so good a one could be had at any price; and I know that he paid a great deal for it."
"Well, if he prizes it so, he needn't have left it lying on his table, and so I'll just teach him a lesson; it's about time he learnt to be careful."
"O Arthur! do put it away," pleaded Elsie, "if anything should happen to it, what will grandpa say? I know he will be very angry, and ask us all who did it; and you know I cannot tell a lie, and if he asks me if it was you, I cannot say no."
"Yes, I'll trust you for telling tales," replied Arthur, sneeringly; "but if you do, I'll pay you for it."
He ran down the avenue as he spoke, Walter and Enna following, and Elsie slowly bringing up the rear, looking the picture of distress, for she knew not what to do, seeing that Arthur would not listen to her remonstrances, and, as often happened, all the older members of the family were out, and thus there was no authority that could be appealed to in time to prevent the mischief which she had every reason to fear would be done. Once she thought of turning back, that she might escape the necessity of being a witness in the case; but, remembering that her father told her she must walk with the others that afternoon, and also that, as she had already seen the watch in Arthur's possession, her testimony would be sufficient to convict him even if she saw no more, she gave up the idea, and hurried on, with the faint hope that she might be able to induce Arthur to refrain from indulging in such sports as would be likely to endanger the watch; or else to give it into her charge. At any other time she would have trembled at the thought of touching it; but now she felt so sure it would be safer with her than with him, that she would gladly have taken the responsibility.
The walk was far from being a pleasure that afternoon; the boys ran so fast that it quite put her out of breath to keep up with them; and then every little while Arthur would cut some caper that made her tremble for the watch; answering her entreaties that he would either give it into her care or walk along quietly, with sneers and taunts, and declarations of his determination to do just exactly as he pleased, and not be ruled by her.
But at length, while he was in the act of climbing a tree, the watch dropped from his pocket and fell to the ground, striking with considerable force.
Elsie uttered a scream, and Arthur, now thoroughly frightened himself, jumped down and picked it up.
The crystal was broken, the back dented, and how much the works were injured they could not tell; but it had ceased to run.
"O Arthur! see what you've done!" exclaimed Walter.
"What will papa say?" said Enna; while Elsie stood pale and trembling, not speaking a word.
"You hush!" exclaimed Arthur fiercely. "I'll tell you what, if any of you dare to tell of me, I'll make you sorry for it to the last day of your life. Do you hear?"
The question was addressed to Elsie in a tone of defiance.
"Arthur," said she, "grandpa will know thatsomebodydid it, and surely you would not wish an innocent person to be punished foryourfault."
"I don't carewhogets punished, so that papa does not find out that I did it," said he furiously; "and if you dare to tell of me, I'll pay you for it."
"I shall say nothing, unless it becomes necessary to save the innocent, or I am forced to speak; but in that case I shall tell the truth," replied Elsie, firmly.
Arthur doubled up his fist, and made a plunge at her as if he meant to knock her down; but Elsie sprang behind the tree, and then ran so fleetly toward the house that he was not able to overtake her until his passion had had time to cool.
When they reached the house, Arthur replaced the watch on his father's table, whence he had taken it, and then they all awaited his return with what courage they might.
"I say, Wally," said Arthur, drawing his little brother aside and speaking in a low tone, having first sent a cautious glance around to assure himself that no one else was within hearing; "I say, what would you give me for that new riding whip of mine?"
"O Arthur! anything I've got," exclaimed the little boy eagerly. "But you wouldn't give it up, I know, and you're only trying to tease me."
"No, indeed, Wal; I mean togiveit to you if you'll only be a good fellow and do as I tell you."
"What?" he asked, with intense interest.
"Tell papa that Jim broke the watch."
"But hedidn't" replied the child, opening his eyes wide with astonishment.
"Well, what of that, you little goose?" exclaimed Arthur impatiently; "papa doesn't know that."
"But Jim will get punished," said Walter, "and I don't want to tell such a big story either."
"Very well, sir, then you'll not get the whip; and, besides, if you don't do as I wish, I'm certain you'll see a ghost one of these nights; for there's one comes to see me sometimes, and I'll send him right off to you."
"Oh!don't, Arthur, don't; I'd die of fright," cried the little boy, who was very timid, glancing nervously around, as if he expected the ghost to appear immediately.
"I tell you I will, though, if you don't do as I say; he'll come this very night and carry you off, and never bring you back."
"O Arthur! don't let him come, and I'll say anything you want me to," cried the little fellow in great terror.
"That's a good boy; I knew you would," said Arthur, smiling triumphantly. And turning away from Walter, he next sought out Enna, and tried his threats and persuasions upon her with even better success.
Elsie had gone directly to her own room, where she sat trembling every time a footstep approached her door, lest it should be a messenger from her grandfather. No one came, however, and at last the tea-bell rang, and on going down she found to her relief that her grandfather and his wife had not yet returned.
"You look pale, Elsie," said her father, giving her a scrutinizing glance as she took her seat by his side. "Are you well?"
"Yes, papa, quite well," she replied.
He looked at her again a little anxiously, but said no more; and as soon as the meal was concluded, Elsie hastened away to her own room again.
It was still early in the evening when Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore returned—for once, bringing no company with them; and he had not been many minutes in the house ere he took up his watch, and of course instantly discovered the injury it had sustained.
His suspicions at once fell upon Arthur, whose character for mischief was well established; and burning with rage, watch in hand, he repaired to the drawing-room, which he entered, asking, in tones tremulous with passion, "Where is Arthur! Young rascal! this is some ofhiswork," he added, holding up the injured article.
"My dear, how can you say so? have you any proof?" asked his wife, deprecatingly adding in her softest tones, "my poor boy seems to get the blame of everything that goes wrong."
"He gets no more than he deserves," replied her husband angrily."Arthur! Arthur, I say, where are you?"
"He is in the garden, sir, I think. I saw him walking in the shrubbery a moment since," said Mr. Horace Dinsmore.
The father instantly despatched a servant to bring him in; sending a second in search of the overseer; while a third was ordered to assemble all the house-servants. "I will sift this matter to the bottom, and child or servant, the guilty one shall suffer for it," exclaimed the old gentleman, pacing angrily up and down the room. "Arthur," said he sternly, as the boy made his appearance, looking somewhat pale and alarmed, "how dared you meddle with my watch?"
"I didn't, sir; I never touched it," he replied boldly, yet avoiding his father's eye as he uttered the deliberate falsehood.
"There, my dear, I told you so," exclaimed his mother, triumphantly.
"I don't believe you," said his father; "and if you are guilty, as I strongly suspect, you had better confess it at once, before I find it out in some other way."
"I didn't do it, sir. It was Jim, and I can prove it by Walter and Enna; we all saw it fall from his pocket when he was up in a tree; and he cried like anything when he found it was broken, and said he didn't mean to do it any harm; he was only going to wear it a little while, and then put it back all safe; but now master would be dreadfully angry, and have him flogged."
"That I will, if it is true," exclaimed the old gentleman, passionately; "he shall be well whipped and sent out to work on the plantation. I'll keep no such meddlers about my house."
He looked at Enna. "What do you know of this?" he asked.
"It is true, papa, I saw him do it," she replied, with a slight blush, and sending an uneasy glance around the room.
"Did you see it, too, Walter?" asked his father.
"Yes, sir," replied the little fellow, in a low, reluctant tone; "but please, papa, don't punish him. I'm sure he didn't mean to break it."
"Hold your tongue! heshallbe punished as he deserves," cried the old gentleman, furiously. "Here, sir," turning to the overseer, and pointing to Jim, "take the fellow out, and give him such a flogging as he will remember."
Elsie was sitting in her own room, trying to learn a lesson for the next day, but finding great difficulty in fixing her thoughts upon it, when she was startled by the sudden entrance of Aunt Chloe, who, with her apron to her eyes, was sobbing violently.
"O mammy, mammy! what's the matter? has anything happened to you?" inquired the little girl, in a tone of great alarm, starting to her feet, and dropping her book in her haste and fright.
"Why," sobbed Chloe, "Jim, he's been an' gone an' broke ole master's watch, an' he's gwine be whipped, an' old Aunt Phoebe she's cryin' fit to break her ole heart 'bout her boy, kase—"
Elsie waited to hear no more, but darting out into the hall, and encountering her father on his way to his room, she rushed up to him, pale and agitated, and seizing his hand, looked up eagerly into his face, exclaiming with a burst of tears and sobs, "O papa, papa! don't, oh!don'tlet them whip poor Jim."
Mr. Dinsmore's countenance was very grave, almost distressed.
"I am sorry it is necessary, daughter," he said, "but Jim has done very wrong, and deserves his punishment, and I cannot interfere."
"Oh! no, papa, he did not,indeedhe did not break the watch. Iknowhe didn't, for I was by and saw it all."
"Is itpossible?" said he, in a tone of surprise; "then tell me who did do it. It could not have been you, Elsie?" and he looked searchingly into her face.
"Oh! no, papa, I would never have dared to touch it. But please don't make me tell tales; but I know it wasn't Jim. Oh!dostop them quickly, before they begin to whip him."
"Aunt Chloe," said Mr. Dinsmore, "go down to my father, and tell him it is my request that the punishment should be delayed a few moments until I come down."
Then taking Elsie's hand, he led her into her room again, and seating himself, drew her to his side, saying, with grave decision, "Now, my daughter, if you want to save Jim, it will be necessary for you to tellallyou know about this affair."
"I don't like to tell tales, papa," pleaded the little girl; "I think it so very mean. Is it not enough for me to tell that I know Jim didn't do it?"
"No, Elsie; I have already said that it isquite necessaryfor you to tellall you know."
"O papa! don't make me; I don't like to do it," she urged, with tears in her eyes.
"I should be very much ashamed of you, and quite unwilling to own you as my child, if under any other circumstances you were willing to tell tales," he replied, in a tone of kindness that quite surprised Elsie, who always trembled at the very thought of opposing the slightest resistance to his will; "but," he added, firmly, "it is the only way to save Jim; if you do not now make a full disclosure of all you know, he will be severely whipped and sent away to work on the plantation, which will distress his poor old mother exceedingly. Elsie, I think you would be doing very wickedly to allow an innocent person to suffer when you can prevent it; and besides, I will add the weight of my authority, and say youmust do it at once; and you well know, my daughter, that there can be no question as to the duty of obedience to your father."
He paused, gazing earnestly down into the little tearful, downcast, blushing face at his side.
"Have I not said enough to convince you of your duty?" he asked.
"Yes, papa; I will tell you all about it," she answered in a tremulous tone.
Her story was told with evident reluctance, but in a simple, straightforward manner, that attested its truthfulness.
Mr. Dinsmore listened in silence, but with an expression of indignation on his handsome features; and the moment she had finished he rose, and again taking her hand, led her from the room, saying, as he did so:
"You must repeat this story to your grandfather."
"O papa! must I? Won't you tell him? please don't make me do it," she pleaded tremblingly, and hanging back.
"My daughter, youmust," he replied, so sternly that she dared not make any further resistance, but quietly submitted to be led into her grandfather's presence.
He was still in the drawing-room, walking about in a disturbed and angry manner, and now and then casting a suspicious glance upon Arthur, who sat pale and trembling in a corner, looking the picture of guilt and misery; for he had heard Chloe deliver his brother's message, and feared that exposure awaited him.
Walter had stolen away to cry over Jim's punishment, and wish that he had had the courage to tell the truth at first; but saying to himself that it was too late now, his father wouldn't believe him, and he would make it up to Jim somehow, even if it took all his pocket-money for a month.
None of the other members of the family had left the room, and all wore an anxious, expectant look, as Mr. Dinsmore entered, leading Elsie by the hand.
"I have brought you another witness, sir," he said, "for it seems Elsie was present when the mischief was done."
"Ah!" exclaimed the old gentlemen; "then I may hope to get at the truth. Elsie, who broke my watch?"
"It was not Jim, grandpa, indeed,indeed, it was not; but oh!pleasedon't make me say who it was," replied the little girl, beseechingly.
"Elsie!" exclaimed her father, in a tone of stern reproof.
"O papa! how can I?" she sobbed, trembling and clinging to his hand as she caught a threatening look from Arthur.
"Come, come, child, you must tell us all you know about it," said her grandfather, "or else I can't let Jim off."
Mr. Dinsmore was looking down at his little girl, and, following the direction of her glance, perceived the cause of her terror. "Don't be afraid to speak out and tell all you know, daughter, for I will protect you," he said, pressing the little trembling hand in his, and at the same time giving Arthur a meaning look.
"Yes, yes, speak out, child; speak out at once; no one shall hurt you for telling the truth," exclaimed her grandfather, impatiently.
"I will, grandpa," she said, trembling and weeping; "but please don't be very angry with Arthur; if you will forgive him this time, I think he will never meddle any more; and I am quite sure he did not mean to break it."
"So itwas you, after all, you young rascal! I knew it from the first!" cried the old gentleman, striding across the room, seizing the boy by the shoulder and shaking him roughly.
"But go on, Elsie, let us have the whole story," he added, turning to her again, but still keeping his hold upon Arthur. "You young dog!" he added, when she had finished. "Yes, I'll forgive you when you've had a good, sound flogging, and a week's solitary confinement on bread and water, but not before."
So saying, he was about to lead him from the room, when Elsie suddenly sprang forward, and with clasped hands, and flushed, eager face, she pleaded earnestly, beseechingly, "O grandpa! don't whip him, don't punish him! He will never be so naughty again. Will you, Arthur? Letme payfor the watch, grandpa, and don't punish him. I would so like to do it."