Elsie Dinsmore

by Martha Finley

  CHAPTER SIXTH

  "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me." --_Psalm_ xxiii. 4.

  "'Tis but the cruel artifice of fate, Thus to refine and vary on our woes, To raise us from despair and give us hopes, Only to plunge us in the gulf again, And make us doubly wretched." --TRAP's _Abramuh_.

  It was Sabbath morning, and Elsie, ready dressed for church, stood inthe portico waiting for her father to come down and lift her into thecarriage, in which Adelaide, Louisa, and Enna were already seated.

  The coachman was in his seat, and the horses, a pair of young and fierysteeds purchased by Mr. Dinsmore only a few days before, wereimpatiently stamping and tossing their heads, requiring quite anexertion of strength to hold them in.

  "I don't exactly like the actions of those horses, Ajax," remarked Mr.Dinsmore, as he came out putting on his gloves; "I did not intend tohave them put in harness to-day. Why did you not give us the old bays?"

  "Kase, Marster Horace, ole Kate she's got a lame foot, an' ole marsterhe says dese youngsters is got to be used some time or nuther, an' Ireckoned I mout jis as well use 'em to-day."

  "Do you feel quite sure of being able to hold them in?" asked hismaster, glancing uneasily first at the horses and then at Elsie.

  "Ki! marster, dis here chile ben able to hold in a'most anything,"exclaimed the negro, exhibiting a double row of dazzlingly white teeth;"an' besides, I'se drove dese here hosses twice 'fore now, an' dey wentsplendid. Hold 'em in! Yes, sah, easy as nuffin."

  "Elsie," said her father, still looking a little uneasy, in spite ofAjax's boasting, "I think it would be just as well for you to stay athome."

  Elsie made no reply in words, but her answering look spoke such intensedisappointment, such earnest entreaty, that, saying, "Ah! well, Isuppose there is no real danger; and since you seem so anxious to go, Iwill not compel you to stay at home," he lifted her into the carriage,and seating himself beside her, ordered the coachman to drive on ascarefully as he could.

  "Elsie, change seats with me," said Enna; "I want to sit beside BrotherHorace."

  "No," replied Mr. Dinsmore, laying his hand on his little daughter'sshoulder, "Elsie's place is by me, and she shall sit nowhere else."

  "Do you think we are in any danger of being run away with?" askedAdelaide, a little anxiously as she observed him glancing once or twiceout of the window, and was at the same time sensible that their motionwas unusually rapid.

  "The horses are young and fiery, but Ajax is an excellent driver," hereplied, evasively; adding, "You may be sure that if I had thought thedanger very great I would have left Elsie at home."

  They reached the church without accident, but on their return thehorses took fright while going down a hill, and rushed along at afurious rate, which threatened every instant to upset the carriage.

  Elsie thought they were going very fast, but did not know that therewas real danger until her father suddenly lifted her from her seat, andplacing her between his knees, held her tightly, as though he fearedshe would be snatched from his grasp.

  Elsie looked up into his face. It was deadly pale, and his eyes werefixed upon her with an expression of anguish.

  "Dear papa," she whispered, "God will take care of us."

  "I would give all I am worth to have you safe at home," he answeredhoarsely, pressing her closer and closer to him.

  O! even in that moment of fearful peril, when death seemed just athand, those words, and the affectionate clasp of her father's arm, senta thrill of intense joy to the love-famished heart of the little girl.

  But destruction seemed inevitable. Lora was leaning back, half faintingwith terror; Adelaide scarcely less alarmed, while Enna clung to her,sobbing most bitterly.

  Elsie alone preserved a cheerful serenity. She had built her house uponthe rock, and knew that it would stand. Her destiny was in her HeavenlyFather's hands, and she was content to leave it there. Even death hadno terrors to the simple, unquestioning faith of the little child whohad put her trust in Jesus.

  But they were not to perish thus; for at that moment a powerful negro,who was walking along the road, hearing an unusual sound, turned about,caught sight of the vehicle coming toward him at such a rapid rate, andinstantly comprehending the peril of the travellers, planted himself inthe middle of the road, and, at the risk of life and limb, caught thehorses by the bridle--the sudden and unexpected check throwing themupon their haunches, and bringing the carriage to an instantstand-still.

  "Thank God, we are saved! That fellow shall be well rewarded for hisbrave deed," exclaimed Mr. Dinsmore, throwing open the carriage door.

  Then, leaping to the ground, he lifted Elsie out, set her down, andgave his hand to his sisters one after the other.

  They were almost at the entrance of the avenue, and all preferred towalk the short distance to the house rather than again trust themselvesto the horses.

  Mr. Dinsmore lingered a moment to speak to the man who had done themsuch good service, and to give some directions to the coachman; andthen, taking the hand of his little girl, who had been waiting for him,he walked slowly on, neither of them speaking a word until they reachedthe house, when he stooped and kissed her cheek, asking very kindly ifshe had recovered from her fright.

  "Yes, papa," she answered, in a quiet tone, "I knew that God would takecare of us. Oh! wasn't He good to keep us all from being killed?"

  "Yes," he said, very gravely. "Go now and let mammy get you ready fordinner."

  As Elsie was sitting alone in her room that afternoon she was surprisedby a visit from Lora; it being very seldom that the elder girls caredto enter her apartment.

  Lora looked a little pale, and more grave and thoughtful than Elsie hadever seen her. For a while she sat in silence, then suddenly burst out,"Oh, Elsie! I can't help thinking all the time, what if we had beenkilled! where would we all be now? where would _I_ have been? I believe_you_ would have gone straight to heaven, Elsie; but _I_--oh! I shouldhave been with the rich man the minister read about this morning,lifting up my eyes in torment."

  And Lora covered her face with her hands and shuddered.

  Presently she went on again. "I was terribly frightened, and so werethe rest--all but you, Elsie; tell me, _do_--what kept _you_ from beingafraid?"

  "I was thinking," said Elsie gently, turning over the leaves of herlittle Bible as she spoke, "of this sweet verse: 'Yea, though I walkthrough the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; forthou art with me;' and oh, Lora! it made me so happy to think thatJesus was there with me, and that if I were killed, I should only fallasleep, to wake up again in His arms; then how could I be afraid?"

  "Ah! I would give anything to feel as you do," said Lora, sighing. "Buttell me, Elsie, did you not feel afraid for the rest of us? I'm sureyou must know that _we_ are not Christians; we don't even pretend tobe."

  Elsie blushed and looked down.

  "It all passed so quickly, you know, Lora, almost in a moment," shesaid, "so that I only had time to think of papa and myself; and I haveprayed so much for him that I felt quite sure God would spare him untilhe should be prepared to die. It was very selfish, I know," she addedwith deep humility; "but it was only for a moment, and I can't tell youhow thankful I was for _all_ our spared lives."

  "Don't look so--as if you had done something very wicked, Elsie,"replied Lora, sighing again. "I'm sure we have given you little enoughreason to care whatever becomes of us; but oh! Elsie, if you can onlytell me how to be a Christian, I mean now to try very hard; indeed, Iam determined never to rest until I am one."

  "Oh, Lora, how glad I am!" cried Elsie, joyfully, "for I know that ifyou are really in earnest, you will succeed; for no one ever yet failedwho tried aright. Jesus said, '_Every one_ that asketh, receiveth; andhe that seeketh, findeth; and to him that knocketh, it _shall_ beopened.' Is not _that_ encouraging? And l
isten to what God says here in_this_ verse: 'Ye shall seek me and _find_ me, when ye shall search forme with _all your heart_.' So you see, dear Lora, if you will only seekthe Lord with your _whole heart_, you may be _sure_, _quite_ sure offinding Him."

  "Yes," said Lora, "but you have not answered my question; _how_ am I toseek? that is, what means am I to use to get rid of my sins, and get anew heart? how make myself pleasing in the sight of God? what must I_do_ to be saved?"

  "That is the very question the jailer put to Paul, and he answered,'Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved,'" repliedElsie, quickly turning to the chapter and pointing out the text withher finger, that Lora might see that she had quoted it correctly. "Andin answer to your other question, 'How shall I get rid of my sins?' seehere: 'In that day there shall be a fountain opened to the house ofDavid and to the inhabitants of Jerusalem for sin and foruncleanliness.' That is in Zechariah; then John tells us what thatfountain is when he says, 'The blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleansethus from all sin;' and again, 'Unto Him that loved us, and washed usfrom our sins in His own blood.'"

  "Yes, Elsie, but what must I _do_?" asked Lora, eagerly.

  "Do, Lora? only _believe_" replied Elsie, in the same earnest tone."Jesus has done and suffered all that is necessary; and now we havenothing at all to do but go to Him and be washed in that fountain;believe Him when He says, 'I _give_ unto them eternal life;' justaccept the gift, and trust and love Him; that is the whole of it, andit is so simple that even such a little girl as I can understand it."

  "But surely, Elsie, I _can_, I _must do something_."

  "Yes, God tells us to repent; and He says, 'Give me thine heart;' youcan do that; you can love Jesus; at least He will enable you to, if youask Him, and He will teach you to be sorry for your sins; the Biblesays, 'He is exalted to give repentance and remission of sins;' and ifyou ask Him He will give them to you. It is true we cannot do anythinggood of ourselves; without the help of the Holy Spirit we can donothing right, because we are so very wicked; but then we can alwaysget that help if we ask for it. Jesus said, 'Your Heavenly Father ismore willing to give His Holy Spirit to them that ask Him, than parentsare to give good gifts unto their children. Oh, Lora! don't be afraidto ask for it; don't be afraid to come to Jesus, for He says, 'Him thatcometh unto Me, I will in nowise cast out;' and He is such a preciousSaviour, so kind and loving. But remember that you must come veryhumbly; feeling that you are a great sinner, and not worthy to beheard, and only hoping to be forgiven, because Jesus died. The Biblesays, 'God resisteth the proud, but giveth grace unto the humble.'"

  Lora lingered the greater part of the afternoon in Elsie's room, askingher questions, or listening to her while she read the Scriptures, orrepeated some beautiful hymn, or spoke in her sweet, childish way, ofher own peace and joy in believing in Jesus.

  But at last Lora went to her own room, and Elsie had another quiethalf-hour to herself before the tea-bell again called the familytogether.

  Elsie answered the summons with a light heart--a heart that thrilledwith a new and strange sense of happiness as she remembered herfather's evident anxiety for her safety during their perilous ride,recalling each word and look, and feeling again, in imagination, theclasp of his arm about her waist.

  "Ah! surely papa does love me," she murmured to herself over and overagain; and when he met her at the table with a kind smile, and layinghis hand caressingly on her head, asked in an affectionate tone, "Howdoes my little daughter do this evening?" her cheeks flushed, and hereyes grew bright with happiness, and she longed to throw her armsaround his neck, and tell him how very, very much she loved him.

  But that was quite impossible at the table, and before all the family;so she merely raised her glad eyes to his face and answered, "I am verywell, thank you, papa."

  But, after all, this occurrence produced but little change in Elsie'scondition; her father treated her a little more affectionately for aday or two, and then gradually returned to his ordinary stern, coldmanner; indeed, before the week was out, she was again in sad disgrace.

  She was walking alone in the garden one afternoon, when her attentionwas attracted by a slight fluttering noise which seemed to proceed froman arbor near by, and on hastily turning in to ascertain the cause, shefound a tiny and beautiful humming-bird confined under a glass vase; inits struggles to escape it was fluttering and beating against the wallsof its prison, thus producing the sound the little girl had heard inpassing.

  Elsie was very tender-hearted, and could never see any living creaturein distress without feeling a strong desire to relieve its sufferings.She knew that Arthur was in the habit of torturing every little insectand bird that came in his way, and had often drawn his persecutionsupon herself by interfering in behalf of the poor victim; and now thethought instantly flashed upon her that _this_ was some of his work,and that he would return ere long to carry out his cruel purposes. Thenat once arose the desire to release the little prisoner and save itfurther suffering, and without waiting to reflect a moment she raisedthe glass, and the bird was gone.

  Then she began to think with a little tremor, how angry Arthur wouldbe; but it was too late to think of that now, and, after all, she didnot stand in very great dread of the consequences, especially as shefelt nearly sure of her father's approval of what she had done, havingseveral times heard him reprove Arthur for his cruel practices.

  Not caring to meet Arthur then, however, she hastily retreated to thehouse, where she seated herself in the veranda with a book. It was avery warm afternoon, and that, being on the east side of the house andwell protected by trees, shrubbery, and vines, was as cool a spot ascould be found on the place.

  Arthur, Walter and Enna sat on the floor playing jack-stones--afavorite game with them--and Louise was stretched full length on asettee, buried in the latest novel.

  "Hush!" she said, as Walter gave a sudden shout at a successful tossEnna had just made; "can't you be quiet? Mamma is taking her afternoonnap, and you will disturb her; and, besides, I cannot read in such anoise."

  Elsie wondered why Arthur did not go to see after his bird, but soonforgot all about it in the interest with which she was poring over thestory of the "Swiss Family Robinson."

  The jack-stone players were just finishing their game when they wereall startled by the sudden appearance of Mr. Horace Dinsmore upon thescene, asking in a tone of great wrath who had been down in the gardenand liberated the humming-bird he had been at such pains to catch,because it was one of a rare species, and he was anxious to add it tohis collection of curiosities.

  Elsie was terribly frightened, and would have been glad at that momentto sink through the floor; she dropped her book in her lap, andclasping her hands over her beating heart, grew pale and red by turns,while she seemed choking with the vain effort to speak and acknowledgeherself the culprit, as conscience told her she ought.

  But her father was not looking at her; his eye was fixed on Arthur.

  "I presume it was you, sir," he said very angrily, "and if so, you mayprepare yourself for either a flogging or a return to your prison, forone or the other I am determined you shall have."

  "I didn't _do_ it, any such thing," replied the boy, fiercely.

  "Of course you will deny it," said his brother, "but we all know thatyour word is good for nothing."

  "Papa," said a trembling little voice, "Arthur did not do it; it was I."

  "You," exclaimed her father, in a tone of mingled anger andastonishment, as he turned his flashing eye upon her, "_you_, Elsie!can it be _possible_ that this is _your_ doing?"

  Elsie's book fell on the floor, and, covering her face with both hands,she burst into sobs and tears.

  "Come here to me this instant," he said, seating himself on the settee,from which Louise had risen on his entrance. "Come here and tell mewhat you mean by meddling with my affairs in this way."

  "Please, papa, _please_ don't be so very angry with me," sobbed thelittle girl, as she rose and came forward in obedience to his command;"I didn
't know it was your bird, and I didn't mean to be naughty."

  "No, you _never mean_ to be naughty, according to your own account," hesaid; "your badness is all accident; but nevertheless, I find you avery troublesome, mischievous child; it was only the other day youbroke a valuable vase" (he forgot in his anger how little she hadreally been to blame for that), "and now you have caused me the loss ofa rare specimen which I had spent a great deal of time and effort inprocuring. Really, Elsie, I am sorely tempted to administer a verysevere punishment."

  Elsie caught at the arm of the settee for support.

  "Tell me what you did it for; was it pure love of mischief?" asked herfather, sternly, taking hold of her arm and holding her up by it.

  "No, papa," she answered almost under her breath. "I was sorry for thelittle bird. I thought Arthur had put it there to torture it, and so Ilet it go. I did not mean to do wrong, papa, indeed I did not," and thetears fell faster and faster.

  "Indeed," said he, "you had no business to meddle with it, let whowould have put it there. Which hand did it?"

  "This one, papa," sobbed the child, indicating her right hand.

  He took it in his and held it a moment, while the little girl stoodtremblingly awaiting what was to come next. He looked at the downcast,tearful face, the bosom heaving with sobs, and then at the littletrembling hand he held, so soft, and white, and tender, and thesternness of his countenance relaxed somewhat; it seemed next toimpossible to inflict pain upon anything so tender and helpless; andfor a moment he was half inclined to kiss and forgive her. But no, hehad been very much irritated at his loss, and the remembrance of itagain aroused his anger, and well-nigh extinguished the little spark oflove and compassion that had burned for a moment in his heart. Sheshould be punished, though he would not inflict physical pain.

  "See, Elsie," laughed Louise, maliciously, "he is feeling in his pocketfor his knife. I suspect he intends to cut your hand off."

  Elsie started, and the tearful eyes were raised to her father's facewith a look half of terrified entreaty, half of confidence that such_could not_ be his intention.

  "Hush, Louise!" exclaimed her brother, sternly; "you _know_ you are notspeaking truly, and that I would as soon think of cutting off my ownhand as my child's. You should never speak anything but truth,especially to children."

  "I think it is well enough to frighten them a little sometimes, and Ithought that was what you were going to do," replied Louise, lookingsomewhat mortified at the rebuke.

  "No," said her brother, "that is a very bad plan, and one which I shallnever adopt. Elsie will learn in time, if she does not know it now,that I never utter a threat which I do not intend to carry out, andnever break my word."

  He had drawn a handkerchief from his pocket while speaking.

  "I shall tie this hand up, Elsie," he said, proceeding to do so; "thosewho do not use their hands aright must be deprived of the use of them.There! let me see if that will keep it out of mischief. I shall tie youup hand and foot before long, if you continue such mischievous pranks.Now go to your room, and stay there until tea-time."

  Elsie felt deeply, bitterly disgraced and humiliated as she turned toobey; and it needed not Arthur's triumphant chuckle nor the smirk ofsatisfaction on Enna's face to add to the keen suffering of her woundedspirit; this slight punishment was more to her than a severechastisement would have been to many another child; for the veryknowledge of her father's displeasure was enough at any time to causegreat pain to her sensitive spirit and gentle, loving heart.

  Walter, who was far more tender-hearted than either his brother orsister, felt touched by the sight of her distress, and ran after her tosay, "Never mind, Elsie; I am ever so sorry for you, and I don't thinkyou were the least bit naughty."

  She thanked him with a grateful look, and a faint attempt to smilethrough her tears; then hurried on to her room, where she seatedherself in a chair by the window, and laying her arms upon the sill,rested her head upon them, and while the bitter tears fell fast fromher eyes she murmured half aloud, "Oh! why am I always so naughty?always doing something to displease my dear papa? how I wish I could begood, and make him love me! I am afraid he never will if I vex him sooften."

  Then an earnest, importunate prayer for help to do right, and wisdom tounderstand how to gain her father's love, went up from the almostdespairing little heart to Him whose ear is ever open unto the cry ofHis suffering children. And thus between weeping, mourning, andpraying, an hour passed slowly away, and the tea-bell rang.

  Elsie started up, but sat down again, feeling that she would muchrather do without her supper than show her tear-swollen eyes andtied-up hand at the table.

  But she was not to be left to her choice in the matter, for presentlythere came a messenger bringing a peremptory command from her father"to come down _immediately_ to her supper."

  "Did you not hear the bell?" he asked, in his sternest tone, as shetremblingly took her seat at his side.

  "Yes, sir," she answered, in a low, tremulous tone.

  "Very well, then; remember that you are always to come down the momentthe bell rings, unless you are directed otherwise, or are sick; and thenext time you are so late, I shall send you away without your meal."

  "I don't want any supper, papa," she said, humbly.

  "Hush," he replied, severely; "I will have no pouting or sulking; youmust just eat your supper and behave yourself. Stop this crying atonce," he added, in an undertone, as he spread some preserves on apiece of bread and laid it on her plate, "or I shall take you away fromthe table, and if I do, you will be very sorry."

  He watched her a moment while she made a violent effort to choke backher tears.

  "What is your hand tied up for, Elsie?" asked her grandfather; "haveyou been hurt?"

  Elsie's face flushed painfully, but she made no reply.

  "You must speak when you are spoken to," said her father; "answer yourgrandfather's question at once."

  "Papa tied it up, because I was naughty," replied the little girl,vainly striving to suppress a sob.

  Her father made a movement as if about to lead her from the table.

  "O papa! _don't_" she cried, in terror; "I will be good."

  "Let me have no more crying, then," said he; "this is shameful behaviorfor a girl eight years old; it would be bad enough in a child of Enna'sage." He took out his handkerchief and wiped her eyes. "Now," said he,"begin to eat your supper at once, and don't let me have to reprove youagain."

  Elsie tried to obey, but it seemed very difficult, indeed almostimpossible, while she knew that her father was watching her closely,and _felt_ that everybody else was looking at her and thinking, "What anaughty little girl you are!"

  "Oh!" thought the poor child, "if papa would only quit looking at me,and the rest would forget all about me and eat their suppers, maybe Icould keep from crying." Then she sent up a silent prayer for help,struggling hard to keep back the tears and sobs that were almostsuffocating her, and taking up her slice of bread, tried to eat.

  She was very thankful to her Aunt Adelaide for addressing a question toher papa just at that moment, thus taking his attention from her, andthen adroitly setting them all to talking until the little girl had hadtime to recover her composure, at least in a measure.

  "May I go to my room now, papa?" asked the timid little voice as theyrose from the table.

  "No," he said, taking her hand and leading her out to the veranda,where he settled himself in an easy-chair and lighted a cigar.

  "Bring me that book that lies yonder on the settee," he commanded.

  She brought it.

  "Now," said he, "bring that stool and set yourself down here close atmy knee, and let me see if I can keep you out of mischief for an houror two."

  "May I get a book to read, papa?" she asked timidly.

  "No," said he shortly. "You may just do what I bid you, and nothingmore nor less."

  She sat down as he directed, with her face turned toward him, and triedto amuse herself with her own thoughts, and wa
tching the expression ofhis countenance as he read on and on, turning leaf after leaf, too muchinterested in his book to take any further notice of her.

  "How handsome my papa is!" thought the little girl, gazing withaffectionate admiration into his face. And then she sighed, and tearstrembled in her eyes again. She admired her father, and loved him, "oh!_so_ dearly," as she often whispered to herself; but would she evermeet with anything like a return of her fond affection? There was anaching void in her heart which nothing else could fill; must it alwaysbe thus? was her craving for affection never to be satisfied? "O, papa!my own papa, will you never love me?" mourned the sad little heart."Ah! if I could only be good always, perhaps he would; but I am sooften naughty;--whenever he begins to be kind I am sure to do somethingto vex him, and then it is all over. Oh! I _wish_ I _could_ be good! Iwill try very, _very_ hard. Ah! if I might climb on his knee now, andlay my head on his breast, and put my arms round his neck, and tell himhow sorry I am that I have been naughty, and made him lose his bird;and how much--oh! _how_ much I love him! But I know I never could tellhim _that_--I don't know how to express it; no _words could_, I amsure. And if he would forgive me, and kiss me, and call me his dearlittle daughter. Oh! will he _ever_ call me _that?_ Or if I, might onlystand beside him and lay my head on his shoulder, and he would put hisarm around me, it would make me _so_ happy."

  An exclamation from Enna caused Elsie to turn her head, and suddenlyspringing to her feet, she exclaimed in an eager, excited way, "Papa,there is a carriage coming up the avenue--it must be visitors; please,_please_, papa, let me go to my room."

  "Why?" he asked coolly, looking up from his book, "why do you wish togo?"

  "Because I don't want to see them, papa," she said, hanging her headand blushing deeply; "I don't want them to see me."

  "You are not usually afraid of visitors," he replied in the same cooltone.

  "But they will see that my hand is tied up, and they will ask what isthe matter. O papa! do, _please_ do let me go quickly, before they gethere," she pleaded in an agony of shame and haste.

  "No," said he, "I shall not let you go, if it were only to punish youfor getting off the seat where I bade you stay, without permission. Youwill have to learn that I am to be obeyed at all times, and under allcircumstances. Sit down, and don't dare to move again until I give youleave."

  Elsie sat down without another word, but two bitter, scalding tearsrolled quickly down her burning cheeks.

  "You needn't cry, Elsie," said her father; "it is only an old gentlemanwho comes to see your grandfather on business, and who, as he nevernotices children, will not be at all likely to ask any questions. Ihope you will learn some day, Elsie, to save your tears until there isreally some occasion for them."

  The old gentleman had alighted while Mr. Dinsmore was speaking; Elsiesaw that he was alone, and the relief was so great that for once shescarcely heeded her father's rebuke.

  Another half-hour passed, and Mr. Dinsmore still sat reading, taking nonotice of Elsie, who, afraid to speak or move, was growing very wearyand sleepy. She longed to lay her head on her father's knee, but darednot venture to take such a liberty; but at length she was so completelyoverpowered by sleep as to do so unconsciously.

  The sound of his voice pronouncing her name aroused her.

  "You are tired and sleepy," said he; "if you would like to go to bedyou may do so."

  "Thank you, papa," she replied, rising to her feet.

  "Well," he said, seeing her hesitate, "speak, if you have anything tosay."

  "I am very sorry I was naughty, papa. Will you please forgive me?" Thewords were spoken very low, and almost with a sob.

  "Will you try not to meddle in future, and not to cry at the table, orpout and sulk when you are punished?" he asked in a cold, grave tone.

  "Yes, sir, I will try to be a good girl always," said the humble littlevoice.

  "Then I will forgive you," he replied, taking the handkerchief off herhand.

  Still Elsie lingered. She felt as if she could not go without somelittle token of forgiveness and love, some slight caress.

  He looked at her with an impatient "Well?" Then, in answer to her muterequest, "No," he said, "I will not kiss you to-night; you have beenentirely too naughty. Go to your room at once."

  Aunt Chloe was absolutely frightened by the violence of her child'sgrief, as she rushed into the room and flung herself into her armsweeping and sobbing most vehemently.

  "What's de matter, darlin'?" she asked in great alarm.

  "O mammy, mammy!" sobbed the child, "papa wouldn't kiss me! he said Iwas too naughty. O mammy! will he ever love me now?"