Elsie Dinsmore

by Martha Finley

  CHAPTER SEVENTH

  "The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on." --SHAKESPEARE, _Richard III_.

  "A blossom full of promise is life's joy, That never comes to fruit. Hope, for a time, Suns the young flow'ret in its gladsome light, And it looks flourishing--a little while-- 'Tis pass'd, we know not whither, but 'tis gone." --MISS LANDON.

  It was Miss Day's custom to present to the parents of her pupils amonthly report of their conduct and recitations. The regular time forthis had occurred once since Mr. Horace Dinsmore's return, when she, ofcourse, handed Elsie's to him.

  It was very satisfactory, for Elsie was a most diligent scholar,carrying her religious principles into that as well as everything else;and disposed as Miss Day was to find fault with her, she could seldomsee any excuse for so doing, in either her conduct or recitations.

  Mr. Dinsmore glanced over the report and handed it back, saying, "It isall very good; very satisfactory indeed. I am glad to see that she isindustrious and well behaved, for I wish her to grow up an intelligentand amiable woman."

  Elsie, who was standing near, heard the words, and they sent a glow ofpleasure to her cheeks. She looked up eagerly; but her father turnedand walked away without taking any notice of her, and the glow ofhappiness faded, and the soft eyes filled with tears of wounded feeling.

  It was now time for a second report; but alas! the past month had beena most unfortunate one for the little girl; the weather was very warm,and she had felt languid and weak, and so much were her thoughtsoccupied with the longing desire to gain her father's love, sodepressed were her spirits by her constant failure to do so, that sheoften found it impossible to give her mind to her lessons.

  Arthur, too, during much of the time before and since the week of hisimprisonment, had been more than usually annoying, shaking her chairand jogging her elbow so frequently when she was writing, that hercopy-book presented by no means so good an appearance as usual; andnever had Miss Day made out so poor a report for her. She carried itwith much secret satisfaction to the little girl's father, and entereda long complaint of the child's idleness and inattention.

  "Send her to me," he said, angrily. "She will find me in my own room."

  Miss Day had left Elsie in the school-room putting her desk in orderafter the day's work, and she found her still there on her return.

  "Elsie," said she, with a malicious smile, "your father wishes to seeyou immediately. He is in his room."

  The child turned red and pale by turns, and trembled so violently thatfor a moment she was quite unable to move; for she guessed from MissDay's countenance what was probably in store for her.

  "I advise you to go at once," said that lady, "for no doubt the longeryou wait the worse it will be for you."

  At the same moment Mr. Dinsmore's voice was heard calling in a stern,angry tone, "Elsie!"

  Making a violent effort to control her feelings, she started up andhastened to obey.

  The door of his room stood open, and she walked in, asking in atrembling voice, "Did you call me, papa?"

  "Yes," said he, "I did. Come here to me."

  He was sitting with the copy-book and report in his hand, and there wasmuch severity in both tone and look as he addressed her.

  She obeyed instantly, but trembling violently, and with a face pale asdeath, and eyes filled with tears. She lifted them pleadingly to hisface; and, touched by her evident terror and distress, he said in atone somewhat less stern, "Can you tell me, Elsie, how it happens thatyour teacher brings me so bad a report of your conduct and lessonsduring the past month? She says you have been very idle; and the reporttells the same story; and this copy-book presents a shamefulappearance."

  The child answered only by tears and sobs.

  They seemed to irritate him.

  "Elsie," he said, sternly, "when I ask a question, I require an answer,and that instantly."

  "O papa!" she answered, pleadingly, "I couldn't study. I'm verysorry--I'll try to do better--only don't be very angry with me, dearpapa."

  "I am angry with you; very angry, indeed," said he in the same severetone, "and very strongly inclined to punish you. You _couldn't_ study,eh? What reason can you assign, pray? Were you not well?"

  "I don't know, sir," sobbed the little girl.

  "You don't _know_? Very well, then, I think you could not be very illwithout knowing it, and so you seem to have no excuse at all to offer?However, I will not inflict any punishment upon you _this_ time, as youseem to be really sorry, and have promised to do better; but beware howyou let me see such a report as this, or hear such complaints ofidleness again, unless you wish to be _severely punished_; and I warnyou that unless your next copy-book presents a better appearance thanthis, I certainly shall punish you.

  "There are a number of pages here that look quite well," he continued,turning over the leaves; "that shows what you _can_ do, if you choose;now there is an old saying, 'A bird that _can_ sing, and _won't_ sing,must be _made_ to sing.' Hush!" as Elsie seemed about to speak; "not aword. You may go now." And throwing himself back in his easy-chair, hetook up a newspaper and began to read.

  Yet Elsie lingered; her heart so yearned for one word or look ofsympathy and love; she so longed to throw herself into his arms andtell him how dearly, how _very_ dearly she loved him; she did so hungerand thirst for one fond caress--ah! how could she go away without itnow, when for the very first time she found herself alone with him inhis own room, where she had never ventured before, but where she hadoften been in her brightest dreams.

  And so she lingered, trembling, hoping, fearing; but presently helooked up with a cold "Why do you stand there? I gave you permission togo; go at once." And with a sinking heart she turned away and soughtthe solitude of her own room, there to weep, and mourn, and pray thatshe might one day possess the love she so pined for, and bitterly toreproach herself for having by the failures of the past month put itfarther from her.

  And soon a thought came to her which added greatly to her distress. IfArthur continued his persecutions, how could she make the nextcopy-book more presentable? and in case it were not, her father hadsaid positively that he would punish her; and oh! how could she bearpunishment from him, when a word or look of displeasure almost brokeher heart?

  Miss Day seldom remained in the school-room during the whole of thewriting hour, and sometimes the older girls were also absent, so thatArthur had ample opportunity to indulge his mischievous propensities;for Elsie was above the meanness of telling tales, and had she notbeen, Arthur was so great a favorite with his mother that she wouldhave brought a great deal of trouble upon herself by so doing.

  She therefore saw no escape from the dreaded punishment, unless shecould persuade the perverse boy to cease his annoyances; and of thatthere was little hope.

  But she carried her trouble to her Heavenly Father, and asked Him tohelp her. She was still on her knees, pouring out her sobs and prayers,when some one knocked at the door.

  She rose and opened it to find her Aunt Adelaide standing there.

  "Elsie," she said, "I am writing to Miss Rose; have you any word tosend? You may write a little note, if you choose, and I will enclose itin my letter. But what is the matter, child?" she suddenly exclaimed,kindly taking the little girl's hand in hers.

  With many tears and sobs Elsie told her the whole story, not omittingher papa's threat, and her fear that she could not, on account ofArthur's persecutions, avoid incurring the punishment.

  Adelaide's sympathies were enlisted, and she drew the sobbing child toher side, saying, as she pressed a kiss on her cheek, "Never mind,Elsie, I will take my book or needle-work to the school-room every day,and sit there during the writing hour. But why don't you tell your papaabout it?"

  "Because I don't like to tell tales, Aunt Adelaide, and it would makeyour mamma so angry with me; and besides, I can't tell papa anything."

  "Ah, I understand! and no wonder; he is strangely stern to th
e poorchild. I mean to give him a good talking to," murmured Adelaide, moreas if thinking aloud than talking to Elsie.

  Then, kissing the little girl again, she rose hastily and left theroom, with the intention of seeking her brother; but he had gone out;and when he returned he brought several gentlemen with him, and she hadno opportunity until the desire to interfere in the matter had passedfrom her mind.

  "And it shall come to pass, that before they call, I will answer, andwhile they are yet speaking, I will hear." The promise had beenfulfilled to Elsie, and help had been sent her in her trouble.

  When her Aunt Adelaide left her, Elsie--first carefully locking thedoor to guard against a surprise visit from Enna--went to her bureau,and unlocking a drawer, took out a purse she was knitting for herfather, to replace the one she had given to Miss Allison.

  She had commenced it before his return, and having spent upon it nearlyevery spare moment since, when she could feel secure from intrusion,she now had it nearly completed. Ah! many a silent tear had fallen asshe worked, and many a sigh over disappointed hopes had been woven intoits bright meshes of gold and blue.

  But now she had been much comforted and encouraged by her aunt'ssympathy and kind promise of assistance, and, though there were stilltraces of tears upon it, the little face looked quite bright andcheerful again as she settled herself in her little sewing chair, andbegan her work.

  The small white fingers moved right briskly, the bright shining needlesglancing in and out, while the thoughts, quite as busy, ran onsomething in this fashion: "Ah! I am so sorry I have done so badly thepast month; no wonder papa was vexed with me. I don't believe I everhad such a bad report before. What has come over me? It seems as if I_can't_ study, and must have a holiday. I wonder if it is all laziness?I'm afraid it is, and that I ought to be punished. I wish I could shakeit off, and feel industrious as I used to. I will try _very_ hard to dobetter this month, and perhaps I can. It is only one month, and thenJune will be over, and Miss Day is going North to spend July andAugust, and maybe September, and so we shall have a long holiday.Surely I can stand it one month more; it will soon be over, though itdoes seem a long time, and besides, this month we are not to study somany hours, because it is so warm; and there's to be no school onSaturdays; none to-morrow, so that I can finish this. Ah! I wonder ifpapa will be pleased?" and she sighed deeply. "I'm afraid it will be along, long time before he will be pleased with me again. I havedispleased him twice this week--first about the bird, and now this badreport, and that shameful copy-book. But oh! I will try _so_ hard nextmonth, and dear Aunt Adelaide will keep Arthur from troubling me, andI'm determined my copy-book shall look neat, and not have a single blotin it.

  "I wonder how I shall spend the vacation? Last summer I had such adelightful visit at Ashlands; and then they were here all the rest ofthe time. It was then poor Herbert had such a dreadful time with hiship. Ah! how thankful I ought to be that I am not lame, and have alwaysbeen so healthy. But I'm afraid papa won't let me go there this summer,nor ask them to visit me, because he said he thought Lucy was not asuitable companion for me. I _was_ very naughty when she was here, andI've been naughty a great many times since. Oh! dear, shall I never,never learn to be good? It seems to me I am naughty now much oftenerthan I used to be before papa came home. I'm afraid he will soon beginto punish me severely, as he threatened to-day. I wonder what he means?"

  A crimson tide suddenly swept over the fair face and neck, and droppingher work, she covered her face with her hands. "Oh! he couldn't,_couldn't_ mean that! how could I ever bear it! and yet if it wouldmake me really good, I think I wouldn't mind the pain--but the shameand disgrace! oh! it would break my heart. I could never hold up myhead again! Oh! _can_ he mean that? But I must just try to be so verygood that I will never deserve punishment, and then it will make nodifference to me what he means." And with this consolatory reflectionshe took up her work again.

  "Mammy, is papa in his room?" asked Elsie, the next afternoon, as sheput the finishing touches to her work.

  "No, darlin', Marster Horace he rode out wid de strange gentlemen morethan an hour ago."

  Elsie laid her needles away in her work-basket, and opening herwriting-desk, selected a bit of note-paper, on which she wrote in hervery best hand, "A present for my dear papa, from his little daughterElsie!" This she carefully pinned to the purse, and then carried it toher papa's room, intending to leave it on his toilet-table.

  Fearing that he might possibly have returned, she knocked gently at thedoor, but receiving no answer, opened it, and went in; but she had notgone more than half way across the room when she heard his voice behindher, asking, in a tone of mingled surprise and displeasure, "What areyou doing here in my room, in my absence, Elsie?"

  She started, and turned round, pale and trembling, and lifting her eyespleadingly to his face, silently placed the purse in his hand.

  He looked first at it, and then at her.

  "I made it for you, dear papa," she said, in a low, tremulous tone; "doplease take it."

  "It is really very pretty," he said, examining it; "is it possible itis your work? I had no idea you had so much taste and skill. Thank you,daughter; I shall take it, and use it with a great deal of pleasure."

  He took her hand as he spoke, and sitting down, lifted her to his knee,saying, "Elsie, my child, why do you always seem so afraid of me? Idon't like it."

  With a sudden impulse she threw her arms round his neck, and pressedher lips to his cheek; then dropping her head on his breast, shesobbed: "O papa! _dear_ papa, I _do love_ you so _very_ dearly! willyou not love me? O papa! love me a _little_. I know I've been naughtyvery often, but I will _try_ to be good."

  Then for the first time he folded her in his arms and kissed hertenderly, saying, in a moved tone, "I _do_ love you, my darling, my ownlittle daughter."

  Oh! the words were sweeter to Elsie's ear than the most deliciousmusic! her joy was too great for words, for anything but tears.

  "Why do you cry so, my darling?" he asked, soothingly, stroking herhair, and kissing her again and again.

  "O papa! because I am so happy, so _very_ happy," she sobbed.

  "Do you indeed care so very much for my love?" he asked; "then, mydaughter, you must not tremble and turn pale whenever I speak to you,as though I were a cruel tyrant."

  "O papa! I cannot help it, when you look and speak so sternly. I loveyou so dearly I cannot bear to have you angry with me; but I am notafraid of you now."

  "That is right," he said, caressing her again. "But there is thetea-bell," he added, setting her down. "Go into the dressing-roomthere, and bathe your eyes, and then come to me."

  She hastened to do his bidding, and then taking her hand he led herdown and seated her in her usual place by his side.

  There were visitors, and all his conversation was addressed to them andthe older members of the family, but he now and then bestowed a kindlook upon his little girl, and attended carefully to all her wants; andElsie was very happy.

  Everything now went on very pleasantly with our little friend for somedays; she did not see a great deal of her father, as he was frequentlyaway from home for a day or two, and, when he returned, generallybrought a number of visitors with him; but whenever he did notice herit was very kindly, and she was gradually overcoming her fear of him,and constantly hoping that the time would soon come when he would havemore leisure to bestow upon her. She was happy now, and with a mind atease, was able to learn her lessons well; and as her Aunt Adelaidefaithfully kept her promise, and thus freed her from Arthur'sannoyances, she was enabled to do justice to her writing. She tookgreat pains, her copy-book showed a marked improvement in herpenmanship, and its pages had not yet been defaced by a single blot, sothat she was looking forward with pleasing anticipations to the timewhen her report should again be presented to her father.

  But, alas! one unfortunate morning it happened that Miss Day was in avery bad humor indeed--peevish, fretful, irritable, and unreasonable tothe last degree; and, as usual, Elsie was
the principal sufferer fromher ill-humor. She found fault with everything the little girl did;scolded her, shook her, refused to explain the manner of working out avery difficult example, or to permit her to apply to any one else forassistance, and then punished her because it was done wrong; and whenthe child could no longer keep back her tears, called her a baby forcrying, and a dunce for not understanding her arithmetic better.

  All this Elsie bore meekly and patiently, not answering a word; but hermeekness seemed only to provoke the governess the more; and finally,when Elsie came to recite her last lesson, she took pains to put herquestions in the most perplexing form, and scarcely allowing the childan instant to begin her reply, answered them herself; then, throwingdown the book, scolded her vehemently for her bad lesson, and marked itin her report as a complete failure.

  Poor Elsie could bear no more, but bursting into tears and sobs, said:"Miss Day, I _did_ know my lesson, every word of it, if you had askedthe questions as usual, or had given me time to answer."

  "_I_ say that you did _not_ know it; that it was a complete failure,"replied Miss Day, angrily; "and you shall just sit down and learn it,every word, over."

  "I _do_ know it, if you will hear me right," said Elsie, indignantly,"and it is very unjust in you to mark it a failure."

  "Impudence!" exclaimed Miss Day, furiously; "how _dare_ you contradictme? I shall take you to your father."

  And seizing her by the arm, she dragged her across the room, andopening the door, pushed her into the passage.

  "Oh! don't, Miss Day," pleaded the little girl, turning toward her,pale and tearful, "don't tell papa."

  "I will! so just walk along with you," was the angry rejoinder, as shepushed her before her to Mr. Dinsmore's door. It stood open, and he satat his desk, writing.

  "What is the matter?" he asked, looking up as they appeared before thedoor.

  "Elsie has been very impertinent, sir," said Miss Day; "she not onlyaccused me of injustice, but contradicted me flatly."

  "Is it _possible!_" said he, frowning angrily. "Come here to me, Elsie,and tell me, is it _true_ that you contradicted your teacher?"

  "Yes, papa," sobbed the child.

  "Very well, then, I shall certainly punish you, for I will never allowanything of the kind."

  As he spoke he picked up a small ruler that lay before him, at the sametime taking Elsie's hand as though he meant to use it on her.

  "O papa!" she cried, in a tone of agonized entreaty.

  But he laid it down again, saying: "No, I shall punish you by deprivingyou of your play this afternoon, and giving you only bread and waterfor your dinner. Sit down there," he added, pointing to a stool. Then,with a wave of his hand to the governess, "I think she will not beguilty of the like again, Miss Day."

  The governess left the room, and Elsie sat down on her stool, cryingand sobbing violently, while her father went on with his writing.

  "Elsie," he said, presently, "cease that noise; I have had quite enoughof it."

  She struggled to suppress her sobs, but it was almost impossible, andshe felt it a great relief when a moment later the dinner-bell rang,and her father left the room.

  In a few moments a servant came in, carrying on a small waiter atumbler of water, and a plate with a slice of bread on it.

  "Dis am _drefful_ poor fare, Miss Elsie," he said, setting it downbeside her, "but Massa Horace he say it all you can hab; but if you sayso, dis chile tell ole Phoebe to send up somethin' better fore MassaHorace gits through his dinner."

  "Oh! no, thank you, Pompey; you're very kind, but I would not disobeyor deceive papa," replied the little girl, earnestly; "and I am not atall hungry."

  He lingered a moment, seeming loath to leave her to dine upon such fare.

  "You had better go now, Pompey," she said gently; "I am afraid you willbe wanted."

  He turned and left the room, muttering something about "disagreeable,good-for-nothing Miss Day!"

  Elsie felt no disposition to eat; and when her father returned, half anhour afterward, the bread and water were still untouched.

  "What is the meaning of this?" he asked in a stern, angry tone; "whyhave you not eaten what I sent you?"

  "I am not hungry, papa," she said humbly.

  "Don't tell me that," he replied, "it is nothing but stubbornness; andI shall not allow you to show such a temper. Take up that bread thismoment and eat it. You shall eat every crumb of the bread and drinkevery drop of the water."

  She obeyed him instantly, breaking off a bit of bread and putting it inher mouth, while he stood watching her with an air of stern, colddetermination; but when she attempted to swallow, it seemed utterlyimpossible.

  "I cannot, papa," she said, "it chokes me."

  "You _must_," he replied; "I am going to be obeyed. Take a drink ofwater, and that will wash it down."

  It was a hard task, but seeing that there was no escape, she struggledto obey, and at length every crumb of bread and drop of water haddisappeared.

  "Now, Elsie," said her father, in a tone of great severity, "never_dare_ to show me such a temper as this again; you will not escape soeasily next time; remember I am to be obeyed _always_; and when I sendyou anything to eat, _you are to eat it_."

  It had not been temper at all, and his unjust severity almost broke herheart; but she could not say one word in her own defence.

  He looked at her a moment as she sat there trembling and weeping; thensaying, "I forbid you to leave this room without my permission; don'tventure to disobey me, Elsie; sit where you are until I return," heturned to go.

  "Papa," she asked, pleadingly, "may I have my books, to learn mylessons for to-morrow."

  "Certainly," he said; "I will send a servant with them."

  "And my Bible too, please, papa."

  "Yes, yes," he answered impatiently, as he went out and shut the door.

  Jim was just bringing up Elsie's horse, as Mr. Dinsmore passed throughthe hall, and he stepped out to order it back to the stable, sayingthat Miss Elsie was not going to ride.

  "What is the trouble with Elsie?" asked his sister Adelaide, as hereturned to the drawing-room and seated himself beside her.

  "She has been impertinent to her governess, and I have confined her tomy room for the rest of the day," he replied, rather shortly.

  "Are you _sure_, Horace, that Elsie was so much to blame?" asked hissister, speaking in a tone too low to reach any ear but his. "I amcertain, from what Lora tells me, that Miss Day is often cruelly unjustto her; more so than to any other of her pupils."

  He looked at her with a good deal of surprise.

  "Are you not mistaken?" he asked.

  "No! it is a positive fact that she does at times _really abuse_ her."

  "Indeed! I shall certainly not allow _that_" he said, coloring withanger.

  "But in this instance, Adelaide," he added thoughtfully, "I think youmust be mistaken, for Elsie _acknowledged_ that she had beenimpertinent. I did not condemn her unheard, stern and severe as youthink me."

  "If she _was_, Horace, believe me it must have been only after greatprovocation, and her acknowledgment of it is no proof at all, to mymind; for Elsie is so humble, she would think she _must_ have beenguilty of impertinence if Miss Day accused her of it."

  "Surely not, Adelaide; she is by no means wanting in sense," hereplied, in a tone of incredulity, not unmixed with annoyance.

  Then he sat thinking a moment, half inclined to go to his child andinquire more particularly into the circumstances, but soon relinquishedthe idea, saying to himself, "No; if she does not choose to be frankwith me, and say what she can in her own defence, she _deserves_ tosuffer; and besides, she showed such stubbornness about eating thatbread."

  He was very proud, and did not like to acknowledge even to _himself_that he had punished his child unjustly--much less to _her_; and it wasnot until near tea-time that he returned to his room, entering sosoftly that Elsie did not hear him.

  She was sitting just where he had left her, bending over her Bible, a
nexpression of sadness and deep humility on the sweet little face, soyoung and fair and innocent. She did not seem aware of his presenceuntil he was close beside her, when, looking up with a start, she saidin a voice full of tears, "Dear papa, I am very sorry for all mynaughtiness; will you please forgive me?"

  "Yes," he said, "certainly I will, if you are really sorry;" andstooping, he kissed her coldly, saying, "Now go to your room, and letChloe dress you for tea."

  She rose at once, gathered up her books, and went out.

  The little heart was very sad; for her father's manner was so cold shefeared he would never love her again. And she was particularlydistressed by the bad mark given her for recitation that day, becauseshe knew the time was now drawing very near when her report must behanded in to her papa; and the delight with which she had hithertolooked forward to receiving his well-merited approbation, was nowchanged to fear, and dread of his displeasure; yet she knew she hadnot deserved the bad mark, and again and again she determined that shewould tell her father all about it; but his manner had now become socold and stern that she could not summon up courage to do so, but putit off from day to day, until it was too late.