Mildred and Elsie

The letter telling of his conversion had brought a double delight to both Mildred and her mother, in the joy a Christian must ever feel in the salvation of a soul, the consecration of another heart and life to the service of Christ, and in the assurance that the darling Elsie was no longer left to an unsatisfied hunger for parental love; this the tone of his letter made very evident; his heart seemed overflowing with the tenderest fatherly affection; and indeed he said plainly that her death would have been worse to him than the loss of everything else he possessed.

But he did not go into particulars in regard to the nature or exciting cause of her illness.

On the deck of a steamer rapidly ploughing her way down Lake Michigan, sat a gentleman with a little girl on his knee. His arm encircled her waist, hers was about his neck. He was a very handsome man, apparently considerably under thirty years of age; hardly old enough, a stranger would judge, to be the father of the bewitchingly beautiful child he held, though there seemed a world of fatherly affection in the clasp of his arm and the tenderness of his gaze into the sweet face now resting on his shoulder, while the soft brown eyes looked out dreamily over the water, now lifted to his with an expression of confiding filial love and reverence.

"Papa, I am having a delightful time," she said, softly stroking his face and beard with her small white hand.

"I am very glad, my darling, that you enjoy it so much, and I trust it is doing you good," he answered.

"Yes, papa, but I don't need it; I'm as well as can be now."

"Free from disease, but not yet quite so strong as papa would like to see you," he said, with a smile and a tender caress.

"Shall we be long on this boat, papa?"

"Until some time to-morrow morning, when, if all goes well, we expect to land at Michigan City, where we will take the stage for Pleasant Plains, the home of our cousins the Keiths. Do you remember your Cousin Mildred?"

"A very little, papa; I don't remember her looks, except that they were pleasant to me when she used to take me on her lap and hug and kiss me."

"Your grandpa wrote me that she was very kind to you. She is the only one of the family you have ever met."

"Please tell me about the rest, papa. Are Cousin Milly's father and mother my uncle and aunt?"

"You may say Uncle Stuart and Aunt Marcia to them, though they are really your cousins. Well, what is it?" seeing a doubtful, troubled look in the eyes lifted to his.

"Please papa, don't be vexed with me," she murmured, dropping her eyes and blushing deeply, "but would it – be quite – quite true and right to call them so when they are not really?"

He drew her closer and softly kissing the glowing cheek, "I should prefer to have you call them aunt and uncle," he said, "and I cannot see anything wrong or untrue in doing so; but if it is a question of conscience with you, my darling, I shall not insist."

"Thank you, dear papa," she said, looking up gratefully and drawing a long sigh of relief; "but I want to do as you wish; please tell me why you do not think it wrong."

"They may adopt you as their niece, you them as your uncle and aunt," he answered, smiling down at the grave, earnest little face.

"What a nice idea, papa!" she exclaimed with a low, musical laugh, her face growing bright and glad; "that makes it all right, I think. I knew about adopted children and adopted parents, but I didn't think of any other adopted relations."

"But do you not see that that must follow as a matter of course?"

A middle-aged colored woman had drawn near carrying a light shawl. "De air gettin' little bit cool, I tink, massa," she remarked, in a respectful tone. "I'se 'fraid my chile cotch cold."

"Quite right, Aunt Chloe," he returned, taking the shawl from her and wrapping it carefully about the little girl.

But he had scarcely done so when a sudden storm of wind came sweeping down upon the lake, from the northwest, and drove them into the cabin.

There were other passengers, but the saloon was not crowded, and for a time proved a pleasant enough retreat. Supper was served presently and partaken of in tolerable comfort, though the lake was growing rough, and the vessel rolling and pitching in a way that made it a little difficult to keep the dishes on the table and eat and drink without accident. But, as they were not supposed to be in danger, the little mishaps merely gave occasion for mirth and pleasantry.

But ere long the storm increased in violence, the wind blowing a gale, accompanied with thunder, lightning, and torrents of rain. The faces of men and women grew pale and anxious, conversation had almost ceased, and scarce a sound was heard but the war of the elements mingled with the heavy tread of the sailors and the hoarse commands of the captain and mate.

The little girl, seated on a sofa by her father's side, crept closer to him, with a whispered, "Papa, is there any danger?"

"I'm afraid there is, my darling," he said, putting his arm about her and drawing her closer still; "but we will trust in Him who holds the winds and the waters in the hollow of his hand. I do not need to remind my little Elsie that no real evil can befall us if we are his children."

"No, papa; and oh, how sweet it is to know that."

"It is your bedtime," he said, glancing at his watch.

"But you will not send me away from you to-night, dear papa?" and she looked pleadingly into his face.

"No, my precious child! no, indeed! not for all I am worth would I let you out of my sight in this storm, but I will go with you to your state-room."

He half led, half carried her, for the vessel was now plunging so madly through the water, with such rolls and lurches, that it was no easy matter for a landsman to keep his feet.

They found Aunt Chloe in the state-room waiting to disrobe her nursling and prepare her for her night's rest; but Mr. Dinsmore dismissed her, saying Elsie should not be undressed, as there was no knowing what might occur before morning.

"Don't you undress, either, Aunt Chloe," he added, as she kissed the child good-night and turned to go. "Lie down in your berth and sleep if you can; but so that you will be ready to leave it the instant you are called. Give John the same direction from me, and tell him to keep near the door of my state-room."

Left alone with his little girl, he knelt with her by his side, his arm supporting her while he commended both her and himself, as well as the others on the vessel, and dear ones far away, to the protecting care of Him who neither slumbers nor sleeps. Then lifting the child in his arms he held her to his heart for a moment, caressing her with exceeding tenderness.

"My darling, you shall lie in your father's arms to-night," he said, as he laid her in the lower berth and stretched himself by her side.

"That will be so nice," she said, creeping close and laying her cheek to his; "it would make me glad of the storm, if I were quite, quite sure that the boat will get safe into port. But O papa! if it shouldn't I am so glad that you are not here without me."

"Why, my pet?"

"Because if you – if anything happens to you, I want to be with you and share it. Papa, papa, don't try to save me if you cannot be saved too, for I couldn't bear to live without you!" she concluded with a low cry of mingled grief, terror, and entreaty, as she clung about his neck, dropping tears on his face.

"God grant we may not be parted," he returned, holding her close. "We will cling together through whatever comes. But now dearest, try to go to sleep, fearing nothing, for you are not only in the arms of your earthly father, but the Everlasting Arms are underneath and around both you and me. We have asked our heavenly Father to take care of us, and we know that he is the hearer and answerer of prayer."

"And I'm sure Miss Rose prays for us too, papa," she whispered, "she loves us so dearly; and I do believe God will spare us to her. But if he does not see best to do that, he will take us to himself, and O dear, dear papa! I think it would be very sweet for you and me to go to heaven together!"

"Very sweet indeed, my precious one! very bitter for either to be left here bereft of the other. But let us not anticipate evil. Still," he added after a moment's thought, "it is right and wise to be prepared for any event; so, dear one, should I be lost and you saved, tell Mr. Travilla I gave you to him; that I want him to adopt you as his own. I know he will esteem it the greatest kindness I could possibly have done him, and will be to you a father tender, loving, and true; a better one than I have been." His tones grew husky and tremulous.

"Papa, papa, don't!" she cried, bursting into sobs and tears, and clinging to him with an almost deathlike grasp. "I can't bear it! I don't want to live without you! I won't! I will drown too, if you do!"

"Hush, hush, darling! do not talk so; that would not be right; we must never throw away our lives unless in trying to save others," he said, soothing her with the tenderest caresses. "But there, I didn't mean to distress you so; and something seems to tell me we shall both be saved. Let me wipe away your tears. There, do not cry any more; give papa another kiss, then lay your head down upon his breast and go to sleep."

She obeyed; he clasped her close with one arm, while the other hand was passed caressingly again and again over her hair and cheek. Presently her quietude and regular breathing told him that she slept.

He lay very still that her slumbers might not be disturbed, but thought was busy in his brain, thought of the past, the present, the future; of the fair young girl away in a distant city, expecting soon to become his bride; of the beloved child sleeping on his breast; of the father who regarded him with such pride and affection as his first-born, "his might and the beginning of his strength;" how would his death affect them in case he were lost this night? Ah, Rose might console herself with another lover; his father had other sons; but Elsie? ah, he was sure his place in her heart could never be filled; Travilla would be kind and tender, but – as she herself had once said – he was not her own father and could never be, even if he gave her to him. What a precious, loving child she was! how deep and strong her filial affection! she seemed to have no memory for past severity on his part (ah, what would he not give to be able to blot it from his own remembrance, or rather that it had never been!), but to dwell with delight upon every act, word, and look of love he had ever bestowed upon her. Ah, the bitterness of death, should it come, would be the parting from her; the leaving her behind to meet life's dangers and trials bereft of his protecting love and care.

But insensibly waking thought merged into dreams; then his senses were wrapped in profounder slumber, and at length he awoke to find that the storm had passed, the sun arisen, and the vessel was nearing port.

CHAPTER XIX

"The angels sang in heaven when she was born."Longfellow.

"Thank God, the danger is past!" came in a low-breathed exclamation from Mr. Dinsmore's lips. "Ah, my darling, did I wake you?" as he perceived the soft brown eyes of his little daughter gazing lovingly into his.

"No, papa dear, I have been awake a good while, but have not dared to move for fear of disturbing you," she said, lifting her head from his breast to put her arms about his neck, and kissing him again and again.

"Did you sleep well, daughter?" he asked, fondly stroking her hair and returning her loving caresses.

"Yes, papa, I don't believe I moved once after we stopped talking last night. I hope you too have had a good sleep?"

"Yes, and feel greatly refreshed. Our heavenly Father has been very good to us. Let us kneel down and thank him for the light of this new day and for our spared lives."

They landed in safety, breakfasted at a hotel, and took the stage for Pleasant Plains; glad to find they had it to themselves – they and their two servants.

It was a lovely October day; the roads were good, the woods gay with autumn tints, the sun shone brightly after the rain, and the air was sweet, pure, and invigorating.

Elsie sat by her father's side gay and happy as a bird – chatting, singing, laughing; plying him with intelligent questions about everything she saw that was new and strange, and about the cousins whom they were going to visit; he answering her with a patient kindness that never wearied.

He had neglected her in her babyhood, and once – only a year ago – his tyrannical severity had brought her to the borders of the grave: he could not forget it; he felt that he could never fully atone to her for it by any amount of the tenderest love and care; but she should have all he could lavish upon her.

A joyous welcome awaited them on their arrival. Mrs. Keith embraced her cousin with sisterly, his child with motherly affection, and Mildred wept for joy as she folded Elsie to her heart.

Indeed Elsie's beauty, her sweet, loving looks and smiles as she accepted and returned their greetings, won all hearts; while all presently esteemed "Cousin Horace" far more agreeable and lovable than he had been on his former visits; there was less of pride and hauteur about him, more of gentleness and thought for the comfort and happiness of others.

Mildred and her mother were especially delighted with the ardent affection evidently subsisting between him and his little girl; neither seemed willing to lose sight of the other for a single hour; she hovered about him, being almost always close at his side or on his knee, he caressing her now and then, half unconsciously, as he talked, or his hand toying with her curls.

Mrs. Keith remarked upon it to him as they sat alone together the day after his arrival, expressing her heartfelt joy in beholding it.

Elsie had just left the room with Annis, her father's eyes following her as she went, with the wonted expression of parental pride and tenderness.

"Yes," he said with a sigh, "she is the very light of my eyes. Ah, Marcia, I shall never cease to regret not having followed your advice on my last visit, by taking immediate possession of my child! I have lost by that mistake eight years of the joy of fatherhood to the sweetest child ever parent had. And yet it has, perhaps, been better for her, for I should have made her very worldly-minded instead of the sweet little Christian I found her."

"You have at all events escaped the loss I feared for you," Mrs. Keith said, with a sympathizing smile.

"Of her filial love and obedience? Yes, she could not be more dutiful or affectionate than she is. And yet there was at one time a terrible struggle between us; but for which, I now see, that I alone was to blame. It was my severity, my determination to enforce obedience to commands that conflicted with the dictates of her enlightened conscience, that caused the almost mortal illness of which I wrote you. Yes, a year ago I had nearly been written childless. At one time I thought she was gone, and never, never can I forget the unutterable anguish of that hour." His voice had grown husky, his features worked with emotion, and tears filled his eyes.

But recovering himself he went on to give her a somewhat detailed account of the whole affair, as it is to be found in the Elsie books; she listening to the recital with intense, often tearful interest.

The little girls were in Mildred's room dressing dolls and chatting together the while, Mildred, busied with some sewing, overhearing the most of their talk with both interest and amusement. Elsie was describing the Oaks and her home-life there, in reply to inquiries from Annis.

"What a lovely place it must be! and how delightful to have a pony of your own and ride it every day!" exclaimed the latter.

"Yes, it's very nice; but the best of all, I think, is living in papa's house with him. You know we used to live at Roselands, with Grandpa Dinsmore and the rest."

"But I should think you'd often feel lonesome in that big house with nobody but Cousin Horace and the servants. Don't you wish you had a mother like ours and brothers and sisters?"

A bright, eager, joyous look came into Elsie's face at that question; she opened her lips as if to speak, then closed them again. "Oh, wait a minute till I ask papa something!" she said, laying down the doll she had in her hands, and running from the room.

Mr. Dinsmore was just finishing his sad story of her illness as the little girl came in. She heard his last, self-reproachful sentence, and coming softly to his side, put her arm about his neck and her lips to his cheek. "Dear, dear papa, I love you so much!" she whispered. "Aunt Marcia," turning to Mrs. Keith, "I think I have the best, kindest father in the world. He was so, so good to me when I was sick, and he always is. To be sure, he punishes me when I'm naughty; but that's being good to me, isn't it?"

"I think so," Mrs. Keith answered with a smile; then excused herself and left the room for a moment.

"Papa," said Elsie, taking possession of his knee, "may I tell my cousins about Miss Rose?"

"I never forbade you to speak of her, did I?" he returned, in a playful tone, smiling on her and stroking her hair with caressing hand.

"No, sir; but I would like to tell them that – that she is going to be my mamma soon; if I may – if you would like me to?"

"You may tell them; I do not object; but it was quite right to ask permission first," he answered; and with a joyful "Thank you, sir," she skipped away.

When Mrs. Keith rejoined him he had another story for her ear – a brighter, cheerier one than the last; the same that Elsie was gleefully rehearsing to her cousins up-stairs.

"Miss Rose was so nice, so good, so kind," she had been saying.

"Is she pretty too?" asked Annis.

"Yes, but not nearly so beautiful as my own mamma," Elsie said, drawing from the bosom of her dress a lovely miniature set in gold and precious stones.

Annis exclaimed at the extreme beauty of both the face and its setting, while Mildred gazed upon the former with eyes full of a mournful tenderness.

"It's almost prettier than your gold watch," Annis said, "though I thought that was as beautiful as anything could be. Your rings too."

"They were presents from papa and Mr. Travilla," said Elsie, glancing down at them, "and the watch was mamma's. Papa had it done up for me this summer, and gave me the chain with it."

"Such a beauty as it is, too! Did you ever go to school, Elsie?"

"No, we had a governess at Roselands; now papa teaches me himself."

"Do you like that?"

"Yes, indeed! He explains everything so nicely and makes my lessons so interesting. He often tells me a nice story to illustrate, and is never satisfied till I understand every word of my tasks."

"There!" cried Annis looking out of the window, "Zillah is motioning for me to come over. Will you come with me, Elsie?"

"If papa gives permission. I'll run and ask him."

"Why, can't you go across the street without asking leave?" exclaimed Annis in surprise.

"No, I'm not allowed to go anywhere without leave."

"Now, that's queer! Your papa pets you so that I really supposed you could do exactly as you pleased."

"How Enna would laugh to hear you say that," returned Elsie, laughing herself. "She thinks papa is the strictest person she ever saw, and says she wouldn't be ruled as I am for any money."

"How do you mean? He seems so fond of you, and you of him too."

"Yes, indeed, we're ever so fond of each other; but papa will always be obeyed the instant he speaks, and without any teasing, fretting, crying, or sour looks, and he is sure to punish the slightest act of disobedience, never taking forgetfulness of his orders as any excuse."

"Then he is strict," remarked Annis, shrugging her shoulders.

The two went down-stairs together, Elsie asked and received the desired permission, and they hastened to inquire what Zillah wanted.

"I've been baking some jumbles," she said. "I know Annis is very fond of them hot from the oven, and I hope you are too, Elsie. And here is a paper of candy Wallace bought last night. There, sit down and help yourselves."

Elsie looked a little wishfully at the offered dainties, but politely declined them. Both Zillah and Annis urged her to partake, the latter adding, "I'm sure you can't help liking them, for nobody makes better jumbles than Zillah."

"They look very tempting," Elsie answered, "and I have no doubt are very nice, but I think they are richer than papa would approve; and besides he does not allow me to eat between meals, unless it is some very simple thing that I will eat only if quite hungry."

"But the candy; you can eat some of that, can't you?"

"No, Cousin Zillah, I must never eat that unless papa gives it to me himself. Once in a long while he gives me a very little."

"Dear me! I begin to almost think Enna's right," Annis said laughingly.

"Oh, no, no!" cried Elsie, reddening and the tears starting to her eyes; "papa is very, very kind to me; he forbids only what he thinks injurious to my health."

"Certainly," said Zillah, "and it shows that he is a good father; and you are a good daughter to be so ready to stand up for him and so obedient."

She went out of the room, leaving the little girls alone for a short time.

"Annis, here is a note I want Wallace to have at once," she said, coming back. "Will you take it to the office for me?"

"Yes, if Elsie will go with me?"

"I will go and ask papa if I may," Elsie said, tying on her hat. "Ah, there he is now coming out of the gate with Aunt Marcia."

She ran to him and preferred her request, Annis following close behind.

"Yes," he said; "Aunt Marcia and I are going to walk down the street, and you may run on before with Annis. I shall keep you in sight."

"Are you to wait for an answer, Annis?" asked her mother.

"No, ma'am."

"Then you and Elsie can join us as soon as you have handed Wallace the note. I am going to show Cousin Horace a part of the town he hasn't seen yet. Run on ahead, and we will meet you at the office door as you come out."

Eager for the walk with their parents, the little girls made haste to obey.

"There! my shoe-string is untied," cried Annis, suddenly stopping short within a few yards of their destination. "Here, Elsie, won't you run in with the note while I'm tying it?"

Elsie obligingly complied.

The door stood open, and stepping in, she caught sight of a strangely uncouth figure: that of a man, coatless and hatless, wearing green goggles, a red flannel shirt with a white bosom tied on over it, and sitting sidewise in Mr. Keith's office chair, with his legs over the arm, dangling in air; a full set of false teeth twirling about in his fingers, while he gave vent to the most dismal sighs and groans.

One sweeping glance showed the child that this was the only occupant of the room, and springing back in terror, she turned and fled, flying with swift feet to the shelter of her father's arms.

He was not far away, and in a moment she was clinging to him, pale and almost speechless with fright.

"My darling, what is it?" he asked, stooping to take her in his arms. "You are trembling like a leaf. What has alarmed you so?"

"Papa, papa," she gasped, "there's a crazy man in Uncle Stuart's office."

"Never mind, he shall not hurt you, daughter," Mr. Dinsmore answered in soothing tones.

Mrs. Keith and Annis were looking on and listening in surprise and bewilderment; then the former, seeing a tall form issuing from the office door, a coat over one arm, a hat in that hand, while the other seemed to be employed in settling his teeth, burst into a laugh, not loud but very mirthful, saying, "Not a lunatic, dear, but our very odd and absent-minded minister."

He was walking away in the direction to take him farther from them. They saw Wallace meet him and stop to shake hands and exchange a few sentences. Then the two parted, Mr. Lord walked on, and Wallace hurried to meet them.

The thing was soon explained. Mr. Lord had come in heated by a long walk, and finding no one in the office, had pulled off his coat and settled himself to rest and grow cool while waiting for the return of Mr. Keith or Wallace.

But Elsie, with nerves still weak from her severe illness, could not recover immediately from the effects of her sudden fright; she still trembled and was very pale. So a carriage was sent for and a drive substituted for the intended walk; much to the delight of Annis, to whom it was an unusual treat.