Mildred and Elsie

"Nonsense! Cyril is only a boy; not capable of judging. The current of the river is very swift and strong. I should not have trusted you upon it in a canoe with those boys for any consideration, and am truly thankful that you escaped without accident. But I am not pleased with you."

"Papa, I am very sorry. Please don't be angry with me," she sobbed, hiding her face on his shoulder.

He was silent for a moment, then lifting her face, wiped away her tears with his handkerchief, and kissing her lips, said, "I suppose the temptation was strong, and as it was not an act of positive disobedience to orders, I forgive you. But, my little daughter, you must never do anything of the kind again."

"No, dear papa, I will not," she said, with a sigh of relief. "You are very kind not to punish me."

"Not kinder to you than to myself; it hurts me, I think, quite as much as it does you when I have to punish you," he said, with another loving caress. "Now, darling, bid me good-night and go to your bed."

CHAPTER XXII

"All flesh is grass, and all its glory fadesLike the fair flower dishevell'd in the wind."Cowper's Task.

Annis was in Mildred's room waiting to say good-night to her cousin, rather uneasy, too, lest she had got her into trouble, by coaxing her into the canoe.

"O Elsie!" she said, as the latter came in, "was your papa displeased? did he punish you? You look as if you had been crying."

"He said he was not pleased with me," Elsie answered, brushing away a tear; "that was punishment enough, I'm sure; but he forgave me the next minute and kissed me good-night."

"Oh, I'm glad that was all!" Annis exclaimed, giving Elsie a hug. "I began to be almost afraid he had whipped you."

"No, indeed! he never did that, and I don't believe he ever will," Elsie said, a quick, vivid blush dyeing her fair face and neck.

The next day the little girls were taking a walk on the river bank, Aunt Chloe plodding along a little in the rear, that she might watch over her nursling.

A boy coming from the opposite direction startled them by a loud "Hello, Tim! where are you going?"

Two boys were just passing them, and the younger, who looked to be about ten years old, made answer in a surly tone, and in words so profane that the little girls shuddered with horror.

"Well, I wouldn't want to go 'long with you; not to that place," remarked the first jeeringly; "but what's the use o' bein' so all-fired cross – swearin' at a feller just for askin' a civil question?"

"Come, Bill, just you let him alone," said Tim's companion; "he's worked up and mad, 'cause his mother told him not to go to the river, and that's where we're going this minute."

"Well, then, George, if he gits drowned, I guess he'll go where he said he was a-goin'," remarked Bill, passing on.

The little girls stood still, watching the other two as they hurried on down the bank, entered a canoe that lay on the water, made fast by a rope to a tree, loosed it, and pushed out into the stream.

They were not careful as Cyril had been to keep near the shore, and presently the current was carrying them down stream very rapidly.

A few hundred yards below the spot where they had embarked, a wooden bridge had formerly spanned the river; it had been torn down shortly before this, but the posts were left standing in the water. Against one of these the canoe struck and instantly overset, throwing the boys into the water where it was deepest and most dangerous.

The little girls and their attendant saw the mishap, and ran screaming toward some men who were at work at no great distance. The instant the men comprehended what had occurred, they made all haste to the scene of the disaster, and used every effort to rescue the lads.

They succeeded in bringing George out alive, but Tim had sunk to rise no more. They could not even find the body.

When this announcement was made, the two little girls, who had stood looking on in intense excitement and full of distress for the imperilled boys, burst into bitter weeping.

They hurried home, crying as they went, to tell the sad story.

Mrs. Keith was in the sitting-room, busied with some sewing, as usual, Mr. Dinsmore with her, when the children came rushing in, crying as if their hearts would break.

"Why, my child, what is the matter?" Mr. Dinsmore asked, in extreme surprise and alarm, as Elsie threw herself into his arms and clung to him, sobbing convulsively.

"O mother, mother! we've just seen a boy drowned!" cried Annis, burying her face in her mother's lap. "It was Tim Jones, and his mother had told him not to go to the river. And we heard him say such wicked words as he was going."

"And O papa! he's dead," sobbed Elsie, "and I can't even pray for him! O papa! he has lost his soul!"

"We do not know that certainly, dear daughter," he said, trying to comfort her; "we may have a little hope, for possibly he may have cried to Jesus for pardon and salvation, even after he was in the water."

"And Jesus is so kind, so ready to forgive and save us," she said, growing calmer. "But, O papa! it's such a little hope we can have that he did find the way, and get a new heart in that one minute!"

"Yes, that is too sadly true," he sighed. "Yet the thought uppermost in my mind just now is, What if this had happened to my child yesterday! O! my darling, how could I have borne such a loss? My heart aches for the parents of that boy."

"Dear papa, God was very good to us," she whispered, laying her cheek to his, as he held her close to his heart. "Oh, I am glad he did not let me fall into the river and drown, though I was so naughty as to go without your leave."

"But I had not forbidden you," he said tenderly; "and I know that my little girl loves Jesus, and tries to serve him; so I should have been spared the terrible pain of fearing that you were lost to me forever. Yet I cannot be thankful enough that I have you still, my precious, precious child!"

His tones were so low that Mrs. Keith could hardly have caught the words, even had she not been occupied, as she was, in soothing and comforting Annis.

CHAPTER XXIII

"Oft what seemsA trifle, a mere nothing, by itself,In some nice situation, turns the scaleOf fate, and rules the most important actions."Thomson.

Because of the near approach of his appointed wedding-day Mr. Dinsmore could not linger long in Pleasant Plains. All felt the parting keenly, for even in the few days they had spent together a strong attachment had sprung up between Elsie and her cousins, while the renewal of former congenial intercourse had strengthened the tie of affection that had long existed between Mrs. Keith and her Cousin Horace.

Fan and Annis wept so bitterly as the stage whirled away out of sight, that their mother and Mildred found it necessary to deny themselves the indulgence of their own grief in order to comfort them.

At the same time Mr. Dinsmore was wiping the tears from Elsie's eyes, and soothing her with tender caresses and the hope that she and Mildred and Annis would meet again before a great while.

"Who knows," he said in cheery tones, "but we may be able to persuade their father and mother to let them spend the winter at the Oaks next year!"

"O papa, how nice that would be!" exclaimed the child, smiling through her tears; "will you ask them?"

"Yes; if you will stop crying now. Perhaps if you keep on I may be tempted to join you," he added jestingly, "and how ashamed we would both feel."

That made Elsie laugh. Then he interested her in plans for purchasing gifts for the cousins they had just left, and for her "new mamma," when they should reach New York, and soon she was quite her usual sunny self.

Fortunately up to this time their little party had been the only occupants of the stage.

We have not space to speak further of their journey, which brought them finally to Philadelphia, Miss Rose Allison's home, and where the wedding was to take place.

On arriving in that city Mr. Dinsmore sent Elsie and her nurse to Mr. Allison's, while he, with his servant John, went to a hotel. He was to be married the next morning, and it was already late in the afternoon, so the separation would not be for long.

While taking his supper at the hotel table Mr. Dinsmore became the unconscious object of close scrutiny by a gentleman seated nearly opposite; a rather fine-looking man, tall, well-proportioned, with good features, an open, intelligent countenance, benevolent expression, clear blue eyes, light brown hair and beard.

"I can hardly be mistaken; it is no common face; but I will make certain," the stranger said to himself, as he rose and left the room at the conclusion of his meal.

He went to the hotel register and found Mr. Dinsmore's name among those entered that day. He saw it with a thrill of pleasure; and yet – "well, he could not know till he had tried to renew the acquaintance, whether to do so would be agreeable to the friend of his boyhood."

Mr. Dinsmore retired to his own apartment on leaving the table, and had scarcely done so when a servant handed in a card.

"Charles Landreth, M.D.," was the inscription it bore. Mr. Dinsmore read it at a glance. His first emotion was surprise, the next a mixture of feelings.

"Show the gentleman up here; tell him I shall be happy to see him," he said to the waiter. Then, as the man closed the door and departed, he turned and paced the floor with slow, meditative step.

"It may be a good Providence that brings us together so unexpectedly just at this time," he said to himself. "I should never have expected dishonorable conduct from my old chum Charlie Landreth, and I'll give him the benefit of the doubt as long as I can. Ah, God grant I may be able to set this matter right for poor Mildred!"

Steps approached, the door opened, and the two stood face to face.

"Horace! you have not forgotten me?" The voice, the grasp of the hand, the beaming countenance, all spoke such sincere pleasure, such warmth of friendship, that Mr. Dinsmore's doubts vanished; that was not the face of a false, cold-hearted villain. He returned the greeting as cordially as it was given.

"Forgotten you, Charlie? No, indeed! and I'm particularly glad that you have made yourself known to-night; for to-morrow I shall be on my way south again."

"Ah, going back to the old neighborhood where we were boys together," and Charlie heaved a sigh to the memory of the days of auld lang syne, as he accepted a mute invitation to be seated. "Have you been long absent?" he asked.

"For several months. I am lately returned from Indiana, where I have been visiting my cousins the Keiths."

As he pronounced the name Mr. Dinsmore looked keenly at his companion.

Landreth flushed hotly and his look was both eager and pained as he responded, with a little hesitation in his speech. "Ah! and were they – all well?"

"Yes, thank you, and prospering. One of the girls – there are five in all – is married."

"Mildred?" asked his listener in a hoarse whisper, and with half-averted face.

"No; she is still single, and it struck me as strange, for she is a most lovely and attractive girl in both person and character."

"A perfect woman, nobly planned,To warn, to comfort, and command;And yet a spirit still and bright,With something of an angel light."

"I think I never saw one to whom Wordsworth's description was more truly applicable."

Landreth turned and grasped Mr. Dinsmore's hand, his face all aglow with hope and joy. "You have lifted me from the depths of despair!" he said in tremulous tones.

"You have cared for her?"

"Loved her as never man loved woman before!"

Mr. Dinsmore smiled at that, thinking of Rose, and his early love, the mother of his child, but did not care to combat the assertion. "She is worthy of it," was all he said.

"I heard she was married, and it nearly killed me," Landreth went on. "But I could not blame her, for she had steadily refused to pledge herself to me."

"But where have you been all these years, and how is it that I find you here now, Charlie? I should be glad to hear your story."

"I went first to the mines of South America," Landreth said, "saw very hard times for the first two years, then met with a wonderful turn of fortune – coming quite unexpectedly upon a very large nugget of gold. I didn't stay long after that. I had written to Mildred a good many times, but never received a line from her, and almost the first news I heard on returning to my native land was that of her marriage. As I have said, it nearly killed me; but, Dinsmore, my bitter sorrow and disappointment did for me what perhaps nothing else could. I sought and found Him, of whom Moses in the law and the prophets did write, Jesus of Nazareth, the sinner's Saviour and Friend."

"Thank God for that, Charlie!" Mr. Dinsmore returned with emotion; and again their hands met in a warm brotherly clasp.

"Having found him," continued Landreth, "of course his service became my first object in life. I looked about for a sphere of usefulness, and decided upon the medical profession, because I had discovered that I had a liking for it, the necessities of the men in my employ having led me to dip into it a little. So I came here to pursue my studies, received my diploma a year ago, have been practicing in the hospitals since, and am now looking about for the best place in which to begin my career as a private physician and surgeon."

"Plenty of room in the West," observed Mr. Dinsmore sententiously and with a sparkle of fun in his eye.

Landreth sprang up. "And my darling is there, and you have given me hope that I may yet win her! Dinsmore, I shall make the necessary arrangements immediately, and set off for Pleasant Plains at the earliest possible moment."

"Right, Charlie; and you have my best wishes for your success both with her and in your chosen profession. But I hope you will not leave Philadelphia before to-morrow noon. I want you at my wedding. Mildred and the rest will be glad to hear an account of it from an eye-witness."

"Your wedding?"

"Yes, it is to take place at nine to-morrow morning. And I want the pleasure of introducing my intended cousin to my bride; to say nothing of showing you one whose charms of person and character are not eclipsed by even those of sweet and lovely Mildred Keith."

"She must be worth seeing, if that be the case," Landreth answered with a smile. "And I am keeping you from her now, I daresay; for which she certainly will not thank me."

"She is too kind-hearted not to be more than content for Mildred's and your sake."

"Mildred's do you say?" and Landreth's face was one glow of delight.

"Yes, Charlie, for Mildred's; since you have so frankly told me how it is with you, I shall not conceal from you that it is for your sake the sweet girl has remained single in spite of several good offers. I learned it from my Cousin Marcia, her mother. And while I think of it," he added laughingly, "let me assure you that Marcia will make – does make – a model mother-in-law."

"I should be glad indeed to try her in that capacity," returned Landreth lightly. "I think it will hardly be possible for me to leave before to-morrow noon; so accept your invitation with thanks, Dinsmore. I have a curiosity to see your bride, and a very strong desire to renew my acquaintance with your little daughter, whom I used to see quite frequently in the first two years of her stay at Roselands. I have always thought her the sweetest little creature I ever beheld. She is with you of course?"

"In the city? Yes; you will see her to-morrow," Mr. Dinsmore answered, looking highly gratified by the encomium upon his darling child.

After a little more chat, principally of mutual friends and the changes that had taken place in their old neighborhood since Landreth left it, they separated with another cordial hand-shaking, both extremely glad of the casual meeting, and expecting to meet again on the morrow.

CHAPTER XXIV

"Within her heart was his image,Cloth'd in the beauty of love and youth, as last she beheld him,Only more beautiful made by his deathlike silence and absence."Longfellow.

It was evening. Mildred was alone in the parlor, all the rest of the family having gone to a concert. They had urged her to go too, but she had declined, saying she greatly preferred a quiet evening at home. Truth to tell she was oppressed with sadness, and wanted to be alone that she might indulge it for a little without restraint.

All day she had maintained a cheerfulness in the presence of others which she did not feel, for there had been scarce a moment when her lost love was absent from her thoughts. Why was it that her heart went out toward him to-night with such yearning tenderness – such unutterable longing to look into his eyes, to hear the sound of his voice, to feel the touch of his hand?

She tried in vain to read; the image of the lost one constantly obtruded itself between her mental vision and the printed page.

She rose and paced the floor, not weeping, but pressing her hand to her heart with heavy sighing.

The curtains were not closely drawn, or the shutters closed; a lamp burned brightly on the centre-table, and the room was full of warmth and cheer.

She did not hear the opening or shutting of the gate, or a quick, manly step that came up the gravel walk and into the porch; did not see the stranger pause before the bright window and gaze in, half-unconsciously, as if spell-bound by the sight of her graceful figure and fair though sad face. She turned to the open piano, struck a few chords, then seated herself and sang in clear, sweet tones, but with touching pathos:

"When true hearts lie witheredAnd fond ones are flown,Oh! who would inhabitThis bleak world alone?"

Then with a sudden change of feeling, she touched the chords anew and burst into a song of praise, her voice swelling out full and high like the glad song of a bird:

"Oh, the height of Jesus' love!Higher than the heavens above,Deeper than the depths of sea,Lasting as eternity;Love that found me – wondrous thought!Found me when I sought him not."

"A gentleman to see you, Miss Mildred," said the voice of Celestia Ann at the parlor door.

Mildred rose and turned to greet him, in some surprise, for she had not heard the ringing of the door-bell or the sound of the girl's footsteps as she passed through the hall to answer it.

The latter retreated as she ushered the stranger in, but lingered a moment, peering curiously through the crack behind the door. She saw him step forward with outstretched hand, Mildred moving toward him with an earnest, inquiring look up into his face; then an ashy paleness suddenly overspread hers, she staggered and would have fallen, but he caught her in his arms, saying in low, tremulous tones as he held her close to his heart, "Mildred, darling, it is I! Oh, tell me, dear one, that you have not forgotten me!"

"I know'd it! I know'd there was somebody somewheres she cared fer! and I'm mighty glad he's come at last, fer her sake," chuckled Celestia Ann, nodding and smiling to herself as she retreated to her kitchen; "though I'll be dreadful sorry, too, if he carries her oft to some fer-away place."

To those two in the parlor the next hour was probably the most blissful they had ever known. Dr. Landreth's story was briefly told – to be dwelt upon more in detail in future talks, and then – but we will not intrude upon their privacy.

Mr. and Mrs. Keith, returning from the concert, found their daughter seated by the side of one who was an entire stranger to them; yet there was small need of introduction, for by the look of restful happiness in her face they knew instantly who he was, and that all was right between them. From the first all were favorably impressed by Landreth's open, intelligent countenance, polished manners, manly yet modest mien; and a few days of intimate association made him almost as great a favorite in the family as Wallace Ormsby; while the latter was not far behind the others in his liking for the new-comer.

Mildred was very happy, and all her dear ones rejoiced with her; especially when it became known among them that it was not Dr. Landreth's intention or wish to carry her away from them.

"No," he said; "I know too well how sad a thing it is to be fatherless, motherless, and without any other near relative, to desire to separate the dear girl from hers. What I want is the privilege of sharing them with her."

"Which we will all be glad to have you do," returned Mrs. Keith, to whom the remark was addressed, tears of sympathy for his past forlorn condition glistening in her eyes; "we will rejoice to make you one of us, not for Mildred's sake alone, but for your own also."

"Accept my heartiest thanks, my dear madam," the young man said with emotion; "you may perhaps have some idea what it will be to me to have a mother, when I tell you that mine died before my earliest recollection."

Not even to his betrothed had Charlie disclosed the fact that he was again a man of wealth; he merely assured Mr. Keith that he felt himself able to support a wife comfortably, having a good profession, and means enough to live upon until he should become well established in it.

Pleasant Plains was now growing so rapidly, the surrounding country filling up so fast, that hardly a better location for a young physician could be desired, and he decided to settle in the town at once.

And now what was to hinder an immediate marriage? This was the question he urged upon Mildred and her parents, but without obtaining a prompt and decided answer. The parents had given full consent to the match, yet seemed very loath to resign their daughter.

Cyril sided with Landreth; because, as he said, he wanted to be present at the wedding, and as he was to leave for college in a few days, and felt certain they would not wait till he came back, his only chance was to have it take place before he went; so he coaxed and persuaded, overruled all objections, and finally gained his point.

"It won't be parting with her," he said to his father and mother; "they'll board at home at least till spring. I asked the doctor, and he's delighted with the idea." To Mildred herself: "What's the use waiting to make up a lot of finery? You can do that afterwards. You have two new dresses just made up for fall any way, and there's mother's wedding-dress that Zillah was married in fits you just as well, and makes you look lovely. We can't get up as big a wedding as Zil's all in a hurry to be sure, but I don't believe you care for that."

"No," she said; "I should much prefer having only relatives and a few very near friends."

"It would save expense to father and a great deal of fuss and trouble to mother," was the next and most effectual consideration he urged. "Then too," he added a little mischievously, "Mr. Lord's away just now, and that will give you a chance to have the knot tied by your future brother-in-law – same as Zillah had."

This last was a stronger inducement than he knew or suspected; she had an earnest desire to have the ceremony performed by her old friend Frank Osborne, and was a little apprehensive of some blunder on the part of absent-minded Mr. Lord, should he officiate.

"Frank's to preach for us next Sunday," Cyril went on. "He'll stay over Monday if we ask him, and if you'll let me arrange matters I'll appoint Monday evening for the wedding."

"How very kind in you," she returned laughing.

"Come now, Milly, say yes," he continued, not deigning to notice the interruption. "I'm to leave on Wednesday you know."

"Monday, Cyril! Why that's wash-day, and Celestia Ann won't – "

"I'll settle that," he interrupted, making a hasty exit from the room.

After a brief absence he returned in great glee. "I thought I could manage it," he said, "and I have. She's delighted with the idea of a wedding that shall take everybody in town by surprise. She won't give up the washing, but says she'll be up early enough to have it out of the way by nine o'clock; and then she'll 'turn in and bake cake.' She'll bake some to-morrow, too, so there 'won't be no trouble 'bout the 'freshments, not a mite.' Now, Milly, haven't I taken the last stone out of the way?"

"Yes, you dear old fellow," she said, with a look of sisterly love and pride into his bright, eager young face; "and it shall be as you wish. Mother and I have been talking over your plan, and think it practicable. Also that it would be too bad to disappoint you, to say nothing of some one else even more nearly concerned," she added, with a charming blush and smile.