Transcriber’s Note
See [end of this document] for details of corrections and other changes.
A LIST OF THE ELSIE BOOKS AND
OTHER POPULAR BOOKS
BY
MARTHA FINLEY
ELSIE DINSMORE.
ELSIE’S HOLIDAYS AT ROSELANDS.
ELSIE’S GIRLHOOD.
ELSIE’S WOMANHOOD.
ELSIE’S MOTHERHOOD.
ELSIE’S CHILDREN.
ELSIE’S WIDOWHOOD.
GRANDMOTHER ELSIE.
ELSIE’S NEW RELATIONS.
ELSIE AT NANTUCKET.
THE TWO ELSIES.
ELSIE’S KITH AND KIN.
ELSIE’S FRIENDS AT WOODBURN.
CHRISTMAS WITH GRANDMA ELSIE.
ELSIE AND THE RAYMONDS.
ELSIE YACHTING WITH THE RAYMONDS.
ELSIE’S VACATION.
ELSIE AT VIAMEDE.
ELSIE AT ION.
ELSIE AT THE WORLD’S FAIR.
ELSIE’S JOURNEY ON INLAND WATERS.
ELSIE AT HOME.
ELSIE ON THE HUDSON.
ELSIE IN THE SOUTH.
ELSIE’S YOUNG FOLKS.
ELSIE’S WINTER TRIP.
ELSIE AND HER LOVED ONES.
—————
MILDRED KEITH.
MILDRED AT ROSELANDS.
MILDRED’S MARRIED LIFE.
MILDRED AND ELSIE.
MILDRED AT HOME.
MILDRED’S BOYS AND GIRLS.
MILDRED’S NEW DAUGHTER.
—————
CASELLA.
SIGNING THE CONTRACT AND WHAT IT COST.
THE TRAGEDY OF WILD RIVER VALLEY.
OUR FRED.
AN OLD-FASHIONED BOY.
WANTED, A PEDIGREE.
THE THORN IN THE NEST.
ELSIE’S FRIENDS
AT
WOODBURN
BY
MARTHA FINLEY
AUTHOR OF “ELSIE DINSMORE,” “ELSIE AT NANTUCKET,”
“OUR FRED,” “MILDRED AND ELSIE,” “WANTED—A
PEDIGREE,” ETC., ETC.
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
Publishers
Copyright, 1887,
BY
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY.
ELSIE’S FRIENDS AT WOODBURN.
CHAPTER I.
The twenty-fourth had been cold and stormy: a keen, biting wind blowing continuously, during the greater part of the day, bringing with it a heavy fall of sleet and snow.
The weather on Christmas Day was an improvement upon that—the wind being less boisterous and the snow-fall only an occasional light flurry, but the sun scarcely showed his face, and as evening drew on the moon shone but fitfully and through skurrying clouds; the ground was white with snow, but as it had drifted badly, the roads were not in condition for sleighing, and Max Raymond and Evelyn Leland made the journey from Woodburn to the Oaks in a close carriage.
Captain Raymond handed Evelyn in. Max took a seat by her side and gallantly tucked the robes about her feet, remarking that it was the coldest night of the season so far.
“Yes,” she said, “but I suppose we shall have still colder weather before the winter is over. This is nothing to some I have known in my old home at the north.”
“Oh no!” returned Max, “I remember it used to be very much colder where we lived when I was a little fellow.”
Eva smiled, thinking he was not nearly grown up yet.
“And hardly a breath of wind reaches us in this close carriage,” she said. “I shouldn’t care if the ride was to be twice as long.”
“No, nor I,” said Max. “But I dare say we’ll have a fine time after we get to the Oaks.”
“Yes; but I am so sorry your father thought best to decline the invitation for Lulu; I shall not enjoy myself half so well without her,” sighed Evelyn.
“I’m sorry too,” Max said: “for I know it was a great disappointment to her when papa told her she was not to go. I don’t know why he refused to let her, but I do know that he always has a good reason when he denies any of us a pleasure.”
Eva said, “Of course; I am quite sure he is the best and kindest of fathers,” and then they began talking of the approaching festivities at the Oaks, and those whom they expected to meet there.
“Do you know who are invited besides ourselves?” asked Max.
“I believe I do,” replied Evelyn. “There are to be two or three sets; little ones—Walter Travilla, and the eldest two of Aunt Rose Lacey’s children—as mates for little Horace and his sister, Rosie Travilla, Lora Howard and myself for Sydney and Maud; you and Ralph Conly, Art and Walter Howard for their brother’s companions, besides Bertram Shaw, a school-friend of the Dinsmore boys, who, for their sakes, has been asked to the Oaks to spend the holidays.”
“Eva,” queried Max, “Do you know exactly what relation Horace Chester Dinsmore and his brother and sisters are to the rest? they seem to call everybody cousin, so far as I’ve noticed; even Grandpa Dinsmore.”
“Yes; I was asking Aunt Elsie about them the other day,” replied Eva, “and she told me their father was own cousin to Grandpa Dinsmore; his father’s brother’s son; and when he died he left them to Grandpa Dinsmore’s care; made him their guardian, I mean, and as Uncle Horace and his wife were kindly willing to have them at the Oaks, they were invited to make it their home till they are grown up. It’s a lovely place, and I know they are very kindly treated, but I can’t help feeling sorry for them because both their parents are dead.”
“Nor I,” said Max, “for no matter how kind other folks may be to you, it isn’t like having your own father or mother. I’m ever so fond of Mamma Vi though,” he added with emphasis, “and just as glad as I can be that papa married her.”
“And that she married him,” put in Eva, laughingly. “I think it was a grand match on both sides; she is so sweet and lovely, and he in every way worthy of her.”
“My opinion, exactly,” laughed Max. “I am very proud of my father, Eva.”
“I don’t wonder; I am sure I should be in your place,” she said. “Ah see, we are just turning into the grounds! The ride has seemed very short to me. But it’s quite a little journey yet to the house. I admire this winding drive very much. It gives one quite a number of beautiful views, and it’s really obliging in the moon to come out just now from behind that cloud and show us how lovely every thing is looking. I think newly-fallen snow gives such a charming variety to a landscape.
“There’s witchery in the moonlight, too,” she went on, glancing out through the windows, now on this side, now on that. “I don’t wonder Grandma Elsie is so fond of this place where, as she says, she lived so happily with her father and Grandma Rose when she was a little girl, and until she was married.”
At that moment a turn in the road brought the front of the mansion into full view. Lights were gleaming from every window, seeming to promise a warm welcome and an abundance of good cheer, a promise whose fulfillment began presently as the carriage drew up before the door.
“You are the last, my dears, but none the less welcome,” Mrs. Dinsmore said, as she kissed Evelyn and shook hands with Max.
“Thank you, ma’am. I hope you have not kept your tea waiting for us,” returned Eva a little anxiously.
“Oh no, my dear, we had been told not to expect you to tea, so did not wait.”
“And Rosie Travilla has only just come,” said Maud, taking possession of Evelyn and hurrying her away to the room appropriated to their joint use during Eva’s stay.
“These rooms that used to be Cousin Elsie’s have been given up to our use for the present,” she said. “This was her bedroom; there is another adjoining it on that side, and her dressing-room on the other is turned into a bedroom for the time, so that we six girls are all close together, and have her boudoir for our own private little parlor, where we can be quite to ourselves whenever we wish. Isn’t it nice?”
“Yes, indeed!” returned Evelyn.
“Oh Rosie, so you got here before me!” as the latter came running in, followed by Sydney, and greeted her with a hug and kiss.
“Yes; a little. But where’s Lu?”
“The captain thought it best for her to stay at home, and she preferred to do so, since Gracie is so unwell as to need her nursing.”
“How nice and good of her!” cried Sydney; “but I’m ever so sorry not to have her with us, for I like her very much indeed.”
“I love her dearly,” said Evelyn. “I never saw a more warm-hearted, generous girl, and it’s just beautiful to see how she and Gracie love one another; their father and brother, too.”
“I really think the captain might have let Lu come, and I am very sorry for her disappointment,” said Rosie.
“She was disappointed at first,” said Evelyn, “but after Gracie took sick she wouldn’t have come if her father had given permission; she told me so, saying that she couldn’t enjoy herself at all, knowing her darling little sister was suffering without her there to comfort and amuse her.”
“Vi would have done that quite as well, I am sure,” remarked Rosie.
“And so we’re only five instead of six,” said Maud. “Well, we’ll each one of us just have to try to be all the more entertaining to the rest. Your dress and hair are all right, Eva, and let us hurry out to the parlor, where the others are: for they’ll be wanting us to take part in the games.”
The door opened as she spoke, and an attractive-looking little girl, about Evelyn’s age, looked in. It was Lora Howard, the youngest of the Pine Grove family.
“Come, girls,” she said, “we’re waiting for you. O Eva, how do you do?”
“What’s the game to be?” asked Rosie; “some sort of a romping one to please the little ones, I suppose.”
“Yes; either Pussy Wants a Corner, or Blindman’s Buff,” replied Lora, leading the way to the scene of festivity.
For a time mirth and jollity ruled the hour, the older people joining in the sports of the young, with the double motive of watching over them and adding to their enjoyment; then light refreshments were partaken of. After that the servants were called in, and the head of the family read aloud a short Psalm, offered a brief prayer, giving thanks for the blessings of life and the pleasures of the past day, and asking for the protecting care during the silent watches of the night, of Him who neither slumbers nor sleeps.
Then the good-nights were spoken, and all scattered to their rooms.
The little ones were carried off by Mrs. Dinsmore and their nurses; the five young girls retreated to the suite of rooms set apart to their use, and the lads—seven in number—trooped up the broad stairway leading to the second story.
“You and I are to be bed-fellows, Max, and to share the same room with Art and Walter Howard,” said Frank Dinsmore. “You see we have to crowd a little—there being such a lot of us—but it’ll be all the jollier, don’t you think, boys?”
He had led the way, as he spoke, into a most inviting-looking room, large enough to seem far from crowded, even with the two double beds filling opposite corners.
“Yes, yes, indeed!” the others responded, in chorus, Art adding: “The more the merrier, and we’ll have no end of a good time, if I’m not mightily mistaken.”
A door of communication with another room stood wide open, and through it they could see the three older lads, gathered about a blazing wood fire.
“Walk in, boys,” called Chester, addressing Max and his companions, as he saw them sending curious glances in that direction.
“We’re expected to go to bed, aren’t we?” queried Max in reply, coming in last, and speaking with some hesitation.
“We’re not at boarding-school, my lad,” laughed Chester, “and no one has given orders as to the exact hour for retiring, so far as I am aware.”
“Of course not,” said his brother, “Cousin Horace and Cousin Sue are not of the sort to be over strict with a fellow, and would never think of laying down the law to visitors, any way.”
“And it’s not late,” added Walter, accepting the chair Chester had set for him.
“Come on, Max, we’re a respectable crowd, and won’t damage your morals,” said Ralph, lighting a cigar and beginning to smoke it.
“I should hope not,” said Chester, “and I presume if any such danger had been apprehended he would hardly have been allowed to come to the Oaks.”
“Are his morals supposed to be more easily damaged than those of the common run of fellows?” asked Bertram Shaw, regarding Max with a sneering, supercilious stare.
“I am inclined to think they are,” said Ralph.
“Come, come, now, I’m not going to have Max made uncomfortable,” interposed Chester, good-naturedly. “He’s my guest, you know. Here, sit down, laddie, it’s early yet,” pushing forward a chair as he spoke, “have a cigar?”
“No thank you,” returned Max pleasantly; “I tried one once and got enough of it. I never was so sick in my life.”
“Oh, that’s nothing unusual for a first trial; likely it wouldn’t have the same effect again,” said Bertram.
“Better take one; you’ll seem twice the man if you smoke that you will if you don’t.”
The box of cigars had been passed around to all, and each of the other boys had taken one, but Max steadily refused.
“My father says it is very injurious to boys, and will stunt their growth,” he gave as a reason; adding, with a laugh, “and it’s my ambition to be as tall as he is, and like him in every way.”
“Very right,” remarked Frank, “but do you mind the smoke?”
“Oh no, not at all.”
But the next minute he saw something that he did mind. A table was drawn into the middle of the room and a pack of cards and a bottle of wine produced from some hiding-place and set upon it, while Chester invited them all to draw up their chairs and have a glass and a game.
The others accepted without hesitation, but Max rose and, with burning cheeks and fast-beating heart, uttered a protest.
“Oh, you can’t be going to drink and gamble, surely! What would Uncle Horace say if he knew such things were going on in his house?”
“No, my son,” said Chester, laughingly, “we’re not going to do either; we’ll not play for money, so it won’t be gambling, and the wine isn’t strong enough to make a fellow drunk; no, nor anywhere near it. So you needn’t be afraid to join us.”
“No, thank you,” returned Max firmly. “I can not think it right or safe to drink even wine, or to play cards, whether you put up a stake or not.”
“No, ’twouldn’t be safe for you, I presume,” sneered Ralph. “He’s awfully afraid of his governor, lads; so we’d best not try to persuade him.”
“Do you mean my father?” demanded Max, a trifle hotly.
“Of course, my little man; whom else should I mean?”
“Then I want you to understand that I never would be so disrespectful to my father as to call him that!”
“It’s not so bad,” laughed Chester, while Bertram frowned and muttered something about a “Muff and a spooney,” and Frank said, “Come now, Max, sit down and have a game with us. Where’s the harm?”
“Don’t urge him,” sneered Ralph, “he’s afraid of a flogging. He knows he’d catch it, and the captain looks like a man that wouldn’t mince matters if he undertook to administer it.”
Max’s face flushed more hotly than before, but he straightened himself and looked his tormentor full in the eye as he answered: “I don’t deny that I should expect a flogging if I should weakly yield and do what my conscience tells me is wrong, even if my father had not forbidden it, as he has; but I’m not ashamed to own that I love my father so well that the pained look I should see in his face when he learned that his only son had taken to such wicked courses, would be worse to me than a dozen floggings. Good-night to you all,” and he turned and left the room.
“Coward!” muttered Ralph, as the door closed on him.
“Any thing else than that, I should say,” remarked Chester. “I think he has just shown himself the bravest of us all. Moral courage, we all know, is courage of the highest kind.”
“Yes, boys, I am sure he’s in the right, and I, for one, shall follow his example,” said Arthur, rising; and with a hasty good-night, he too disappeared.
Walter and Frank exchanged glances.
“I think myself we might be at better business,” remarked the one.
“That’s so!” assented the other, and they, too, withdrew to the next room.
Max had taken a tiny volume from his pocket and was seated near the light, reading.
“What have you there, old fellow?” asked Frank, stepping to his side, laying a hand on his shoulder, and bending down to look. “A Testament, I declare!”
The tone expressed astonishment, not unmixed with derision.
Max’s cheek flushed again, but he replied without hesitation, and in his usual pleasant tones, “Yes, I promised papa I would always read at least one verse before going to bed at night.”
“And say your prayers, too, I suppose?”
Max felt very much as if he were called to march up to the cannon’s mouth, as a glance showed him that not Frank only, but the other two boys also, were standing regarding him with mingled curiosity and amusement. His heart quailed for a moment, but the remembrance of what his father had once told him of his having to pass through such ordeals in his youthful days, gave him courage to emulate that father’s example and stand to his colors in spite of the ridicule that seemed so hard to face.
“And God’s eye is on me, his ear open to hear what I say,” was the next thought; “I will not dishonor either my earthly or my heavenly father.”
All this passed through his mind in a second of time, and he hardly seemed to pause before he answered in a firm, steady voice, “Yes; I did promise that too; and even if I had not, I should do it. Don’t you think, you fellows, it would be mean and ungrateful for a boy that is so well off as I am, and has been having such a splendid time all day long, to tumble into his bed without so much as saying thank you to the One he owes it all to?”
“Does look like it when you put it so,” muttered Arthur.
“And then,” proceeded Max, “who is there to take care of us while we and every body else are all fast asleep? May be we’ll wake in the morning all right if we don’t take the trouble to ask God to keep us alive and safe, for He’s always a great deal better to us than we deserve, but don’t you think it’s wise to ask him?”
“I reckon,” said Frank, forcing a laugh, for Max’s seriousness was rather infectious: “we’ll not hinder you any way, old boy, and while you are in the way of asking for yourself, you can just include the rest of us, if you like.”
“How old are you Max?” queried Arthur.
“Thirteen.”
“And I, though four years older, am not half the soldier you are.”
Max shook his head. “I am not brave at all; it was awfully hard to speak out against the cards and wine, and I did hope I’d have this room to myself till—till I’d got through with reading and—and the rest of it.”
“Of course; but you went through the fight and stuck manfully to your colors for all your fright. I say, old fellow, you’re worthy to be the son of a naval officer.”
“Thanks,” said Max, flushing with pleasure; “I wouldn’t be worthy of my father if I couldn’t brave more than I have to-night.”
“Well, go ahead and finish up your devotions; we’ll not disturb you,” said Frank, turning away and beginning to undress for bed.
The Howards followed his example, all three keeping very quiet while Max was on his knees.
They had all been brought up under religious influences, and while not controlled by them as Max was, yet felt constrained to respect his firm adherence to duty and the right.
CHAPTER II.
Captain Raymond had foreseen the probability that his son would be subjected to such an ordeal, and had tried—successfully as the event proved—to prepare him for it.
Max was busy with his preparations for bed on the previous night, when his door opened and his father came in.
“Well, my boy,” he said in his usual kind, fatherly tones, “I hope you have had a happy day and evening?”
“Yes, papa; oh yes, indeed! Never had a more splendid time in all my life!”
“In all your long life of thirteen years!” laughed the captain, seating himself and regarding his son with a proud, fond look.
“No, sir; and such splendid presents as you and the rest have given me! Why, I’d be the most ungrateful fellow in the world if I wasn’t as happy as a king!”
“Happy as a king?” echoed his father. “Ah, my boy, I should be sorry indeed to think that your life was to be less happy than that of most monarchs. ‘Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.’
“I want to have a little chat with you,” he resumed, after a moment’s silence, his countenance and the tones of his voice much graver than they had been a moment since. “I heard to-day that Ralph Conly, who exerted so bad an influence over my son some time ago, is to make one of the party at the Oaks.”
“Is he, papa? then I suppose you have come to tell me you can’t let me go?” Max returned, in a tone of keen disappointment.
“No,” said his father, kindly, “I do not withdraw the consent I have given; you may go, but I want you to be on your guard against temptation to do wrong. I am told Ralph professes to have reformed, but I fear it may prove to be only profession, and that he and others may try to lead my son astray from the paths of rectitude.”
Max looked very sober for a moment; then said with an effort, “I’ll give up going papa, if you wish it—if you’re afraid for me.”
“Thank you, my boy,” returned his father, heartily, taking the lad’s hand, as he stood by his side, and pressing it with affectionate warmth, “but I won’t ask such self-denial. You must meet temptation some time, and if you go trusting in a strength not your own, I believe you will come off conqueror.
“Don’t let persuasion, sneers or ridicule induce you to do violence to your conscience, in either shirking a known duty, or taking part in any wrong or doubtful amusement. Remember it would go nigh to break your father’s heart to learn that you had been drinking, gambling, or taking God’s holy name in vain.”
“Oh, papa, I hope I shall never, never do such wicked things again!” Max said with emotion, calling to mind how he had once fallen under Ralph’s influence.
“I know you don’t intend to,” his father said, “and I trust you will have strength given you to resist, if the temptation comes; but I know too, that it is very difficult for a boy to stand out against the sneers, ridicule and contempt of his mates. But how much better to have the smile and approval of God, your heavenly Father, than that of any number of human creatures! Do not be like those chief rulers among the Jews who would not confess Christ because they loved the praise of men more than the praise of God!”
“No, papa, I hope I shall not. Besides, I don’t care half so much for the good opinion of all the boys in the land as for yours,” he added, gazing into his father’s face with eyes brimming over with ardent filial love and reverence. “I am proud to be your son, papa, and I do hope you’ll never have cause to be ashamed of me.”
“No, my boy, I trust you will be always, as now, your father’s joy and pride,” responded the captain, again pressing affectionately the hand he held. “Rest assured that nothing but wrong doing on your part can ever make you any thing else. Nor would even that rob you of his love.”
“Then, papa, I think I shall never try to hide my faults from you,” returned the lad with impulsive warmth; “for I’m sure a fellow feels a great deal more comfortable when he isn’t trying to make believe to his father that he is a better boy than he is really.”
“Yes; when his effort is not merely to seem, but to be all that he knows his best earthly friend would have him. You needn’t stand in awe of me, Max, as of one who knows nothing by experience of sinning and repenting. I sometimes think you are a better boy than I was at your age, and I hope to see you grow up to be a better man than I am now.”
“Why, papa, I never see you do wrong, and I don’t believe you ever do,” said Max.
“I do try to live right, Max,” his father answered, “to keep the commands of God, honoring him in all my ways, and setting a good example to my children, but I am conscious of many shortcomings, and could have no hope of heaven but for the atoning blood and imputed righteousness of Christ.”
“And that’s the only way any body can be saved?” Max said in a low tone between inquiry and assertion.
“Yes, my boy; for all human righteousnesses are as filthy rags in the sight of Him who is of purer eyes than to behold evil, and can not look upon iniquity.”
“Papa,” Max said, after a moment’s thoughtful silence, “I’m afraid you wouldn’t think it from the way I act and talk, but I have really been trying to be a Christian ever since that time when I wrote you that I hoped I had given myself to God.”
“My dear boy, I have noticed your efforts,” was the kindly response; “I see that you try to control your temper, and are always truthful, and obedient and respectful to me, kind and obliging to others.”
“But you know, papa, it’s only a few weeks since you came home, and you haven’t found me out yet,” replied Max, näively. “I’ve often a very hard fight with myself to go right, and sometimes I fail in spite of it; then I grow discouraged; and so I’m ever so much obliged to you for telling me that it’s a good deal the same way with you. It makes a fellow feel better, you see, to find out that even those he respects the most don’t always find it easy to do and feel just as they want to.”
“Yes, my boy, we have the same battle to fight—you and I—the same race to run; so we can sympathize with each other, and must try to be fellow-helpers.”
“You can help me, papa, but how can I help you?” asked Max, with a look of surprise, not unmixed with gratification.
“By being a good son to me and your mamma, and a good brother to your sisters; if you are all that, you can not fail to be a very great help, blessing and comfort to me. But best of all, Max, you can pray for me.”
“Oh, papa, I do; I never forget you night or morning; but——”
“Well?”
“I—I’m afraid my prayers are not worth much.”
“Why not, my son? the Bible tells us God is no respecter of persons, but is ready to hear and answer all who come to him in the name of his dear Son, who is the one mediator between God and men. If you ask in his name—for his sake—you are as likely to receive as I or any one else.
“Now I must bid you good-night, for it is high time you were asleep.”
The next evening, about the time the good-nights were being said at the Oaks, Captain Raymond left Lulu, who had just passed a very happy half hour, seated on his knee, in her own little sitting-room, and went down to the parlor where Violet was entertaining her guests.
There was quite a number of them, though it was only a family gathering. Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore, from Ion; Grandma Elsie, as Evelyn and the Raymond children called her; Lester Leland and his Elsie; Edward and Zoe, and Herbert and Harold, who were at home from college for the Christmas holidays, beside the Lacey’s from the Laurels, several of the Howards of Pine Grove, and Calhoun and Arthur Conley from Roselands.
Violet looked up with a welcoming smile as her husband came in, and made room for him on the sofa by her side.
“I was just telling Lester and Elsie,” she said, “how beautifully Lulu is behaving—bearing so well the disappointment about her invitation to the Oaks, and showing such devotion to Gracie in her sickness.”
“Yes, she is a dear child, and well deserving of reward,” he said, feelingly. “It pained me to deny her the pleasure of sharing the festivities at the Oaks, though as matters have turned out she would not have gone had I given permission—loving Gracie, too dearly to leave her while she is not well—and I have been thinking whether it may not be made up to her by allowing her to have a party of her own next week: inviting her young friends who are now at the Oaks, and perhaps some others, to come here on Monday and stay until Saturday. Does the idea meet your approval, my dear?”
“Yes, indeed!” cried Violet, looking really delighted! “how happy it would make her and Max? Gracie, too, I think, if we can only get her well enough to have a share in the sports.”
“And, I believe,” she added with a laugh, “I am child enough yet to enjoy it greatly myself.”
“I hope so,” her husband said, smiling fondly upon her; “you are looking full young enough for mirth and jollity, and must not allow yourself to grow old too fast in an endeavor to match your years with mine.”
“No, captain, the better plan would be for you to match yours with hers by growing young,” said Zoe, laughingly. “Can’t you turn boy again for a few days?”
“I should not be averse to so doing,” laughed the captain. “I’ll see what I can do, Sister Zoe. May we look to you for some assistance in the work of contriving amusements?”
“Yes, indeed; if you give me an invitation to the party. I was not favored with one to the Oaks, you know, because of being a married woman; though Ella Conly was, in spite of her superiority of years.”
“Too bad!” returned the captain, gallantly; “but we will not draw the line just where they did; all the present company will please consider themselves invited for each evening’s entertainment, mothers and all under twenty-five, for the whole time—from Monday morning to Saturday afternoon. I am taking for granted that my wife approves and joins me in the invitations,” he added, turning smilingly to her.
“Oh, yes; yes, indeed!” she said; “I hope you will all come.”
There was a chorus of thanks and acceptances, some only partial or conditional.
“I promise you I’ll be here when I can,” Arthur said; “but you know a doctor can seldom or never be sure of having his time at his own disposal.”
“You’ll be heartily welcome whenever you do come,” responded the captain; “but please take notice that you will be expected to be quite as much of a boy as your host.”
“No objection to that condition,” returned Arthur, smiling; “if I don’t out-do you in that, it shall be no fault of mine.”
“The next thing in order, I suppose, will be to consider how our young guests are to be feasted and amused,” remarked Violet.
“Yes,” replied her husband; “but my wife is to be burdened with no care or responsibility in regard to either. Christine and I will see to the first—preparations for the feasting—and I imagine there will be no trouble about the other; the children themselves will probably have a number of suggestions to make.”
“Some of the older ones, too,” said Zoe, eagerly; and went on to mention quite a list of games.
“Besides, we can act charades and get up tableaux; and oh, let us try something I read about the other day in Miss Yonge’s ‘The Three Brides,’ a magic case with a Peri distributing gifts, oriental genii, turbaned figures, like princes in the ‘Arabian Nights,’ singing and piano accompaniment. Oh, it would be fun, and delight the children, I’m sure! And I know we could manage it all among us very easily.”
“It sounds charming,” said Violet; “we must study it out and see what we can do. Shall we not, Levis?”
“I like the idea very much, so far as I understand it,” he said. “Who will volunteer to take part?”
“Zoe and I may be counted on,” said Edward, with a smiling glance at his young wife.
“And Herbert and I,” added Harold. “We’ve had some experience, and it’s a sort of thing we enjoy.”
“Yes, and we’ll help with the charades and any thing else, if we’re wanted,” said Herbert.
But it was growing late, so further arrangements were deferred to the next day, and the company presently separated for the night. The Lelands and Edward and Zoe remained in the house; the rest departed to their homes.
“Why, Gracie; here before me, though you’re the sick one!” exclaimed Lulu, as, early the next morning, she entered the little sitting-room they shared between them and found her sister lying on the sofa ready dressed for the day.
“Yes,” Grace said, “I was so tired of bed, and Agnes said she would help me dress before mamma’s bell should ring. So I let her; but I’m tired and have to lie down again a little bit.”
“Yes; you’re not nearly strong enough to sit up all day yet,” returned Lulu, stooping over her to give her a kiss. “But you’ve been crying, haven’t you? your eyes look like it.”
Grace nodded, hastily brushing away a tear.
“Why, what’s the matter?” asked Lulu, in surprise. “I can’t think of any thing to make you cry, unless it’s pain; are you in pain, dear?”
Grace shook her head. “No, Lu, but,” sobbing, “I—I’ve been thinking ’bout that time I was so naughty, meddling with mamma’s things, and—and oh, you know the rest.”
“Yes, but why does it trouble you now? it was all over such a long time ago.”
“Yes, but papa doesn’t know about it, and—oughtn’t I to tell him?”
“I don’t know,” Lulu said reflectively; “but you needn’t be afraid; he wouldn’t punish you after this long while, especially as Mamma Vi knew all about it at the time, and punished you herself.”
“Such a little bit of a punishment for such a wicked thing,” Grace said; “papa would have punished me a great deal harder, I’m most sure.”
“But he won’t now; so you needn’t be afraid to tell him.”
“But he’d look so sorry, and I can’t bear to see my dear papa look sorry for something I did.”
“Then don’t tell him. It isn’t as if it had happened just the other day.”
“But, Lulu, I oughtn’t to let him think I’m a better girl than I am.”
“Maybe he doesn’t. You are a good girl; a great deal better than I am.”
“No, I’m not; you would never, never do the wicked thing I did. But I’m afraid papa thinks I’m better, ’cause when—when he thought the baby was going to die, he was hugging me up and kissing me, and he said ‘You never gave me a pang except by your feeble health,’ and I said I didn’t ever want to, and I forgot all about how bad I’d been that time, and that papa didn’t know about it.”
“What is it that papa didn’t know about, my darling?” asked a voice close beside the sofa, and both little girls started in surprise, for their father had come in so quietly, his slippered feet making no noise on the carpet, that they had not been aware of his entrance.
He took Grace in his arms as he spoke, sat down with her on his knee, drew Lulu to a seat by his side, then kissed them both, saying in tender tones, “Good-morning, my two dear children.”
“Good-morning, my dear papa,” responded Lulu, leaning her cheek affectionately against his shoulder.
But Gracie only hid her face on his breast with a little half-stifled sob.
“What is it, my precious one?” he asked, holding her close with loving caresses.
“Lu, you tell papa; please do,” she sobbed.
“Lulu may tell it, if you want papa to hear it,” he said, softly smoothing her hair, “otherwise it need not be told at all. But if it is about some wrong-doing that has been repented of and confessed to God and mamma, you need not dread to have your father know of it, for he, too, has been guilty of wrong-doing many times in his life, and needs to seek forgiveness of God every day and every hour.”
“Papa,” she exclaimed, lifting her head to give him a look of astonishment not unmingled with relief, “I don’t know how to b’lieve that, if you didn’t say it your own self; for I never, never see you do any thing wrong. But I want you to know ’bout this, so you won’t think I’m a better girl than I am. Lu, please tell,” and again her face was hidden on his breast.
“Papa, it was a long, long, while ago,” began Lulu, as if eager to vindicate her sister as far as possible, “and it was only that she accidentally broke a bottle of Mamma Vi’s, and then she was frightened (you know she’s always so timid, and can’t help it), and so,’most before she knew what she was saying, she told Mamma Vi she never meddled with her things when she was not there to see her.”
There was a moment’s silence, broken only by Grace’s sobs, which were now quite violent.
Then her father said low and tenderly, “My dear little daughter, I can not comfort you by making light of your sin; lying is a very great sin, one that the Bible speaks very strongly against in very many places; but I have no doubt that you long ago repented, confessed it to God and received forgiveness. And I trust you will prove the sincerity of your repentance by being perfectly truthful all the rest of your days.
“It was very honest and right in you to want me to know that you have not always been so good as I supposed; and so, my darling, I love you, if possible, better than ever,” he added, caressing her again and again.
“Oh, I’m so glad to hear you say that, papa!” exclaimed Lulu, looking up into his face with shining eyes.
“And you are no less dear than your sister,” he said, drawing her closer to his side. “My child, I have felt very sorry over your disappointment in missing the festivities at the Oaks, and have been trying to think of some way to make it up to you. How would you like to have something of the same sort here at home? a party of children and young people to come next Monday morning and stay till Saturday?”
“Oh papa,” cried Lulu, opening her eyes very wide in surprise and delight, “it ’most takes my breath away! Do you really mean it?”
“I do indeed,” he said, smiling on her. “It will be your, and Max’s and Gracie’s party, and we older folks will do all in our power to make the time pass pleasantly to you and your guests. We will have games and charades, tableaux, stories, and every thing delightful that can be thought of.”
“O papa! how very, very nice! how splendid!” cried Lulu, springing to her feet, clapping her hands, and then jumping and dancing round the room. “Dear me! I’d never once dreamed of such a thing! And it’ll be ever so much nicer than going to the Oaks. I’m glad you didn’t let me go: because I couldn’t be there now and get things ready for my own party too, and it’s so much splendider to be the one to have the party than one of the visitors. Isn’t it! won’t it be, Gracie? Oh isn’t papa just the best and kindest father in the world?”
“’Course he is,” said Grace, putting her arm round his neck, and lifting her eyes to his with a very grateful, loving look.
“Does it give you pleasure, papa’s dear pet?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” she answered with some hesitation; “if I don’t be sick when they’re here, and if I may sit on your knee sometimes.”
“Indeed you may,” he said; “and papa will try to take care that his feeble little girl has nothing to tire her.”
“No, she needn’t entertain,” said Lulu; “I can do it for both of us. Oh it is so nice, so nice, so perfectly splendid, to think we’re going to have a real party of our own for several days together!” she cried, again clapping her hands, jumping, dancing and pirouetting round the room.
Grace laughed at the sight, and so did their father.
“Why, Lulu, daughter,” he said, “you seem to be going quite wild over the prospect! I am very glad indeed to have hit upon something that gives you such pleasure. But come here; I have something more to tell you about it.”
“Oh, have you, papa?” she cried, running to him to put her arm round his neck and kiss him again and again; “what is it?”
“Ah,” he returned, laughing, “I doubt if it is well to tell you; you are so nearly crazy already.”
“Oh, yes, do tell me please. I won’t get any crazier; at least I don’t think I shall, I’ll try not to.”
So he told her of Zoe’s suggestion, and that he intended it should be carried out.
A conservatory opened from one of the parlors, and there, he said, they would have the magic cave.
“Oh papa, how lovely, how lovely!” both little girls exclaimed, their eyes sparkling and their cheeks flushing with delighted anticipation.
“That entertainment will be for New Year’s Eve,” he said, “and the Peri must have a present for each one who visits her case. That will necessitate a shopping expedition to the city to-day or to-morrow. Lulu, would you like to be one of the purchasers? shall I take you to the stores with me?”
“Oh!” she cried half breathlessly, “wouldn’t I like it? But,” with a sudden sobering down of demeanor and a tender look into the face of her little sister, “I—I can’t leave Gracie, papa, she would miss me and be so lonesome without me.”
“But I could stand it for one day, Lu; and I couldn’t bear to have you miss such fun—such a good time—just for me,” said Grace, with winning sweetness.
“And Mamma Vi will contrive that she shall not be lonely,” the captain said, drawing them both closer into his arms.
“The mutual love of my little girls is a great joy to me,” he added, caressing them in turn.
Just then a servant came in bringing Gracie’s breakfast.
She ate it sitting on her father’s knee, while Lulu, standing alongside, kept up a lively strain of talk on the all-absorbing theme of the hour. She had a good many questions to ask too, and they were all answered by her father with unfailing patience and kindness.
The proposed festivities were the principal topic of conversation at the family breakfast, also; for the ladies were deeply interested, the gentlemen not quite indifferent.
The storm had passed, the morning was fine, and the captain announced his intention to drive into the city, starting within an hour, winding up with the query, “which of you ladies will volunteer to go along, and assist in this important shopping?”
“Zoe would enjoy it, I am sure, and you could not have a more competent helper,” Violet said, smiling kindly into the eager face of her young sister-in-law.
“I should not object, if I can be of service,” said Zoe, “but don’t you want to go yourself, Vi? I haven’t a doubt that the captain would prefer your company to any other.”
“I think I should abide by the stuff,” returned Violet in a lively tone, “or rather by the little ones, baby and Gracie. Lulu must go with her papa—I would not have her miss it for a great deal—and I am eager to make the day a happy one to Gracie in spite of the absence of her devoted sister-nurse,” she added with an affectionate glance and smile in Lulu’s direction.
“Oh, Mamma Vi, thank you ever so much!” exclaimed the little girl. “I do think it will be just splendid to go with papa and help choose the things, but I couldn’t bear to leave Gracie alone.”
“You are a dear, good sister, Lulu,” remarked Mrs. Elsie Leland. “It does one good to see how you and Gracie love one another.”
“Thank you, Aunt Elsie,” said Lulu, flushing with gratification; then catching the look of proud, fond affection with which her father was regarding her, she colored still more deeply, while her heart bounded with joy. It was so sweet to know that he loved her so dearly and was not ashamed of her, faulty as she felt herself to be.
“Yes,” he said, “their mutual affection is a constant source of happiness to their father. I pity the parent whose children are not kind and affectionate to each other.
“Well, Mrs. Zoe,” turning smilingly to her, “am I to have the pleasure of your company today, and the benefit of your assistance and advice in the selection of the ornaments and gifts necessary or desirable for the successful carrying-out of your proposed entertainment?”
“Thank you; I shall be delighted to go and to give all the assistance in my power,” she answered. “That is if Ned is willing to spare me,” she added, turning to him with a merry, mischievous look and smile.
“I don’t think I can,” he said, in a sober, meditative tone, “but if the captain is sufficiently anxious to secure your valuable services to take me too, my consent shall not be withheld.”
“Then it’s a bargain,” laughed the captain, and Lulu’s eyes sparkled. She was saying to herself, “Then I shall be sure to sit beside papa; because they always want to be together; so they’ll take one seat in the carriage, and we’ll have the other.”
CHAPTER III.
“Oh, Gracie, Gracie, I’ve had the nicest, the most splendid time that ever was!” cried Lulu, rushing into their own little sitting-room where Grace lay on the sofa, having that moment waked from her afternoon nap.
“Oh, have you, Lu? I’m so glad,” she exclaimed, as her sister paused for breath: for Lulu had rushed up stairs so fast in her joyful eagerness to tell every thing to Grace, that she had not much breath left for talking.
“I’ve had a good time, too, looking at pictures and playing with baby, and hearing lovely stories that mamma and Aunt Elsie told me,” continued Gracie. “But tell me ’bout yours.”
“Oh, it would be a long story to tell you every thing,” said Lulu. “I enjoyed the drive ever so much, sitting close beside papa, with his arm round me, and he giving me such a loving look every once in a while, and asking me if I was quite warm and comfortable. Then we went to ever so many stores and bought lots of things, some handsome and some not worth much, but just to make fun (when we have the case, you know). And papa was, oh, so kind! he let me buy every single thing I wanted to. And he says I may label the presents this evening—he helping me because it would be too much for me to do all alone—and decide which present is to be given to which person.”
“Oh, Lu, what fun!” cried Grace.
“Yes; and you shall have some say in it too, if you want to,” returned Lulu, generously, throwing off her coat as she spoke, then bending down to give Grace a loving kiss.
“I’m to make out the list of folks to be invited, too,” she ran on, “and write the notes, with papa’s help. He says this is to be all our own party—Max’s, and yours, and mine—and he wants us to get every bit of pleasure out of it we can. Isn’t he a dear, kind father?”
“Yes, indeed.”