 CHAPTER XV. The whining schoolboy with his satchel and shining morning face, creeping like a snail unwillingly into school. The new school had opened the previous week and was now in successful operation. Zilla and Ada were pursuing their studies with redoubled zeal and interest, finding a constant spur in the desire to keep pace with, if not outstrip the other members of their classes. Mildred was often applied to for help in the home preparation of their lessons and her assistance, always truthfully and kindly given, received with due appreciation. With such good help at home, they would say, we ought to do better than any of the other girls, for there isn't one of them who has a sister so capable of explaining whatever in their lessons they find difficult to understand or so willing to do it. I am only returning to you what mother has done for me in past days, Mildred answered more than once, and if I did not do it she would. Yes, was the rejoinder, there isn't such another mother in the town or anywhere else for that matter. The little boys, accustomed to passing most of the day in the open air after conning their tasks on the front porch or in the shade of the trees, found the confinement of the school room very irksome. Mother and Mildred were frequently appealed to for sympathy in their trial, and the demand was always sure to be met with bright, hopeful, cheery words of encouragement to patience and diligence. They must be willing to bear with a little discomfort in the pursuit of the knowledge which was so important to their future success in life, must try to learn all they could that they might grow up to be wise, useful men, capable of doing God's service and of helping themselves and others. Hitherto the little fellows had been kept out of the streets and carefully shielded from the snares and temptations of association with the evil disposed and wicked. The time for a trial of the strength of their principles had now come and parents and elder sister looked on with deep anxiety for the result. The perfect openness endangered in them by never failing sympathy in all their little childish joys and sorrows, plans and purposes, now proved a wonderful safeguard. Why should they want to hide anything from those whose interest in and love for them was made so apparent? They did not, and so many a wrong step was avoided or speedily retrieved. In that first week of school, Cyril had got himself into disgrace with his teacher by a liberal distribution among his mates of gingerbread and candy, for which he had spent his whole store of pocket money. The good things were carried into the school room, the master's attention drawn to them by the constant munching and crunching among the boys. A search was promptly instituted, the remainder of the feast confiscated and an explanation called for. Who brought these things here, was the stern demand. Aye, sir, I brought them and gave them to the fellows and so I'm more to blame than anybody else. Cyril said, rising in a seat and speaking out with manly courage and honesty, though his cheeks were in a blaze and his heart beat fast. Then, sir, you shall be punished with the loss of your recess and being kept in for an hour after school, was the stern rejoinder. I will have no such doings here. There was not a word of commendation of the boys' moral courage and readiness to confess his fault, and he had to endure not only the loss of his playtime but also was severely lectured and threatened with the flogging if ever the offense should be repeated. He went home very angry and indignant and his mother being out carried his grievance to Mildred. He poured out the whole story without reserve, finishing with, Wasn't it the greatest shame for him to punish me twice for the same thing? I'm sure the loss of my recess was quite enough, especially considering that I owned up the money he asked about it and then the idea of threatening to flog me, why, I haven't had a whipping since I was a little bit of a fellow and I'd think it'd an awful disgrace to get one now I'm so big, especially at school, and I say nobody but father or mother has a right to touch me and nobody shall. I'll just knock old Peacock down if he dares to try it, that I will. Oh, Cyril, Cyril, you should not be so disrespectful toward the teacher father has said over you, Mildred said, striving to speak quietly, the between indignation at the severity and injustice of the treatment the child had received and the mirth-provoking idea of his imagining himself able to cope with the man, she found it no easy matter. I'm really sorry you have wasted your money and broken the rules. No I didn't, the boy burst out hotly. He'd never made any rule about it, though he has now and says I ought to have known and must have known that such things couldn't be allowed. Well, that seems rather unreasonable, but I suppose you might if you had stopped to think. You know, Cyril dear, how often father and mother have urged you to try to be more thoughtful. Yes, but it seemed as if I can't, Millie. How's the fellow to help being thoughtless and careless when it comes so natural? Our wicked natures are what we have to strive against, you know, and God will help us if we ask him, she answered, speaking that holy name in low, reverent tones. Don, who had waited about the schoolhouse door for Cyril and walked home by his side, was standing by listening to the talk. Oh, Millie, we don't like that school, he said with a look of weariness and disgust. It's so hard to have to be shut up there and obliged to sit still most all day long. Won't you ask father to let us stay at home and say lessons to you again? Oh yes, Millie, do, Cyril joined in. Fans ever so lonesome without us and will be as good as we know how, study hard and not give you a bit of trouble. Mildred explained that the arrangements had been made for the summer and could not now be altered, and surely, she concluded, with an encouraging smile, my two little brothers are not such cowards as to be conquered by little difficulties in discomforts. Don't you know we have to meet such things all the way through life and the best way is to meet them with a cheerful courage and determination to press on, notwithstanding. The slothful man sayeth there is a line in the way. The way of the slothful man is as an hedge of thorns. Don't be like him. Does that mean that folks are lazy when they give up because things are hard? Yes, Don, and if we are so ready to do that, we are not likely to get to heaven because that is no easy matter with our sinful hearts, a wicked world, and Satan and all his hosts to fight against. We have to fight the good fight of faith, to lay hold on eternal life, to press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God and Jesus Christ, to run with patience the race that is set before us. Jesus said, the kingdom of heaven suffers violence and the violent take it by force. Millie, what does that mean? That to get to heaven it is necessary to strive very, very earnestly and determinately. Millie, how can Don and I fight that fight? Asked Cyril. Do tell us. Just as grown people must, by loving and trusting Jesus and striving earnestly every day and hour to serve God and doing faithfully the duty that comes nearest to hand. And don't you see that the principal part of yours at present is to be good, faithful workers at school, and obedient to your teacher because Father has given him authority over you when you were at school? Yes, I suppose so, sighed Don. But oh Millie, I did want to run away this afternoon and take a nice walk instead of going to school. It's so nice down by the river and in the woods, among the birds and flowers. Yes, I know it is, Don, but it would have been very wrong to go without leave and I can't tell you how glad I am that you resisted the temptation. Now that money was wanted for the missionary, Cyril was sorry for having spent his so foolishly. I was very bad to waste it in that way, he said regretfully. It was all because I didn't think, but I mean to think after this and try to make the best use of all the money I get. The new school was nearly as great an affliction to Fan as to the little boys. She was so lonely without Cyril and Don, hitherto her inseparable companions and playmates. And now it depended upon her to run errands for her mother and sister when they were in too great haste to wait the boy's leisure. And Fan, being extremely timid and bashful, found this no small trial. It was Monday morning, the scholars were trooping into the schoolhouse, the Keith's among the rest. At home, Mildred was in the parlor giving a music lesson, Fan in the sitting room waiting for mother to come and hear her read and spell. Mrs. Keith came in and sat down on her writing desk. Fan, darling, mother wants you to do an errand for her, she said, taking up her pen. What, mother? the child asked, half-plantedly. To carry a note for me to Mrs. Clark, I want you to take it there immediately and tell her you will wait for an answer. And then, as you come back, call it Chet Wooden Mockers and ask for a yard of calico like the piece I shall give you, and also how they are selling eggs today by the dozen. Then I will buy your dozen of you and you will have the money for the missionary. Oh, mother, sigh the little girl, I don't like to go to the store all alone or to Mrs. Clark's either. I don't know her. I am sorry my dear little girl is so bashful, but that is something that must be overcome and cannot be accepted by refusing to indulge it. You may take Anna's with you, though, if you choose. Thank you, mother, but Anna's is so little that I'll have to do all the talking just the same. Well, dear, you can talk quite prettily if you only forget to think about yourself. Try to forget little fan Keith and think of the messages she has to deliver, the questions she must ask, and you will find there is no trouble at all. Oh, mother, please let somebody else go. Fan had put down her book, gone to her mother's side and was standing there looking pleadingly into her face. Mrs. Keith bent down as she folded her note and pressed a loving kiss on the white forehead. My little girl will go to police mother and the dear Lord Jesus. There was no one else to go now and the errands cannot wait for the boys to come home from school. Will it please Jesus, mother? Yes, dear, because he bids you honor and obey your mother and also to deny yourself when duty calls. You know one part of the errand at the store is to help you to the money for the poor heathen. Mother, I'd rather do most anything else for them, but I'll go to please you and the Lord Jesus. And I want Anna's to go, too. Will you, Anna's? I guess I will. I'd like to," the little one answered joyously. It was a busy morning with Mrs. Keith and getting Anna's ready for the walk involved some small loss of time, but she considered the pleasure she would thus give her little ones well worth the sacrifice. Now fan, she said, when the children were about to start and she had put the note and sample of calico into the little girl's hands with a repetition of her commissions, remember that you are the errand girl and have all the responsibility because Anna's is too little, but you are mother's big, useful girl. I know you are glad to be a help and comfort to mother. The tender, loving words infused courage into the timid little heart for the moment and the two set off with bright faces, but fans clouded again and her heart beat fast as she neared Mrs. Clark's door. Had it not been open her timid little wrap would hardly have been heard and her message delivered with the note was given in tone so low that the lady had to ask her to repeat it while she bent her ear to catch the words. At the store it was even worse, not yet recovered from the embarrassment of her call upon Mrs. Clark. Fans stumbled and stammered, said she wanted a dozen calico's for her mother and to know how they sold eggs by the yard. Then catching the mirthful gleam in Will Chetwood's eyes and seeing the corners of his lips twitching she hastily drew back as far as possible into the shelter of her son Bonnet, quite overwhelmed with confusion by the sudden consciousness of having made a terrible blunder her cheeks aflame and her eyes filling with tears. I think it is a yard of calico like that in your hand that you want and the price of eggs with a dozen, isn't it? he asked pleasantly. Yes, sir. That's what mother said, Anna spoke up briskly. Fan was quite beyond speaking and kept her face hidden in her son Bonnet and hurried away the moment her little parcel was handed her. Mildred was alone in the sitting-room as they came in. Where's mother? asked Anna's. In the parlor talking to Mr. Lord. You got the calico fan? Here, give it to me. Being catching sight of the child's face as she drew near. Why, what's the matter? What have you been crying about? she asked in a tone of kindly concern. Oh, Millie! I couldn't help it. I don't like to go on errands! cried Fan, bursting into tears again. Mildred drew the little weeper to her side, wiped away the tears, kissed the wet cheek, and with kindly questioning drew the whole story from her. And Mr. Chetlin was laughing at me. I know he was, and I don't want to ever go there anymore, concluded the child, hiding her burning cheeks on Mildred's shoulder. Oh, you needn't mind that, Mildred said. Just join in the laugh. That's the way Aunt Wealthy does and your mistake is very much like some of hers. Then I don't care so much. For nobody's nicer than Aunt Wealthy. Unless it's mother and father and you. You needn't accept me. I'm by no means equal to Aunt Wealthy, Mildred said, smiling and stroking Fan's hair. Anas had run into the parlor and they were quite alone. Millie said Fan after a moment's silence. I thought God heard our prayers. So he does, Fan. Yes, but I mean I thought he would do what we asked. Not always, because we often ask for something that he sees would not be good for us. But what are you thinking about? Have you prayed for something that you didn't get? Perhaps you expected the answer too soon. We often have to wait and pray again and again many times and at last the answer comes. And sometimes it comes in a better way than we had thought of. I'll tell you, Millie, Fan said slowly and hesitatingly. I prayed that Mrs. Clark mightn't be at home. But there she was. Mildred could scarcely keep from smiling. That wasn't a good or bright prayer, little sister, she said. Because, don't you see, it was selfish and almost the same as disobeying mother. Since if the prayer had been granted you would have been prevented from doing her errand. Millie, I didn't think of that, Fan answered penitently. I won't pray that way anymore. No, dear, a better prayer would be for help to overcome the foolish timidity. We will both ask our kind, heavenly father for that. End of Chapter 15 Chapter 16 of Mildred and Elsie This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Kylie Goodfellow Mildred and Elsie by Martha Finley Chapter 16 Whether my heart is gone, my hand, and not elsewhere. Long, fellow. We will pass briefly over the events of the next five years, during which there were few changes in the Keith family, but such as time must bring to all. The lines had deepened somewhat on Mr. Keith's brow, and the hair on his temples was growing gray. The anxieties and burdens of life pressed more heavily upon him than upon his lighter-hearted, more trustful wife, she having learned more fully than he to lean hard upon the Lord, casting all her care upon him in the full assurance that he cared for her and that all things worked together for good to then that love God. She looked scarcely a day older than at the time of Mildred's return from her visit to Rosalinds. These had been years of toil and struggle to feed, clothe, and educate their large family of children. They had thus far been successful, but only by dint of good management, close economy, and hard work. Rupert had completed his college course with the drug business in connection with Dr. Grange. It was a great joy to Mildred that her earnings as music teacher had assisted largely in paying the expense of her brother's education. Rupert found it hard to consent to this, but finally did so with the distinct understanding that he was to repay the money with interest. The sisterly kindness, he said, I can never repay. Yes, Mildred returned with an arch-look and smile, you can. By showing, in like manner, brotherly kindness to Cyrelandon, as I certainly hoped to do, Rupert responded with hearty goodwill, and now he and Mildred were pleasing themselves with the thought that the worst of the struggle was over. Zilla and Ada were done with school, though still pursuing some studies with Mildred at home. It had been decided that Fan and Anas could and should be entirely educated by the older sisters, and so Cyrelandon were the only ones whose tuition would still be an item of expense to the parents, an expense of which the good daughter and son each hoped to bear part. Rupert would be able to do so after a while by the time the lads were ready for college, and Mildred could assist now, as she was still teaching and finding it more profitable than ever. It sometimes seemed weary work, but she would not give it up. Indeed, the joy of helping to bear the burdens of the dear father and mother far more than repaid her for her self-denying toil. The town had grown very much, and one of the newcomers was a music teacher, that Mildred had established a good reputation, and had always as many pupils as she cared to take. In all these years she had not heard a word from Charlie Landrith, yet her heart remained true to him. She did not seclude herself from society, but generally took part in the innocent pastimes of the young people of her own station, and was always cheerful and pleasant, not seldom even gay and lively. Now and then she accepted the escort of one or another of her gentlemen friends, but she would not receive particular tensions from any. Still one or two had determinately sought her handed marriage, but only to meet with gentle yet firm rejection. Wallace Ormsby still continued on the most friendly terms of intimacy in the family, and after two years had passed without news of his favored rival, ventured to renew his suit. The result of this effort convinced him of the utter hopelessness of ever winning the coveted prize. He grieved over his second disappointment for a time, but of late had begun to turn his longing eyes in a new direction, and Mildred perceived it with pleasure. Wallace had been taken into partnership with Mr. Keith, and she would gladly welcome him into the family, for she had, as she had said, a truly sisterly affection for him. Zilla and Ada were budding into very lovely womanhood. Of the two, Zilla was the more strikingly handsome and the more sprightly, full of innocent mirth and gaiety, witty and quick at repartee. She was the life of every company of which she formed a part. Zilla's manner was more quiet and reserved, but suited well with her intellectual countenance in the noble contour of her features. They were inseparable, and whenever opportunity offered, Wallace Ormsby was sure to be with them. Speculation was rife among the gossips of the town as to which he was courting, or whether it might be that he was in love with both. Mildred, with her better opportunities for observation, and visions sharpened by Keen's sisterly affection, presently settled that question in her and satisfied herself that in this instance the chorus of true love was likely to run smooth. The little courtier of which Mildred and Wallace had formed a part was broken up, the other four having paired off for life. It was known now that Claudina Chetwood was engaged to York Mocker and Lucilla Grange to Will Chetwood. It was the afternoon for the meeting of the Lady's Sewing Society. They were preparing a box of clothing for a western home missionary. The whole Keith family took a deep interest and each one had contributed toward it. The three older girls were at the meeting, busily plying their needles while at home the mother was finishing a garment, the two little girls sitting beside her hemming towels, all for the box. Indeed the interest was very general on the church and there was a goodly gathering of ladies in Mrs. Pryor's parlor where the society held its meeting this week. The room was large and the busy workers had grouped themselves together here and there as inclination dictated. Third, Claudina and Lou forming one group, Zilla, Ada and several of their young companions and other, while a third was composed of older ladies. The three heads in the first group were very close together, the three voices conversing earnestly in tones too subdued to give any of the others an inkling of the subject of their talk. But there were wise surmises, I reckon they're planning for the weddings, whispered one elderly lady to her next neighbor indicating by a motion of the head whom she meant. Likely was the rejoinder, do you know when they're to come off? No, but before long I guess, I don't see that there's anything to wait for. Unless for Mildred and Wallace arms me to make it up together so that the whole six can pair off at once and so make a triple wedding. It would be a novel and pretty idea, now wouldn't it? Yes, and I used to think it would be a match, but I've changed my mind. It's plain to be seen now that it's one of the younger sisters he's after. Mildred's young enough, doesn't look a day over twenty, though I suppose she's really twenty-three or four. About that I suppose, but she could easily pass for eighteen. I wonder if she's made up her mind to be an old maid. If I can read the signs, Wallace was deeply in love with her at one time, and it's said she's had other offers. I don't doubt it, she's too charming to have escaped that, if the young men have any taste, yet she's not so handsome after all as Zilla. I wonder why she wouldn't have Wallace. He's fine looking and an excellent match every way. Perhaps she's left her heart in the south. I thought I could see a change in her ever since her visit there, while I don't believe her mother's in any hurry to have her marry and leave, for there never was a better daughter or sister. I've heard Mrs. Keats say more than once that she didn't know how she could ever do without Mildred. And she may well say so, jointed Mrs. Pryor, the other two were uncommon nice girls, but Mildred bears off the palm to my thinking. I hear folks wondering now and then, how it is that Mr. Lord has lived single all these years. I don't profess to know anything for certain about it, but I have strong suspicions that he's tried for Mildred Keats and couldn't get her, and can't be content to take anybody else. She seems cut out for her minister's wife, remarked one of the others. Yes, she'd make a good one, I don't doubt, assented Mrs. Pryor, but I don't blame her for refusing him, if she has done it. It's a kind of hard life, and he's too old for her, and too absent-minded and odd. The girls, Mildred and her mates, were talking over the arrangements for the approaching nuptials. The young men wanted a double wedding, and the girls were not adverse to the idea, but the parents of each wanted to see their own daughter married beneath their own roof. My father says the ceremony ought to be performed in his house, since one of the contracting parties in each case is his child, said Claudina, but Dr. Grange can't see the force of the argument. No, said Lou, both he and mother say that it is always at the house of the bride's parents the ceremony should be performed. Can't you compromise by having it in the church? asked Mildred. That is what we'll have to do, I presume, said Claudina, if we are to do a double wedding, and oh Mildred, if you and Wallace would only make a match and let us have a triple one, I think it would be just splendid. And so do I, chimed in Lou. Now what's to hinder? A good deal, replied Mildred with a smile and blush. I doubt if it would make three or four people unhappy for life. What can you mean? I've been perfectly sure for years past that Wallace adored you was Claudina's surprise exclamation. Mildred's only reply was a quiet smile. And I dare say he must have popped the question before this, Claudina went on teasingly. So now do be good and obliging enough to fall in with my plan, for it's a capital one, isn't it, Lou? Oh, just lovely, was the eager rejoinder. Mildred, do that's a deer. Indeed, girls, Mildred said, her eyes dancing with merriment. I do like to oblige, but in this instance it is beyond the bounds of possibility. Whatever you may think, Wallace does not want me, nor I him. Well, then all I have to say is that neither of you has good taste and I'd set my heart on the match, Claudina said and pretended indignation. Meantime, the younger girls were chatting gaily among themselves, flitting lightly from one theme to another, school affairs, pleasure parties, dress and bows, teasing each other about the latter, as young girls will. Zilla and Ada came in for their share. Which of them was all those forms becording, they were asked. Probably both, Ada answered in a tone of irony, he is a man of original ideas and doesn't always do things by rule, and he knows we can't live apart, added Zilla, blushing and smiling. Nonsense, he can't marry you both, now which of you is it? Suppose you ask him, returned Zilla the color deepening still more in her cheek. I declare I've got a great mind to, I believe I'll do it tonight, if I get a chance, returned her tormentor laughingly. It was the custom for the ladies to come to the society as early in the afternoon as practicable, stay to a plain tea and until nine or ten o'clock in the evening, the gentlemen joining them for the last hour or two, an arrangement which served the double purpose of interesting the latter in the good work in a way to draw forth their contributions and to provide escorts for the ladies in the evening. There was a full attendance that evening, among the early arrivals came Nicholas Ransquaddle, bowing low, right and left as he entered the room. Good evening, ladies. I'm happy to see you all. Then straightening himself and throwing back his head, now grown very bald, upon his shoulders in the old, awkward fashion he sent his dull gray eyes searchingly about the room. He's looking for you, Zilla's next neighbor, whispered down town, talking with some of the fellows that he was going to cut while his arm would be out, and there, just see, he's making straight for this corner. You ought to feel proud of your conquest, Zilla. Not till I'm sure I made it, Sally. No, not even then. Zilla returned somewhat scornfully, since I should be but one among the multitude of his adorable angels. Sally laughed and nodded ascent as Nicholas drew up a chair and seated himself between them. It was the common report that he had courted every girl of marital aid in the town, offering hard and hand to each in succession as they moved into the place or grew to young maidenhood. No one had accepted him yet. He had never been attractive to the softer sex, and did not become more so with advancing years. Behind his back the girls were unsparing in their ridicule of his awkward carriage, homely features, and unbounded vanity and self-conceit. They had dubbed him Old Nick and the Bald Eagle. It was the most important to be a thorn between two roses, ladies, he said with another low bow as he seated himself. Provided you are a useful one, Mr. Ransquaddle, replied Sally, giving him a needle to thread, they are of use sometimes, I suppose. Yes, Miss Rush, to protect the roses, which I shall be most happy to do. Protect them from what? asked Zilla dryly. From rude and careless hands that would feign pluck them from the parent's stem, only to cast them neglectfully aside and let them die, and Nicholas glanced significantly toward Ornsby, who had entered the room at that moment and was bidding good evening to their hostess. Wallace caught the glance, noted by whom Ransquaddle was seated and flushed angrily. Roses must die whether plucked or not, remarked Sally, and the fingers that plucked them saved them from wasting their sweetness on the desert air. You'll never be left so sad of fate, Miss Rush, was the gallant rejoinder. I don't know, she replied, laughing and shaking her head. There may be some danger if the thorns are too close when the gatherer of roses comes. Wallace had found a seat near Mildred, and she noticed that as he talked with her he stole many a furtive and ill-pleased glance in Zilla's direction. Mildred was folding up her work. You are not going yet, he said, it was once a full half-hour of the usual time for dispersing. I know, but Mrs. Smith is very sick, and I have promised to watch with her tonight. Mildred, I'm going home, Ada said, coming up at that instant. Mother will be lonely, perhaps, and I can work just as well there as here. But I must go now, and we must not leave Zilla to go home alone. No, but Rue will be here directly. I—let me have the pleasure of escorting you both, and I'll come back for Zilla, said Wallace, speaking hastily in an undertone. His offer was accepted, and the three slipped quietly away. Mrs. Smith's house was a nearer, and not much out of the way in going to Mr. Keats. So Mildred was seen to her destination first, then Wallace and Ada walked on to hers. Wallace expected to leave her at the door, and returning in good season asked the privilege of seeing Zilla safely home also. But Mr. Keith called him in, saying he had an important matter to consult him about, and in spite of the young man's ill-concealed impatience to be gone, kept him there for more than an hour. In the meantime, Wren Squaddle made good use of his opportunity, managing so that, to Zilla's extreme vexation, she could not reject his offered escort without great rudeness. For warned, for armed, she said to herself, thinking of Sally's gossip as they set out, to go hard with me, but I'll prevent his getting his opportunity tonight. And she rattled on in the liveliest strain without an instant intermission, talking the most absurd nonsense just to prevent her companion from opening his lips. They had reached her father's gate before he succeeded in doing so. She had no notion of asking him in. Good night, Mr. Wren Squaddle, she said gaily, letting go his arm and stepping hastily inside as he held the gate open for her. I much obliged for your trouble. Excuse me, Miss Zilla, for detaining you a moment, but I have something very particular to tell you. He said, hardly waiting for the end of her sentence. You are a very lovely and charming young maidie. Oh, that's no news! I've heard it dozens of times. She interrupted, laughing, and taking a backward step as if on the point of running away. No doubt, but never I am sure from so devoted an admirer as your humble servant. Miss Zilla, I lay my heart hand in fortune at your feet. Oh, don't, Mr. Wren Squaddle. She interrupted again, half recoiling as she spoke. It's a dangerous place to lay articles so valuable, lest perchance they should be accidentally trodden on. Can you have misunderstood me, he asked? As it would seem in some surprise at her obtuseness, I meant to ask you to marry me. Will you? But don't answer now. Take time to consider, and I will call tomorrow to learn my fate from the sweetest lips in the world. He was bowing in adieu, but now she detained him, drawing herself up with dignity and speaking in a calm, cold tone of firm determination. No, do not call, Mr. Wren Squaddle, she said. I need no time to consider the question you have asked, and will give you your answer now. I can never bestow my heart upon you, and therefore never my hand. Good night, sir. And turning, she hastened with a quick light step toward the house. In the hall she met Wallace, who had just left her father in the sitting room busy over some law papers. Silla, he exclaimed, what is it? What has happened? Why do you ask? Why do you think anything has happened? She returned, half averting her face. Because you look so flush and indignant. If anybody has been insulting you, oh Wallace, what nonsense she cried with a little nervous laugh. Well, I'm glad if it is not so, he said. I hope no one would dare. I meant to go back to the society directly, hoping to have the pleasure of seeing you home, but was unavoidably detained. It's early yet, though, in such a lovely moonlight evening. Won't you take a little stroll with me? If you'll wait a moment till I tell Mother we're going. Mildred, finding she was not needed at Mrs. Smith's, had returned home and was just ready for bed, had blown out her candle and was standing by the window, gazing out and thinking how lovely everything looked in the moonlight. When her door opened softly in the next instant, Zilla's arms were about her neck, her face half hidden on her shoulder. How you tremble, Mildred said, putting an arm around the slender waist. Has anything gone wrong? Oh, Millie, such a funny time as I've had in the last hour or two. And the eyes that looked up into Mildred's face were fairly dancing with merriment. I seem destined to play second fiddle to you, so far as the admiration of the other sex is concerned. Having actually received proposals of marriage from two of your old bows in this one evening. Indeed, well, I hope you did not accept both, Mildred said laughingly. Not both, but one, she whispered with a low, joyous laugh and a blush that was visible even in the moonlight. Oh, Millie, I'm so happy. I don't care if I am taking what you refused. Wallace is far beyond my deserts, and I wouldn't exchange him for a king. Wallace, oh, Zilla, how glad I am! I need no longer feel remorseful for having wrecked his happiness and shall rejoice to call him brother. He will be one to be proud of. Yes, I am obliged to you for rejecting him, and I dare say so he is now, she added sossily, her eyes again dancing with fun. I don't doubt it, and now perhaps there'll be a triple wedding after all. What are you talking about, returned Zilla in astonishment? It isn't time to be thinking of weddings yet. It would be too soon, Mildred said, and went on to explain the occasion of her remark, then said, but you haven't told me whose was the other offer. Oh, can't you guess, laughed Zilla? Don't you know that the bald eagle is still in quest of a mate? Old Nick was it. Now then, you must just tell the whole story, Mildred said in a tone of amusement. Twas quite a variation from his offer to you, answered merthfully, and went on to give a detailed and amusing account of the walk home in the short colloquy at the gate. Then bidding good night, she hastened to her own room, shared with Ada and repeated the story to her, winding up with, your turn will come, you may depend upon that, so try to be prepared. Small need of preparation, was the core rejoinder, but you've had a walk with Wallace since, won't you tell me what he said? I couldn't begin to remember it all, but Ada, darling, can you spare him to me? The last words were spoken in a tremulous half whisper, her arm about her sister's neck, her lips close to her ear. I knew Twas would come to that before long, sighed Ada, with a hug and a kiss, while tears sprang to her eyes. Oh, Zilla dear, I believe my happiest days are over and gone. No, no, no, darling, the very, very sweetest are yet to come. Love will be yours some day, as it is mine tonight, and there's nothing half so sweet in life as love's young dream. End of Chapter 16 Chapter 17 of Mildred and Elsie This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Kylie Goodfellow. Mildred and Elsie by Martha Finley. Chapter 17 But happy they, the happiest of their kind, whom gentler stars unite, and in one fate, their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend. Wallace Ornsby sought and obtained a second interview with Mr. Keith that evening, in which he asked his senior partner to take him into still closer relations and bestow upon him a priceless gift. Mr. Keith was both surprised and moved. I can't realize that she's really grown up, he said, and I don't know how to spare her even to you, Wallace. But you know, my dear sir, it isn't as if I wanted to carry her away. No, that's quite true, but her mother's right in her is fully equal to mine. Wait a moment till I call her in. So the request and the arguments in its favor had to be repeated. The mother's eyes filled, and for a moment she was silent. Then, holding out her hand to the young man, I have long had a motherly affection for you, Wallace, she said, and there was no one else to whom I could so willingly entrust the happiness of my dear child, and yet it is very hard to give her up. Don't think of it in that way, dear Mrs. Keith. He made answer in tones of the deepest respect, taking the hand and lifting it gallantly to his lips. Think of it rather as taking another member, another son, into the family. It would be joy to me to have the right to call you mother. And I should be proud to own you as my son. She returned with her own sweet motherly smile, but Zilla herself must decide this question. Then I have nothing to fear, nothing more to ask, he said joyously. In truth, no one had any objection to bring against the match, and all went smoothly and happily with the new affianced pair. The next day Wallace came hurrying in with beaming countenance and eager air. Ah, it was you I wanted, he said, finding his betrothed alone in the parlour with her she had betaken herself for her daily hour of practice on the piano. Won't you put on a shawl and bonnet and come with me? Where, she asked, with a merry twinkle in her eye, just across the street to look at that house of millers. It's nearly finished and he's willing to sell. But who wants to buy? She asked in her pretty, saucy way, as she stepped into the hall and tied on a bonnet which she took from the hat rack there, while Wallace threw a shawl about her shoulders. Perhaps we can better answer that question after we've been over it, he said with a smile. So it proved, the snug, pretty conveniently arranged cottage, so close to the old home too, seemed just the thing for them. Father, mother, and all the family were presently brought over to look at and pronounce an opinion upon it, and without a dissenting voice the purchase was decided upon. And now there's another and still more important matter to be settled, whispered Wallace in Zilla's ear. There is no hurry, she answered, blushing. There is to be a double or a triple wedding in our church in about a month from now, he went on lightly and in coaxing tones. I want it to be the latter, so do four other people. But it all depends on you. Come, darling, why should we wait longer than that? Ah, it fairly frightens me to think of such haste, she said, half averting her blushing face. I don't know why it should, he responded, his tone speaking both disappointment and charging, unless you fear to trust your happiness to my keeping. That's because men are so different from women, but to save a quarrel we'll leave it to father's and mother's decision, shan't we? And she turned to him again with a smile so arch and sweet that he consented it once and sealed the promise with a kiss. Father and mother said, wait at least until next spring, you are both young enough and we cannot part so suddenly with our dear child. Hardly a parting just to let her cross the street, while this made answer with a sigh that was not altogether a resignation, then added with a hint that he would be willing to leave her in her father's house until spring if only they would let him join her there. But that proposal was smilingly rejected and the wedding day indefinitely postponed until some time in the spring. Intimate friends were not kept in ignorance of the engagement and the two expectant brides and bridegrooms were, until convicted of its uselessness, very urgent for the triple wedding. The double one took place at the appointed time and place, was quite a brilliant affair and followed by a round of festivities such as the quiet little town had never witnessed before. Evening entertainments were given by the Chetwoods, the Granges, the Keiths, and one or two others. Then life settled back into the ordinary grooves and the rest of the fallen winter passed without any unusual excitement. The Keiths were quietly, cheerfully busy as at other times. Wallace came and went as before, but was often left to Zilla's sole entertainment, yet treated more entirely than ever as one of the family. Brighter days were dawning for our friends. Through all these years they had been very diligent in business and very faithful in paying ties of all they possessed and the truth of scripture declarations and promises, the hand of the diligent maketh rich, and so shall thy barns be filled with plenty and thy presses burst out with new wine, was being verified in their experience. This fall Messers Keith and Ormsby found themselves successful in several very important cases, which brought them both fame and money. The town was now growing rapidly, business looking up and land, which they had bought for a trifle on first coming to the place, had already doubled and trebled in value. Rupert, too, was succeeding well in his chosen vocation, and both he and his father urged Mildred to seize her toil as a music teacher, saying now there was not the slightest necessity for such exertion on her part. The mother's views coincided with theirs, but Mildred begged to be permitted to go on in the old way, saying constant employment was good for her. She was used to it and liked it. And besides, she added playfully, I enjoy the thought that I am laying a little something by against old age or a rainy day. I am not likely ever to marry, so will do well to be self-helpful. And why should I not have a business the same as if I were a man? I shall be all the happier, the more useful, and the more independent. So they let her have her way. She was not keeping employment from those who needed it, for there were plenty of pupils for all the teachers in the place. Effie Prescott was now one of these, most faithful and successful and full of joy and thankfulness that thus she was able to win her bread, for she had not strength to do so in any more laborious way, and her father was poor enough to feel it a relief to have Effie supporting herself. And I have you to thank for it, she had said again and again to Mildred, it is one of your good works and I shall never cease to be grateful to you for it. Indeed, Effie, you owe me nothing, Mildred would reply, not even gratitude, for you have paid well for all I have done for you. You owe it all, under God, to your own industry, energy, and perseverance and the use and improvement of the talents he has given you. To the whole household at Mr. Keith's, the all-absorbing interest was the fitting up and furnishing of the snug cottage across the street, and the preparation of Zilla's true so, in the expense or labor of which each one was determined to have a share. All these matters were freely discussed in the family, even the little boys and girls deemed worthy to be trusted not to speak of them to outsiders. Not that any one felt that there was any special cause for concealment of their plans or doings, but they did not wish to have them canvassed and commented upon by the busy bodies and gossips of the town, who, like those of other places, always knew so much more of their neighbors' affairs than did those neighbors themselves. No one rejoiced more sincerely than Mildred in the evident happiness of the affianced pair. No one entered more heartily into their plans, was often consulted in regard to them, or was more generous with money and labor and carrying them out. Her sisterly pride in Zilla's beauty was without a touch of envy or jealousy, though she was fully aware of the fact that it far exceeded her own. What a lovely bride she will make, Mildred often whispered to herself, Wallace may well feel consoled for my rejection of his suit. She tried hard for perfect unselfishness and to entirely fill her mind and heart with the interest of the hour, especially as affecting these two, but thoughts of the love that now seemed lost to her, of the dreams of happiness which had been for years gradually fading till there was scarcely a vestige of them, would at times intrude themselves, filling her with a sadness she could scarce conceal from the watchful eyes of the tender mother, who knew and so fully sympathized in the sorrows and anxieties of this, her first-born and dearly beloved child. She knew that even yet there was a constant longing, a half-unconscious daily looking for of news of the wanderer as the male came in, followed each time by renewed disappointment, and that often the poor, weary heart grew sick indeed with hope deferred. As spring opened, the day for the wedding drew near and the preparations for it were almost completed. Mildred's sadness of heart increased until it cost her a constant and often heroic struggle to maintain her cheerfulness before others, while at times she could not refrain from shedding many tears in the privacy of her own room. One evening her mother, entering softly, found her weeping. My dear, dear child, she whispered, taking her in her arms and caressing her tenderly. My dear, brave, unselfish girl, you do not know how your mother loves you. Precious mother, responded the weeping girl, hastily wiping away her tears and returning the caress. What could I ever do without your due love? I am ashamed of my depression, ashamed that I should yield to it in this way. Ah, I little deserved to be called brave. It has been a long, hard trial, dear daughter, Mrs. Keith said, softly stroking Mildred's hair, and you have borne it wonderfully well. As you could not in your own strength I well know. No, never. The joy of the Lord has been my strength. Helps my heart would have broken long ago. For, oh, this terrible suspense! So much worse than any certainty could be. I know it, darling, her mother responded in moved tones. Then would it not be your wisest course to endeavor to convince yourself that either utter indifference or death has ended this for you? Mother, that is not in the power of my will, that Charlie could prove untrue I cannot believe, and something tells me that he still lives. Then, dearest, cheer up. Why this increased sadness of late? I hardly know myself, mother dear. I am sure my whole heart rejoices in the happiness of my sister and Wallace. Yet somehow the side of it seems to deepen my own sorrow by contrast. I fear it is because I am selfish. I cannot think so, her mother said. So do not harbor that thought, thus adding to your distress. Try to cast your care on the Lord, fully believing the inspired declaration that all things work together for good to then that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose. He is never for a moment unmindful of one of his children. He has a plan for each one, and suffers no real evil to befall them. Rest in the Lord and wait patiently for him. Ah, mother, Mildred said, smiling through her tears, I am more and more convinced that all I need to make me perfectly happy is strong, unwavering faith in the wisdom and love of my Heavenly Father. Then I should rejoice to do and suffer all his holy will, never doubting that what he sends is the very best for me. There was an additional cause for Mildred's depression this time. One felt in greater or less degree by all the Keith's, in the thought that this was the beginning of the inevitable breaking up of the dear family circle, the forming by one of their number of new ties, which must in some measures supplant the old, the tender loves of parents and children, brothers and sisters. Zill was not going far away, and they did not fear to trust her to Wallace, but their home would no longer be hers, and another, in whose veins ran no drop of their blood, would henceforth be nearer and dearer to her than they. Except the parents, perhaps no one felt this quite so keenly as Ada, the nearest in age and hitherto the roommate and almost inseparable companion of the sister who was leaving them. It was the morning of the wedding day, the ceremony was to take place in the evening, in the parlor of Mr. Keith's house, which the sisters were busily decorating for the occasion with spring flowers from the garden in the woods. The supply was not sufficient, and the little boys were sent in search of more. The mother and Celestia Ann, who still lived with them, going home occasionally for a few weeks, but always returning and taking up her duties there with renewed satisfaction, were deep in the mysteries of cake-making and kindred arts, so when the doorbell rang, Ada answered it. Standing before the open door was a very pleasant-faced young man whose dress and general appearance seemed to bespeak him a clergyman. He lifted his hat with a low bow, his face lighting up with a smile of recognition. Miss Mildred, he said, half inquiringly, as he held out his hand in cordial greeting. No, sir, returned Ada, giving him her hand, but with a slightly puzzled look. I am Ada Keith. Ah, one of the little ones when I knew you, not old enough to remember me, I fear, I am from Lansdale, your old Ohio home. He handed her a card on which she read at a glance, Reverend Francis Osborne. Ah, I know now who you are. I have a slight remembrance of a big boy of that name who has had time enough to grow into a man, she said with an arch-smile, that he thought very bewitching. Come in, Mr. Osborne, they will all be glad to see you. He was warmly welcomed and hospitably entertained as an old-time friend, as one coming from the early home still held in tender remembrance and as a messenger from Aunt Wealthy who sent by him a handsome bridal gift, a beautiful gold brooch. Quite unexpected, for the dear old lady had already given generously toward the house furnishing. Zilla was greatly pleased. There was already upon a side-table in the sitting-room quite an array of handsome presents from her near-relatives and friends, the Dinsmore cousins and others, and Aunt Wealthy's gift was now assigned a conspicuous place among them. Mrs. Keith's wedding dress of rich white silk, her bridal veil and orange blossoms had been carefully preserved, and finding that the dress exactly fitted her, Zilla had chosen to be married in it and decided preference to having a new one. It was, of course, made in very old-fashioned style, but she insisted that she liked it all the better for that, and no one who saw her in it could deny that it was extremely becoming. All the sisters were to be bridesmaids in the order of their ages and all to wear white charlatan. Rupert would be first Groomsman, Robert Grange, a brother of Lou, second, Cyrolyn Dawn, third and fourth. A large number of guests were invited and a handsome entertainment was provided. Their pastor, Mr. Lord, had received due notice of the coming event and promised to officiate. Seeing him leaving the parsonage early in the afternoon, his mother called to him, asking where he was going. For a walk and to make a pastoral call or two, he answered, pausing and turning toward her with an air of affectionate respect. Well, Joel, don't forget to come home early enough to dress for the wedding. I shall be ready in good season and hope you will, too. I'm glad you reminded me, though, for I really had forgotten it. And, will again, I'm very much afraid, she murmured between a smile and a sigh as she watched him down the street. He walked on and on in meditative mood till nearing a farmhouse several miles from town, he was waked from his reverie by the voice of its owner bidding him good day and asking if he would go with him to the river for an afternoon's fishing. I was just setting off for it, he said. I have an extra pole in line here and should be glad of your company. Thank you, Mr. Vale. I will. It's the pastime I'm somewhat partial to, the minister made answer. Will! Will! the farmer called to his son, bring me that other fishing tackle and tell your mother we'll be back, Mr. Lord and I, for tea about sundown. Seven was the hour set for the wedding ceremony. At half past five, Mrs. Lord's tea table was ready and waiting for the return of her son. But six o'clock came and there was no sign of his approach. I'll go and dress. Perhaps he'll be here by that time, she said to herself, turning from the window from which she had been gazing with constantly increasing anxiety and impatience. She made a hasty toilet, hoping every moment to hear his step in voice. But he came not. She ate her supper, watched the clock until the hands pointed to five minutes of seven, then filled with vexation and charging, donned bonnet and shawl and set off in haste for Mr. Keats. That gentleman met her at the gate. He said, shaking hands with her, walk in. But where's Mr. Lord? The guests are all assembled, now that you are here and everything is in readiness for the ceremony. Indeed, Mr. Keith, I'm terribly mortified the old lady burst out, flushing like a girl. It's just Joel's absent-mindedness. He meant to be here in season, I know, but he walked out some hour since and where he is now or when he will remember to come back, I don't know. Please don't wait for him another minute if you can get anybody to take his place. Fortunately we can, said Mr. Keith. So please, my dear madam, do not feel disturbed about that. He led her into the house and called Rupert and Wallace from the bridal chamber where the wedding party were assembled. Then Frank Osborne was summoned from the parlor where, with the other guests he sat waiting to witness the coming ceremony. There was a whispered consultation, then Wallace hastened to his bride again and whispered a word to her to which she gave a pleased, blushing assent as she rose and suffered him to draw her hand within his arm. In another minute or two, bridegroom and bride with the whole train of attendants had taken their places in presence of the assembled guests and the ceremony began, Frank Osborne officiating. He did not seem at all embarrassed or at a loss for words. His manner was solemn and tender and when the ceremony was over everyone said how beautiful it was. While the bride and groom congratulated their relatives and friends, Mr. Lord, having leisurely finished his tea, sat in the farmhouse porch, quietly conversing with his host. But a sudden thought seemed to strike him and he started up an evident perturbation. What is it? asked Mr. Vale. Anything gone wrong? Rather, grown the minister, glancing at the face of his watch which he had just drawn from its fob, I was to have married Wallace Ornsby and one of Mr. Keith's daughters about 15 minutes ago. Better get back to town then as fast as you can, return the farmer laughing. I'll harness up and take you. Alas, men, it's already too late, said the minister. Better late than never, though. And they may be waiting for you still. Why, yes, that's possible to be sure. Where shall I take you? Mr. Vale asked, half an hour later as they drove into the town. Drive right to Mr. Keith's, if you please. I thought maybe you'd want to fix up a bit seeing it's a wedding you're going to. Oh, to be sure. Finally, I'm glad you reminded me. I'll go home and dress first. And while you're at that, I'll go round and tell him you're coming, just to keep him from getting quite out of heart, you know. He went, and by the time Mr. Lord's toilet was completed, returned with the information delivered in tones of amusement and with eyes twinkling with fun. You've lost the job, sir. Somebody else has tied the knot. But they've sent word for you to hurry along and you'll be in time for the refreshments. So cheer up, for that's the main thing after all, ain't it? I'm ashamed to go now, stammered the minister, looking much mortified and embarrassed. Tuttutt, man, better treated as a good joke, returned the farmer gaily. I believe you're right, said Mr. Lord, and proceeded to take the advice. His apologies and excuses were received with good-humored railery, mingled with laughing assurances that he need not disturb himself. As things had turned out, it was all very well. It seemed a pleasant accident that had left the performing of the ceremony to an old valued friend of the bride and her family. End of Chapter 17 Chapter 18 of Mildred and Elsie This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Kylie Goodfellow Mildred and Elsie by Martha Finley Chapter 18 A lovely being scarcely formed or molded, arose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded. Byron. The next morning Mr. and Mrs. Ornsby started on their bridal trip, a visit to his relatives to Aunt Wealthy in the old Ohio home. Their departure left the house strangely empty and desolate, to the consciousness of mother and sisters especially, and Frank Osborn's advent seemed quite a boon. An old friend who could tell them much of others left behind in Ohio, a thorough gentleman well educated, refined and polished in manner, and an earnest, devoted Christian, he proved a most agreeable companion. All these years he had fancied himself in love with Mildred, and it was that, more than anything else, which had drawn him thither, yet the first side of Ada had wholly changed the direction of his inclination. He had thought Mildred charming in younger days, and could not see that she had lost in attractiveness. The years seemed rather to have added to her loveliness. Her form was more finely developed, her countenance sweeter and more intellectual, while she had lost none of the freshness and bloom of youth. Yet he found a superior fascination about Ada, and being of an ardent temperament, open and frank in disposition, his manner toward her soon made this apparent to the older members of the family. Mildred was perhaps the first to perceive it, and that without the slightest feeling of envy or jealousy, she would be glad if Frank proved to be the one who could fill Ada's heart, and if an objection to the possibility that presented itself arose in anyone's mind, it was merely on the score of unwillingness to part with another member of the newly broken family circle. They had urged Frank to make a lengthened visit, and he had promised to remain for some days or a week or two. He had been but recently licensed to preach, and was yet without charge. The first Sunday after his arrival he filled Mr. Lord's pulpit by invitation, greatly to the delight and edification of his heroes. The next week he preached for a vacant church a few miles distant from Pleasant Plains, and shortly after consented to take charge of it for the next six months. A worldly-minded man seeking wealth and fame would have deemed it a most uninviting field of labor, but Frank Osborne was one of those who are willing to bear hardness as good soldiers of Jesus Christ, and whose aspiration is to win souls rather than earthly riches or fame, yet the thought of being near enough to his old friends for frequent intercourse may have had its influence also. The return of the bride and groom after an absence of some six weeks was a joyful occasion. They were received in their own cottage-home which loving hands had set in perfect order and rendered beautiful and delightful with the bloom and perfume of flowers. When the tender, loving greetings had been exchanged they made the tour of the house intended by every member of the family, each one anxious to witness and have a share in their pleasure. The workers had anticipated as the reward of their labors great demonstrations of delight from Zilla and were not disappointed. She seemed to lack words to properly express her admiration of the effects produced or her appreciation of this evidence of their kindness and love, nor was Wallace far behind in bestowing a like meat of praise and thanks. The welcoming feast had been prepared and was partaken of in the house of the parrots. After that Zilla began her housekeeping, enjoying it exceedingly, for she was no novice at the business, was deft-handed and quick in her motions, had her mother and older sister near enough to be consulted at any time, and utensils, furniture, and the snug cottage itself were all so new, so fresh and clean. Then Wallace was pleased with everything she did, and the work of a family of two seemed scarce more than play to one used to the numerous household on the other side of the street. There was a great deal of running back and forth, a constant interchange of good offices. During the hours that business kept Wallace at the office, Zilla and Ada were almost sure to be together in one home or the other. It was not long before the former discovered that Frank Osborne was a frequent visitor at her father's and began to suspect what was the particular attention that drew him dither. I was not at all displeased at the time, as things turned out that Mr. Lord went fishing on my wedding day and forgot to marry me, but now I begin to feel quite grateful to him, she said teasingly to Ada one day as they sat alone together, with their sewing in her own pretty parlor. Why so, Ada asked, blushing consciously in spite of herself, because in after years it would seem very fitting that my brother-in-law had the tying of the knot between Wallace and me. That strikes me as very much like counting your chickens before they are hatched, returned Ada demurely. If you are hinting at me, please understand that I've always meant to be the old maid-daughter to stay at home and take care of the dear father and mother. Oh yes, but folks often miss their vocation. However, I trust you will not, and I think you were cut out for a minister's wife. And oh, Ada dear, she went on, dropping her work to put her arms about her sister. I want you to know the bliss of wedded love. I never was so happy in my life as now, and I do believe Frank is almost as nice as Wallace, or at least nicer than anybody else except Wallace, she corrected herself hastily, and with the merry laugh, so don't reject him, there's a dear. Not until he asks, Ada said a trifle disdainfully, my promises can go no further than that at present. I have an idea that he was formerly one of Mildred's admirers. So let him try for her, she is far better fitted than I for the duties and responsibilities of the position. Now don't be naughty and proud, Zilla said gaily. You may as well take Mildred's leavings as I, and I can assure you they may be very nice indeed. What may have been in the past, she added more gravely, I do not know, but very sure I am that now there is no fancy on either side. A letter for you Ada, cried fan, coming running in at the open door. Ada took it quietly and broke the seal. Now here's an offer worth having, she remarked with biting sarcasm as she turned the page and glanced at the signature, then held it so that Zilla could see what it was. The bald eagle is still in search of a mate. I told you so, was Zilla's laughing rejoinder. Lend me an envelope will you, Ada said rising with the letter in her hand, a look of quiet, half scornful determination in her face, and he shall not be kept long waiting for his answer. What shall you say, Zilla asked as she brought the envelope, pen, and ink? Nothing. Silence cannot be construed to mean consent in this instance. There, fan, please return it to the office as she sealed the envelope and handed it to the child, the letter inside Nicholas Wren Squaddle's address on the outside. The needles replied in silence for a few moments, then Zilla said, with an amused laugh, he made short work with him. It seems to be the way of the family, returned Ada joining in the laugh. Well, only treat Frank as differently as possible, that is, with the greatest favour, and I'll forgive you for this. Frank was too wise to speak hastily, therefore the more likely to win at the last. One day in the ensuing autumn, Mrs. Keith received a letter from her cousin Horace Dinsmore, saying that he was travelling with his little daughter in the region of the Great Lakes and could not persuade himself to pass so near-pleasant planes without paying her a visit. They might be expected in a day or two after the receipt of this communication. This news was received with great delight by the entire family. Mildred's heart bounded at the thought of again clasping little Elsie in her arms, for through all these years of separation the little fair one had been cherished in her very heart of hearts. Every preparation was at once set on foot for entertaining the coming guest in the most hospitable manner. There had been an occasional interchange of letters which had kept each of the two families of any event of unusual importance occurring in the other. Horace had written his cousin Marcia on his return from Europe two years and a half before this, again upon his recovery from serious illness a year later and several times since. In one of his late letters he had spoken very feelingly of his child's recovery from an illness that had nearly cost her life, expressing his gratitude to God for her restoration to health and that the trial had been blessed to himself in leading him to Christ. Mrs. Keith had loved him from his early childhood with the sisterly affection and now there was a new tie between them for they were disciples of the same master, servants of the same Lord and it was an answer to long continued fervent supplication on her part that this priceless blessing had come to him. What wonder that her heart bounded at the thought of soon seeing him in little Elsie whom she was ready to love almost as she loved her own offspring because she was Horace's child and because of all that Mildred had said of her loveliness of character and person. 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 in 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 interest, 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 plowing 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 bold 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 tomorrow morning, when, if all goes well, we expect to land at Michigan City, where we will take the stage for pleasant planes, the home of our cousins, the Keats. Do you remember your cousin Mildred? A very little, Papa. I don't remember her books, except that they were pleasant to me when she used to take me on her lap and hug and kiss me. Your grandpa wrote to 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 Millie's father and mother my uncle and aunt? You may say Uncle Steward and Aunt Marcia to them, though they are really your cousins. Well, what is it? Seeing a doubtful and 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. The air getting a little bit cool, I tinked mass as she remarked in a respectful tone. I afraid my child caught cold. Quite right, Aunt Chloe, he returned, taking the shawl from her and taking 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 in partaken of intolerable 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 in the table and eat and drink without accident. Were not supposed to be in danger, the little mishaps merely gave occasion for mirth and pleasantry. But air 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 scarcely sound was heard but the roar of the elements mingled with the heavy tread of the sailors and the horse commands of the captain and mate. The little girl, seated on a sofa by the other side, crept closer to him with the 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 she 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 the 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 Chloe in the state room, waiting to disrobe her nursing 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-gnight and turned to go. Lie down on your berth and sleep if you can, but so that you will be ready to leave at the instant you are called. Give John the same direction for me, and tell him girl, he knelt with her by his side, his arms supporting her while he commended both her and himself, as well as the others in 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 tonight, 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, oh Papa, if it shouldn't, I am so glad that you were 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 wrinkled grief, terror and a treaty 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 one who prays. And I am 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, oh, 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 despate 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. Traveller I gave you to him, that I want him to adopt you as his own. I know he will steam at the greatest kindness I could possibly have done him, and he will be to you a father tender, loving, and true, a better one than I have been. His tones grusky and tremulous. Papa, don't, she cried, bursting into sobs and tears and clinging to him with an almost death-like 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 she'll 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 gressingly 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, present, the future, of the very 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 in the beginning of his strength, how would his death affect them in case he were lost this night? Rose might console herself with another lover. His father had other sons. But Elsie? He was sure his place in her heart could never be filled. Traveller 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. What would he not give to be able to blot it from his own remembrance, or rather that it had never been? But to fell 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 19 of Mildred and Elsie This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings were in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Kylie Goodfellow Mildred and Elsie by Martha Finley, Chapter 19 The Angels Sang in Heaven When She Was Born Longfellow Thank God the dangerous past came in a low-breathed exclamation for 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. 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 planes. Glad to find they had it to themselves, they and their two servants. The day, the rose 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 weared. 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 mildered wet for joy as she folded Elsie to her heart. Sweet, loving looks and smiles as she accepted and returned their greetings won all hearts, while all presently esteemed, cousin horse far more agreeable and lovable than he had been on his former visits. There was less of pride in hautea 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 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 and beholding it. Elsie had just left the room with Annas, her father's eyes following her as she went with the wanted expression of parental pride and tenderness. Yes, he said with a sigh. She is the very light of my eyes. Oh, 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. A familial 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, 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, and 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 often tearful interest. The little girls were in Mildred's room dressing dolls and chatting together the while. Mildred busy with some sewing, overhearing the most of their talk with both interest and amusement. Elsie was describing the oaks in 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 a sad story of her illness as a 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 mama 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 the joyful, thank you, sir, she skipped away. When Mrs. Keith rejoined him, he had another story for her, a brighter, cheerier one than the last, the same that Elsie was gleefully rehearsing to her cousins upstairs. Miss Rose was so nice, so good, so kind, she had been saying. Is she pretty too? asked Annas. Yes, but not nearly so beautiful as my own mama. Elsie said, drawing from the bosom of her dress a lovely miniature set in gold and precious stones. Annas 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, Annas said, though I thought that was as beautiful as anything could be, your rings, too. They were presents from Papa and Mr. Traveller, said Elsie, glancing down at them, and the watch was Mama'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 Annas, looking out of the window, Zilla 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 Annas in surprise. No, I'm not allowed to go anywhere without leave. Now that's queer. Your Papa pets you so that I really suppose you could do exactly as you pleased. How Annas would laugh to hear you say that, returned Elsie, laughing herself. She thinks Papa is the strictest person she ever saw, and she 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 Annas, shrugging her shoulders. The two went downstairs together. Elsie asked and received the desired permission and the hastened to inquire what Zilla wanted. I've been baking some jumble, she said. I know Annas is very fond of them, hot from the oven, and I hope you are, too, Elsie. And here is a paper of candy while a spot last night. There, sit down and help yourselves. Elsie looked a little wishfully at the offered dainties, but politely declined them. Both Zilla and Annas urged her to partake, the latter adding, I'm sure you can't help liking them, for nobody makes better jumbles than Zilla. They look very tempting, Elsie answered, and I have no doubt are very nice, but 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 Zilla, 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 Annas right, Annas 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 Zilla, and it shows that he is a good father and you were 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. Annas, here is a note that 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, Annas following close behind. Yes, he said. Aunt Marcia and I are going to walk down the street and you may run on before with Annas. I shall keep you in sight. Are you to wait for an answer, Annas? asked 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. 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 shoestring is untied, cried Annas, 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 sideways 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 size 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 were 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 Annas were looking on and listening in surprise in the wilderness. Then the former, seeing a tall form issuing from the office door, a coat over one arm, a hat in that hand, while the others seemed to be employed and 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 stopped 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 he wrote 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 Annas to whom it was an unusual treat. End of Chapter 19 Chapter 20 of Mildred and Elsie This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Kylie Goodfellow Mildred and Elsie by Martha Finley Chapter 20 She was the pride of her familiar sphere, the daily joy of all who on her gracefulness might gaze and in the light and music of her way have a companion's portion. Willis Wallace Ornsby was not behind his wife in admiration and liking for Frank Osborne. He enjoyed his sermons too and was desirous that Mr. Dinsmore should hear the young preacher and make his acquaintance. Therefore had persuaded him and Mr. Lord to an exchange of pulpits on the morrow, which was Sunday and invited Frank to be his and Zilla's guest. Wallace was hospitably inclined to be part of his young wife's housekeeping. The invitation was accepted and the visit extended a day or two by urgent request. Of course the time was not all spent on the one side of the street and Mr. Dinsmore, who was not lacking in observation, soon perceived how matters were tending between Ada and the young clergyman. He spoke to his cousin about it saying that he was pleased with Mr. Osborne finding him agreeable, well informed and an able sermonizer for his years was an objection to the match or would be if Ada were his daughter. Yes, she said, but the blessing of the Lord it maketh rich, and he addeth no sorrow with it. If there is mutual love we will raise no barrier to their union, but I should greatly prefer to keep my dear daughter with me for some years yet. Yes, I do not doubt that. I am glad indeed that it must be many years before I am called to part with mine to some other man. But, Marcia, how is it that Mildred is still single, so sweet and attractive as she is in every way? It must certainly be her own fault. In reply Mrs. Keith told him how it had been between Mildred and Charlie Landrith and how six long years had now passed with no word from or of the wanderer. He was deeply touched. It would be well if she could forget him and bestow her affections upon another, he said, for surely if still living he is worthy of her. I knew and liked him as a boy, but it is long since I have seen or heard of him. He and his uncle made a disastrous failure in business, though I understood that no blame attached to either. Then the uncle died, and Charlie disappeared from our neighborhood, where nothing has been heard of him since, so far as I have learned. But I will make inquiries on my return, and may possibly be able to trace him. However, rest assured that I will do nothing to compromise Mildred, he added, noticing a doubtful look on his cousin's face. Thank you, she said, her voice trembling slightly. I can trust you, I know, Horace. I cannot tell you how glad I should be to have my dear, patient child relieved of this torturing suspense. This visit of their cousins was a grand holiday for all the younger Keith's, fan and Annas more especially. They were excused from lessons and had delightful daily walks and drives. Every morning Elsie would take her Bible into her papa's room and spend a little while there with him before they were called to breakfast. He sent her to bed regularly at half past eight, so that she was ready to rise but times. One evening when she came to bid him goodnight, he kissed her several times, saying, I shall probably not see you in the morning, very likely not until tomorrow evening, as I am going hunting with your uncle and we expect to start very early. Oh, I wish little girls could go too, Elsie exclaimed, clinging to him, but may I get up in time to see you before you go, papa? I don't think you will be awake, daughter, we start before sunrise. But if I am, papa, may I run into your room and kiss you goodbye? Yes, but try not to feel disappointed if you should miss the opportunity, and don't shed any tears over papa's absence, he added, half jestingly. No, sir, but it will be a long day without you, she sighed, with her arm about his neck, her cheek to his. I think you will find the time to pass much more rapidly than you expect, he said cheerfully, but whether or no, you must try to be bright and pleasant for the sake of those around you. Don't indulge selfishness, even in little things, darling. I will try not to, papa, she answered, giving and receiving a final hugging kiss. No one was near enough at the moment to observe or overhear what passed between them, and no one knew anything about the few quiet tears Elsie shed as she went up the stairs to her cousin Mildred's room to sleep that night. Aida, Fan and Anna's had all had their turn because all wanted the sweet little cousin for a bed-fellow, and now it was Mildred's, but she found her mammy waiting to prepare her for bed, and her little trouble was soon forgotten in sound, sweet sleep. Mildred came up an hour later, and stepping softly to the bedside stood for a minute or two, gazing tenderly down upon the sweet little sleeping face. Its expression brought to her mind the lines, read, she could not remember I want to be marked for thine own by seal on my forehead to wear Dear little girlie, she whispered bending over the child You wear it if ever mortal did No wonder you are the very idol of your father's heart Half an hour before sunrise, Mildred was again moving quietly about careful not to disturb her little roommate while making a neat, though rapid toilet. Going out she left the door slightly ajar. Her cousin was just issuing from his room, seemingly in full readiness for his expedition. They exchanged a pleasant, low-toned good morning. I did not know you were so early a riser, he said. I claimed the privilege of pouring out the coffee for you and father as she returned with a smile, then pointed to the door, go in if you like, I know you want to kiss your baby before you start. She's there asleep. Thank you. He stole softly in and bent over the loved sleeper for a moment, his eyes devouring the sweet, fair face. He stooped lower and his mustache brushed the round, rosy cheek. Papa, she murmured in her sleep, but a second kiss upon her lips awoke her. Instantly her arm was round his neck. Oh, Papa, I'm so glad you came. Please, may I get up and see you start? No, lie still and take another nap, my pet. We'll be off before you could dress. There, goodbye, darling. Don't expose yourself to the sun in the heat of the day or to the evening there, though I expect to be back in time to see to that last. I hope so indeed, Papa, but you know I will obey you just the same if you are not here to see. I don't doubt it in the least, he said. Then the door closed on him, and the little girl, accustomed to implicit obedience, turned over and went to sleep again. When Mildred came up a little before the usual breakfast hour, she found her dress in reading her Bible. You love that book, LC dear? She said. Yes, indeed cousin, and I do love to have my Papa read it with me. This is the first morning he has missed doing so since... since I was so very sick. The voice sounded as if tears were not far off. How nice to have such a good, kind father, Mildred remarked in a cheery tone. Oh, it is so cousin, LC answered, her whole face lighting up. I used to be continually longing for Papa while he was away in Europe. I'd never seen him, you know, and have no mother or brother or sister. And now I just want to hold fast to him all the time, my dear, dear Papa. And you are missing him now? Well, dear, take comfort in the thought that he is probably enjoying himself, and will soon return to his little pet daughter. I think he never forgets you. He asked what we could do with you today in his absence, and I told him my plan for the morning. He approved, and now shall I tell it to you? Oh, yes, cousin, if you please, return the child with a very interested look. Our sewing society meets this afternoon, and as we, mother, my sisters and I, have some work to finish before we go, we will have to be busy with our needles. One generally reads aloud while the others sew, and we would like to have you join us, taking your turn at both sewing and reading if you choose. Very much, cousin, if, if the book is one that Papa approves, he never allows me to read anything without being sure of that. Ah, that was why he said, tell Elsie I say she may read or listen to anything her aunt Marcia pronounces suitable for her. We have some very nice books that may be new to you. Oh, then I think it will be ever so nice. Well then, said Mildred, we will take a short walk soon after breakfast, then spend the rest of the morning as I have proposed. Your Papa says you can read aloud very nicely, and use your needle well, too. I don't know whether you will think so, cousin, returned Elsie modestly, but I am willing to try, and she'll do my very best. They carried out their plans with only a short interruption from a caller. After dinner, Anas was left to entertain Elsie for a few hours while the others attended the meeting of the society. It was an almost sultry afternoon, and Anas proposed taking the dolls to a grotto her brothers had made for her and fan, near the spring that bubbled up at the foot of the High Riverbank, and was reached by a flight of steps that led down from the garden behind the house. The grotto was tastefully adorned with moss, pebbles, and shells, and had a comfortable rustic seat, artistically formed of twigs in the smaller branches of trees with the bark still on them. It was a pleasant place to sit and dream on a summer afternoon with the clear bright water of the river lapping the pebbly shore almost at your feet, the leafy branches of a grapevine overhead nearly concealing you from the view of anyone on the further bank or in a passing boat. A pleasant place, too, for children to play, and not at all the first one. The little Keith girls went there whenever they chose. Elsie and Anas were congenial spirits and enjoyed each other's society and had spent an hour or more very agreeably together in this cool retreat when the sound of dipping oars near at hand drew their attention, and peering out from behind the leafy screen of the grapevine they saw a canoe approaching propelled by the strong young arms of Cyril and Dawn, now grown to be lads of sixteen and fourteen. Hello! We thought we'd find you here girls, Cyril called to them. Don't you want to take a row? Oh yes, yes indeed, cried Anas, jumping up and clapping her hands with delight. Come, Elsie, there couldn't be anything nicer, I'm sure. Elsie rose as if to comply, her face full of eager delight also, but its expression changed suddenly. I'm afraid I ought not, Anas, she said. Papa might not be willing, and I can't ask him, you know, because he is away. The boys had now brought the canoe close up, and Cyril reached out his hand to help her in. Come, little cause, he said in his most persuasive tones, I'm sure your father would not object, there isn't a particle of danger, I'm used to rowing on this river, as well as to fishing and swimming in it, and it's not deep or swift, except in midcurrent, and I promise to keep near the shore. But Papa is very strict in particular, Elsie said, hanging back, though with a longing look in her lovely brown eyes. But he likes to have you enjoy yourself, surely and on. Indeed, he does, when it's quite safe and right, Elsie returned with warmth. He loves me dearly. Then he wouldn't like you to miss this pleasure, said Cyril. The canoe is a borrowed one, and it isn't every day I can get it. And if you don't go, I can't, remarked Anas. Oh, yes you can, Elsie said, don't stay for me. I'll go up to the house and amuse myself with a book till you come back. No, no, I couldn't think of leaving my company, it wouldn't be at all and I couldn't enjoy it without you, yet I want to go ever so much. Oh, Elsie, do come. I want to, I'm sure, both to apply to you, Anas, and for my own pleasure, Elsie answered. Oh, I wish I were quite sure Papa would be willing. Take it for granted, said Cyril. It's the best you can do, under the circumstances, so he surely can't be much displeased. Still, Elsie hesitated. Ah, Cyril said mischievously, is Cousin Horace so very severe? Are you afraid he will whip you? No, Elsie said, reddening. Do you think so meanly of me as to suppose I obey my father only from fear of punishment? No, and I beg your pardon, I know you're fond of him too, and that you want to do right, but I have noticed that he is very polite and considerate of others and don't you think he wishes you to be the same? I know he does. Then surely he would tell you to go with us, because your refusal will spoil all our pleasure. Yes, Elsie, it was all for your sake we borrowed the canoe, said Dawn, and if you refuse to go it will be a great disappointment. We wouldn't urge you if it would be disobedience, but did your father ever say you mustn't row with us on the river? No, Dawn, but perhaps that was only because he never thought of your asking me. Oh, Elsie, Elsie, do go and treat it, Anas. I won't go without you and I can't bear to lose the row. Didn't Cousin Horace leave you in mother's care, asked Cyril? Yes. Well then, what need of hesitation? Mother lets Anas go and of course she would let you. Elsie stood for a moment silently weighing the question in her mind. Certainly her papa had great confidence in Aunt Marcia's opinion. For had he not said she might read whatever Aunt Marcia recommended and he had left her in her care. Also, he did teach her to be considerate of the wishes of others. He had told her only last night not to be selfish in little things. Surely he would not have her spoil the afternoon's pleasure of these three cousins. Ah, but he was never willing to have her exposed to unnecessary danger. But Cyril said there was really no danger and, she did so want to go, it looked so pleasant on the water. The scales were almost evenly balanced and finally she allowed inclination to decide her, gave Cyril her hand and was quickly seated in the canoe with the delighted Anas by her side. End of Chapter 20 Chapter 21 of Mildred and Elsie This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Mildred and Elsie by Martha Finley Chapter 21 Mutual Love The Crown of All Our Bliss Milton pushed out a little from the shore and rode upstream for a short distance, then turned and went down for a mile or more, keeping out of the main current all the time according to promise. Elsie felt a trifle timid at first and a little troubled last she had not done quite right in yielding to her cousins' persuasions. But gradually these disquieting thoughts and feelings passed away and she gave herself up to thorough enjoyment of the present pastime. They chatted, laughed and sang, dipped their hands in the clear water, gazed through it at the petley bottom, and the fish darting hither and tither landed in several places to gather bright autumn leaves, then re-entered the canoe for another row. The air was delightful. And most of the way they were pretty well shaded from the sun by the high bank and its trees and bushes. The boys did not so entire with their work, for their load was light, going downstream required but little use of their oars, and even rowing up was not very laborious, so the afternoons slipped away before they knew it. I believe the sun is getting low, Cyril said at length, and we are a good mile from home. We must turn, Don. What time is it, Elsie? Taking out her pretty watch. Half past five, she said in some dismay. And the air begins to feel a little chilly. Don't you think so? Yes, and it's supper time. Come, Don, my lad, we must pull lustily. Yes, a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull both together, responded Don gaily as he bent to his oar. We ought to have broad shawls along you girls, Cyril remarked with an anxious glance at his little cousin. I'm not cold, said Enise, but Elsie is. Here, little cousin, let me put this round you, he said, pulling off his coat, nobody will see, and I wouldn't have you take a chill from this expedition for anything in the world. But you will be cold, Elsie said, shrinking back, as he would have put it about her shoulders. Not a bit. Rowan keeps a fellow warm as toast this time of year. He returned with a light laugh, and she made no further resistance, nearing the grotto. They saw Aunt Jolie standing at the water's edge with a shawl on her arm, looking out anxiously for her nursing. Oh, Mammy, has Papa come. Elsie called to her. No, darling, expect that Massa will be long directly. But what for my child go off and devote without a shawl when the evidence gets so cool? He's afraid Massa be mighty vexed about it. And suppose you got grounded, honey? What then? Come now, Aunt Jolie. It's all my fault. And if there's to be any scolding, I'm the one to take it. Cyril said good-humoredly. As he helped Elsie assure. Oh, Mammy, was it naughty in me to go? Do you think Papa will be displeased with me? The little girl asked in an anxious whisper while the nurse was busy and carefully wrapping the shawl about her, Cyril's coat having been returned with thanks. Maybe not? Dear, honey, don't you fret? Where was the harm in her going? But you won't tell of her. Aunt Jolie. Anise said, as they climbed the steps that led up the bank. No, child. Specs not. Ain't no Cajun no how. Massa neighbor in the house very long for Miss Elsie tell him all she's been a-doing. Shall you tell him, Elsie? And he's asked, turning to her cousin as they gained the top of the flight of steps. Yes, I can feel easy till Papa knows all about it. I'm afraid I oughtn't to have gone. There was a tone of distress in Elsie's voice and, indeed, she began to be sorely troubled in prospect of her father's displeasure. For her mammy's words had caused her to see her conduct in going on the river in a new light. And she had now scarce a hope that it would meet his approval. Besides, they were certainly late for supper. And he was particular in regard to promptness at meals. They hurried into the house expecting to find their elders seated about the table. But there was no one in the dining room and, though the table was set, the meal was not spread. The ladies had returned but were waiting for the gentlemen who had not yet come in. Elsie was not sorry. She hastened upstairs to be made need for tea and was down again in a few minutes. Still, nothing was to be seen or heard from Huntsman, and she began to grow uneasy. Perhaps some accident had happened to her dear papa. Maybe she was to be punished in that way for what she began to look upon as an act of disobedience or something very near it. Aunt Marge, she said, drawing near to Mrs. Keith, what do you think makes them stay so long? I don't know, dear, but nothing serious, I trust. They probably went farther than they had intended. But don't be anxious. I do not see any cause for alarm. Was the cheerful? Kindly answer. Supper had been delayed a full hour already, and Mrs. Keith decided that it should wait no longer. It is not worthwhile, she said. For very likely our gentlemen have supped somewhere on the road. Elsie was unusually silent, and seemed to have lost her appetite. Her eyes turned every moment toward the door. Her ear was strained to catch every sound from the street. Oh, what could be keeping her papa? They left the table, and she stationed herself at a front window to wait and watch for his coming. Miltred drew near, passed an arm about the child's waist, and with a gentle kiss asked, Why are you so troubled and anxious, dear little girlie? It is nothing strange that our father should be a little late in getting home tonight. Then Elsie, laying her head on her cousin's shoulder, whispered in her sympathizing ear a tearful story of how the afternoon had been spent and her fear that she had done wrong in going out in the canoe, and that perhaps she might be punished by something dreadful happening to her dear, dear papa. I hardly think it was wrong, dear Miltred said. Not a very serious fault at any rate, and I cannot believe our heavenly father would visit you with such a punishment. He never treats us according to our desserts. He is a God ready to pardon, gracious and merciful, slow to anger and of great kindness. Yes, I know. The Bible tells us that. Elsie returned wiping away her tears. How good he is to me, and to all his creatures. It makes me ashamed and sorry for all the sin in my heart and life. Miltred presently began talking of the old days at Via Mead and Roselands, trying thus to help the little girl to forgetfulness of her anxiety. Elsie grew cheerful and apparently interested in her cousin's reminiscences of her babyhood, but still her eyes turned every now and then to the window, and her ears seemed attentive to every sound from without. The clock struck eight, and with a sigh she drew out her watch and compared the two. Oh, she said, don't they come? I must go to bed in half an hour, and I do so want to see Papa first. Do you think he wouldn't let you stay up to wait for him? Asked Miltred. No, cousin. He always insists on my going to bed at the regular hour, unless he is giving me permission to stay up longer. The half hour was almost gone, only five minutes left. When at last Elsie's ear caught the sound of a well-known step in voice, she ran to the door. Papa, Papa, I'm so glad. So glad you've come. I was so afraid something had happened to you. Ah, I knew my little girl would be anxious, he said, bending down to give her a tender caress. Well, there was nothing wrong, except that we went a little farther than we intended, and here we are safe and sound. And both tired and hungry, I dare say, said Mrs. Keith. The first, but not the last, returned her husband. We took her supper an hour ago, at Wards. Mr. Dinsmore sat down and drew Elsie to his side. Ah, is it so late? He said, glancing at the clock. Just your bedtime, daughter. Yes, Papa, but and with her arm about his neck, her lips to his ear she whispered the rest. I want so much to tell you something. May I die? Yes. Go up now and let on clothe. Make you ready for bed. Then put on your dressing gown and slippers and come to my room. I shall be there by that time. And we'll have our little talk. I should hardly like to go to bed without it myself. Elsie obeyed, and he presently excusing himself on the plea of fatigue. For so early a retirement went to his room, where she found him waiting for her as he had promised. Well, my pet, have you anything particular for Papa's ear tonight? He asked, lifting her to his knee. Yes, Papa, but aren't you too tired to hold me? No. It rests me to have my darling in my arms. He answered, caressing her with his want tender fondness. Papa, I'm afraid I don't deserve it tonight. She murmured, hanging her head while a deep blush effused her cheek. I'm sorry indeed, if that is so. He said gently, but very glad that my little daughter never tries to conceal any wrongdoing of her own from me. Then he waited for her to speak. He knew there was no need to question her. Papa, she said, so low that he barely caught the words. I went out on the river in a canoe with an ease this afternoon. Cyril and Don wrote it, and my little girl went without her father's permission. His tone was one of grieve to surprise. But you were not here to give it, Papa, she said, bursting into tears. A very good and sufficient reason why my daughter should have refused to go. But, Papa, I did not know you would object, and I thought you would not want me to spoil the pleasure of my cousins. And they said I would if I refused to go. I think you certainly knew me well enough to be quite sure if you had taken time to consider the question fully that I would be far from willing to run into danger for the pleasure of others. But, Papa, Aunt Marsha lets an ease go, and Cyril said there was no danger. Nonsense. Cyril is only a boy, not capable of judging. The current at 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 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. End of chapter 21