“A sweet, heart-lifting cheerfulness,
Like spring-time of the year,
Seemed ever on her steps to wait.”
—MRS. HALE.
“WILL I do, Elsie?” asked Annis.
“Yes, indeed! What a pretty dress; it is so soft and fine and just matches your blue eyes.”
“Dat’s so, chile, sho’ nuff,” said Aunt Chloe, smoothing down the folds of the pretty cashmere, “an’ de ribbons de same. Now, missy, I’se done, an’ dars de suppah bell.”
Annis thought again it was like being in fairyland, as Elsie, putting an arm about her waist, drew her on through several spacious, richly-furnished, softly-lighted rooms to one more brilliantly illuminated, where a table was spread with the choicest china and silverware, and all the delicacies of the season.
Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore were already there, and as the little girls came in at one door, Dr. and Mrs. Landreth entered by another.
Mildred had exchanged her travelling suit for a becoming evening dress, and seemed to have put off with it much of the weary look she had worn on her arrival.
The doctor, too, was greatly improved in appearance by a change of linen and riddance of the dust of travel.
When all had been seated, the blessing asked, and the meal fairly begun, Annis, smiling across the table at her sister, asked, “What have you done with Percy?”
“Found a nurse for him and left him in her care fast asleep,” replied Mildred. Then turning to her Cousin Horace, “Good help is still scarce with us,” she remarked; “a competent child’s nurse not to be had; but with so many sisters at home, all esteeming it a privilege to assist in the care of the baby, I scarcely felt the need of one there.”
“You must have one here though,” he answered with gay good humor, “for we are not going to let you shut yourself up at home to such cares and labors while there is so much enjoyment to be had in riding, driving, and visiting among this hospitable and cultivated people.”
“I agree with you entirely in that, Dinsmore,” chimed in the doctor. “I brought her here to recruit and enjoy herself as much as possible.”
“Indeed!” Mildred said, with an arch look and smile, “I understood it was because you couldn’t do without me and your boy.”
“For both reasons, my dear; and so loath am I to be parted from you that I shall find very little pleasure in visiting old friends, and old familiar haunts, unless I can take my wife along.”
“I hope you gentlemen will allow us some quiet home pleasures also for a variety,” remarked Rose. “I have been planning the enjoyment of some interesting books and many a chat with Cousin Mildred.”
“Discussing the affairs of the nation?” asked Mr. Dinsmore, with a twinkle of fun in his eye.
“Perhaps they may be the theme occasionally,” she answered demurely, “when we have exhausted those, to us, more important topics—husbands, housekeeping, and babies.”
“For those shall you require secret sessions? deliberating with closed doors?” asked the doctor.
“Perhaps that you will learn in due time. Cousin Mildred, I have learned that, like myself, you have a great fondness for both books and music.”
“Yes; and I have been rejoicing in the certainty that plenty of books worth reading will always be found where Cousin Horace is.”
From that the talk turned upon books and authors.
The little girls, both sufficiently intelligent and well informed to understand and appreciate the remarks of their elders, were quiet but interested listeners. Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore were attentive to their wants as well as to those of the older guests, and the table was well served by several skilled waiters.
There was an hour of pleasant social intercourse in the parlor, after leaving the supper-room, then the travellers bade good-night to their host and hostess, pleading fatigue as an excuse for retiring so early.
“Don’t stay in your cousin’s room talking, but let her get to bed and to sleep at once,” Mr. Dinsmore said to Elsie, as the little girls were about to leave the room.
“Yes, papa,” Elsie answered; then going to his side and speaking in an undertone, “Mayn’t I come back to you for a little while? you know it is not my bedtime yet.”
“Yes, if you choose.”
“You know, papa, I always do like to sit here a little while just the last thing before going to my room for the night,” she said a few minutes later as she took possession of his knee.
“Not better than I like to have you do so,” he answered, putting his arm about her. “Whatever should I do without my little pet daughter?”
Rose, sitting on the opposite side of the fire, with her babe in her arms, regarded them with loving, admiring eyes.
“What are the plans for to-morrow’s enjoyment with Annis, little girlie?” she asked, with real motherly interest.
“I think we’ll drive about a good deal, mamma. Papa says we may; just as much as we please.”
“Always supposing you will remember to have mercy on the ponies,” he added, playfully.
“Oh, yes, sir! yes, indeed! Please say how long you think we may drive without hurting them at all?”
“I presume a couple of hours of moderate exercise will not injure them,” he answered, still using his playful tone.
“I suppose we shall have callers from Roselands and Ion to-morrow,” Rose remarked to her husband.
“Yes, no doubt. And I think we should give a family dinner party as soon as our friends have had time to recover from the fatigue of their journey.”
“Our Ion friends to be included of course?” Rose said, half inquiringly, half in assertion.
“Oh, yes. I have few relatives who seem nearer than Travilla and his good mother. She was, as I believe I have told you before, an intimate and dear friend of my own mother. What is it, Elsie?”
The little girl was sitting in silence on his knee, her eyes fixed thoughtfully upon the carpet, and a slightly troubled look had come over her face.
“Please don’t ask me, papa,” she said, blushing.
“But I have asked you.”
“I—I was only thinking if Enna comes with the rest—”
“Well,” as she paused, seemingly unwilling to finish her sentence.
“O papa, I oughtn’t to think unkind things! I’ll try not to.”
“I’m not going to have you abused,” he said, after a moment’s silence; “so if Enna makes you any trouble with the ponies, or in any other way, I’m to know it. Remember that.” Then kissing her two or three times, “Now say good-night to your mamma and go to your bed.”
Elsie lingered for a moment clinging about his neck and gazing into his eyes with a wistful, half-pleading look.
“No,” he said, in answer to her mute request. “I shall not have Enna domineering over you in her accustomed fashion; and if she attempts it you are to tell me all about it. Will you obey me in this?”
“Yes, papa; I know I must,” she said with a slight sigh and a look of some surprise that he should ask the question. “Good-night.”
As she left the room he turned to his wife with the remark, “Enna is the most insufferably arrogant piece! and there would be no limit to her ill-treatment of Elsie if I did not insist on being informed of it. And it is hard for her either way, poor child! for she has no fancy for telling tales.”
“That is why you so seldom invite Enna here or take Elsie to Roselands?”
“Precisely.”
Rain was falling heavily when Elsie woke the next morning. She started up in bed and sat for a moment listening to it with a feeling of keen disappointment, for evidently there could be no out-of-door amusement while the storm lasted. “But our kind heavenly Father sends it, and he knows and always does what is best for us,” was the quickly following thought. “Beside there are ever so many pleasant ways of passing the time in the house. I wonder if Annis is awake?”
Slipping out of bed, she ran lightly across the room, and peeping in at the open door saw that her cousin was still sleeping soundly.
At that moment her father’s voice was heard from the opposite door-way, “Elsie, my child, don’t run about in your bare feet. The morning is damp and chilly and you will take cold.”
She turned at the first word, ran to him, and before the sentence was finished he had her in his arms.
Lifting her up he laid her in her bed again, drew the covers closely about her, saying, “Lie still now until you are quite warm;” then bending down to caress her, “Here are your warm slippers and dressing-gown close at hand,” he said; “why did you not put them on, as I did mine?”
“I didn’t stop to think, papa,” she answered, putting an arm round his neck. “Good-morning, you dear father, you’re as careful of me as if I were a wax doll.”
“A great deal more so,” he said with playful look and tone. “It would be an easy thing to replace a wax doll, but money wouldn’t buy another little girl like mine. How it storms!” glancing toward the windows. “I am sorry for your sake, but you and Annis shall have every in-door enjoyment I can give you.”
“Yes, papa, thank you; and I know we’ll have a nice time. Just think of all the lovely dolls and toys you have given me, and that will be new to Annis. And I’ve so many nice books and pictures, and there’s the piano and—”
“Well, that will do for the present. I’m glad I have a little girl who can bear disappointments cheerfully. Lie still until the fires here and in your dressing-room are well under way and the rooms comfortably warm,” he said, as he left her, closing the door after him.
“Elsie, are you awake?” asked Annis from her room.
“Yes; but papa won’t let me get up yet. Oh, don’t you want to come and lie here beside me till I may? if you won’t catch cold coming. Please put on your slippers and dressing-gown first.”
“Catch cold just running across two rooms with such soft warm carpets on the floor?” laughed Annis, hastening to accept the invitation. “I’m not so delicate as all that comes to, Miss Dinsmore. Oh, isn’t it good to be here with you, you darling!” creeping close to Elsie, and hugging her tight. “Except when I think of mother and father so far away,” she added with a sigh, the tears starting to her eyes for an instant.
“Yes, I’m so sorry for that!” Elsie returned with warm sympathy. “How nice it will be when we all get to heaven and never have to part any more!”
There was a moment’s thoughtful silence, then a talk beginning with regrets that the storm would prevent their intended out-door diversion, soon exchanged for plans for passing their time delightfully in the house.
Annis had naturally a great flow of animal spirits, and there had been nothing in her life thus far to check it. Sheltered in the home nest, the youngest of the tribe, and as such shielded, petted, and indulged by parents, brothers, and sisters, she had known nothing of care, sorrow, or labor beyond what her young strength could easily endure. Merry, frank, fearless, affectionate, and thoroughly conscientious and true, she was the most suitable and enjoyable of companions for Elsie.
The two appeared at the breakfast-table with very bright, happy faces. Indeed the weather did not seem to have a depressing effect upon any one’s spirits. The talk about the hospitable board was gay and lively, the travellers reported themselves greatly refreshed and strengthened by a good night’s sleep and ready to enjoy books, work, or play.
“What has Elsie proposed for your entertainment to-day, Annis?” asked Mr. Dinsmore.
“Oh, we’re going to have a fine time with the dolls and baby-house the first thing. I’ve had a peep at them already and never did see such beauties!” cried the little girl in a burst of admiration.
“Ah,” said her interlocutor, smiling. “And there will be a tea-party or two I suppose? Well, when you tire of the dolls we’ll find something else.”
“Are they prettier than Mildred’s and my dollie, Annis?” asked the doctor.
“Oh no, Brother Charlie! of course not. And I forgot, we did think we’d have a little play with the live babies first of all. I haven’t seen little Horace yet at all.”
“Nor I Cousin Milly’s baby,” put in Elsie, “because he was so sound asleep when you came.”
“We’ll have them both brought to the parlor after prayers, shall we not, cousin?” Rose said, looking at Mildred, who gave a ready assent to the proposal.
“By all means,” laughed the doctor, “let us introduce them to each other, and satisfy ourselves by comparison which is the finer child. No doubt we shall all agree.”
“Agree to disagree, probably,” said Mr. Dinsmore. “I am entirely satisfied that no finer child than ours can be discovered anywhere. And I know Rose and Elsie are of the same opinion.”
“Yes,” remarked the doctor, “I see it in Elsie’s eyes. But no matter; I have Mildred and Annis to side with me in the same opinion of our bairnie.”
“Ah, don’t be too sure of Annis! she may prove more unprejudiced than you suppose,” laughed Mr. Dinsmore.
The others laughed in turn as Annis quietly remarked, “Percy is quite as pretty and smart as any baby could possibly be, Cousin Horace.”
And it was evident that her opinion remained the same even after she had looked with delight and admiration upon the indisputably bright and beautiful babe Mr. Dinsmore so proudly claimed as his own.
“Ours is the largest,” Elsie said when the two were brought into the parlor. “But, O Cousin Milly, yours too is so sweet and pretty! Papa, he can’t be quite so heavy as Horace; mayn’t I take him?”
“If his mother is willing, you may hold him on your lap while you sit still in that low chair; I don’t forbid you to hold Horace in that way, but you are not to carry either of them about.”
“Your father is wise and kind in making that rule, Elsie,” said the doctor. “Little girls like you very often suffer serious injury from carrying younger children. I wouldn’t advise you to do much of it, Annis.”
“Oh, I’m so strong it can’t hurt me, Brother Charlie,” answered Annis gayly, but Mildred said, “I’ll see that she doesn’t do much of it.”
When the babes were carried away to the nursery the little girls deemed it time to busy themselves with the dolls.
But first Mildred and the doctor were taken in to see Elsie’s rooms and the baby-house, Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore going along.
“Oh, what a lovely boudoir!” Mildred exclaimed, taking a critical and delighted survey of it. “Elsie dear, it is fit for a princess! and full of evidences of a fond father’s taste and affection,” she added, with a glance at her cousin, whose hand was toying with his daughter’s curls as she stood at his side.
Elsie’s eyes were lifted to his face with a loving, grateful look as she answered, “Yes, Cousin Milly, and that’s the very best of it.”
Annis grew enthusiastic over the dolls, “so many and so beautiful; some of them so like real live babies;” and when Elsie opened a deep drawer in a bureau and displayed quantities of pretty dress materials ready to be made into garments for them, beside ribbons, laces, and flowers, all intended for their adornment—although each had already several changes of raiment—her eyes fairly danced with delight.
The morning was all too short for the fascinating employment of turning over all those lovely things and exercising taste and skill in making them up into dresses, bonnets, etc.
Elsie said her father had been on the point of buying her a sewing-machine, but had decided that she must first become an accomplished needlewoman.
A little while before dinner Mr. Dinsmore came in and made them leave their sewing for a romping play, because he said the exercise would do them good.
The evening was spent very pleasantly in the parlor with the older people, who joined with them in some quiet games, and when separating for the night all agreed that, spite of the inclemency of the weather, the day had been a short and enjoyable one.