“Humility, that low, sweet root,
From which all heavenly virtues shoot.”
—MOORE.
THE week of their partial separation passed more rapidly than Elsie and Annis had thought possible, yet they were very glad when it was over and they were again almost constantly together.
When lessons were done on the morning that Annis came back to stay, Elsie carried her off to the sewing-room, saying their party dresses were finished and Aunt Kitty wanted to see them tried on to make sure that no alteration was needed.
Both were found to fit perfectly, they were very neatly made and very beautiful and becoming.
“Oh, aren’t they just too lovely for anything!” cried Annis, gazing at Elsie, then turning to survey her own graceful little figure in the glass.
“You look so sweet in yours, Annis,” Elsie said, her eyes full of genuine, loving admiration as they went from the dress up to the bright, happy face of the wearer. “Let us run and show ourselves to mamma and Cousin Mildred. I think they are in mamma’s boudoir.”
The ladies were found, and their verdict was entirely satisfactory; they could see no room for improvement in the dresses.
“Or the faces either,” Rose said in a whispered aside to Mildred.
“Both are very sweet and winsome, but Elsie’s far the more beautiful of the two,” Mildred returned, in the same low tone, but with a loving look at her little pet sister.
Then the gentlemen came in, and they two admired and commended.
“Now, little girls,” Mr. Dinsmore said, “your ponies and my horse are standing ready saddled and bridled at the door, and if you will exchange this finery for your riding-habits, we will take a gallop. Annis is equal to that now, I think.”
“Oh, thank you! Cousin Horace,” she exclaimed in delight. Then to Elsie, as they ran gayly to do his bidding, “We’ll doff our finery willingly enough for that, won’t we?”
“Yes, indeed! I’m so glad you enjoy riding, Annis. I always did; especially with papa for my escort.”
They had their ride, enjoyed it greatly too; then an hour for needle-work or anything they chose to do, before dinner.
In the afternoon they were starting out for a walk together about the grounds. Annis, who was a little in advance of Elsie, called back to her from the veranda. “The sun has gone under a cloud; do you think there’s any danger of rain before we get back?”
“I guess not,” Elsie answered.
Her papa’s study-door was ajar and she quite near it as she spoke.
“Elsie!” came in grave, reproving tones from within.
“Sir!” and she hastened to him.
He was writing and for a moment seemed oblivious of her presence.
“I am here, papa,” she said softly as he paused to dip his pen in the ink.
“I am not pleased with you,” he remarked, without looking at her.
“O papa! why?” The sweet voice was tremulous with pain and surprise.
“I cannot be pleased with you when you are not careful to obey me.”
“Papa, I have intended to be so; I—I don’t know what I have done that—that you bade me not.”
“Think a moment. What was it you said as you passed the door just now?”
“Only three words, papa, in answer to Annis, ‘I guess not.’”
“Ah! and what did I say to you the other day about using guess in that way?”
“You forbade me,” she faltered, her eyes filling with tears. “O papa, please forgive me this once! I’ll try never to forget again. I’m sorry, very sorry, dear papa.”
He laid down his pen, turned toward her and held out his arms.
She sprang into them, put hers about his neck, and laid her cheek to his.
“This once,” he said, caressing her softly, “but my little girl must be careful not to forget again.”
“You’d have to punish me another time?”
“Yes.”
“I—I think—”
“Well?”
“I’m afraid I ought to be punished this time to help me to remember. But oh, please don’t say I can’t go to the party!”
“No, I shall not do that, it shall be free forgiveness this time. I think you are sorry enough to remember in future. Doubtless you think your papa is very strict and particular about your mode of expressing yourself, but some day you will thank me for it. Now go for your walk; we have kept Annis waiting quite long enough.”
“Thank you, dear papa,” she said, holding up her face for another kiss, “I think you are very, very kind!”
“Why, what kept you so long?” asked Annis, as Elsie joined her on the veranda. “I thought you were all ready and right behind me.”
“Papa called me into his study; he had something to say to me,” Elsie answered, with a blush, and turning away her face that Annis might not see it and the tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, cousin,” she added in her own sweet, gentle tones.
“Never mind; it doesn’t signify, and I didn’t mean to complain,” Annis said with cheerful good humor. “Oh, there’s Mr. Travilla!” as a horseman was seen coming up the drive. “Let’s wait and speak to him.”
They stood still looking toward him, and in a moment he had dismounted close beside them, and was shaking hands and asking if they and all the family were well.
“I’ll put yo’ hoss in de stable, Massa Travilla,” said a servant, coming up and taking the bridle from his hand.
“Yes, if you please, Dick. I may perhaps stay some little time.”
“Oh, yes, sir, you must stay to tea!” Elsie said. “You have not been here for several days, and we cannot let you leave us after a call only.”
“Thank you, my dear,” he returned, with a pleased look. “You are setting out for a walk? I wish you would invite me to go with you.”
“Oh, we should be glad, very glad to have you!” both answered, in a breath.
So he went with them and made himself very entertaining, telling them several amusing anecdotes, and giving them various items of useful information.
When they returned to the house Mr. Dinsmore met them on the veranda, shook hands with his friend, and stood talking with him for several minutes.
While her father was thus engaged Elsie drew quietly near his side, and taking unobserved possession of his hand carried it to her lips.
He paused an instant in his talk, bent down and kissed her, looking with tender, loving eyes into hers, that were half filled with repentant tears. “My darling!” he said softly, then straightening himself went on with what he had been saying, but kept her hand in a close, loving clasp.
“You will, of course, stay and take supper with us, Travilla?” he said, leading the way into the house, still with Elsie’s hand in his.
“And oh, Mr. Travilla!” exclaimed Annis, “don’t you want to see our party dresses? They’re finished, and are just the loveliest things that ever you saw!”
“Yes,” he said, “I am much interested in the appearance you two little ladies are to make at the party.”
So he was taken directly to Elsie’s dressing-room, where the dresses were exhibited to his admiring eyes.
Mr. Travilla stayed until very nearly Elsie’s bed-time, and Mildred and the others lingered a little after he was gone, so that the little girl began to fear she would miss the usual private bit of chat with her father; and she was particularly anxious for it to-night, for her tender little heart was still sore at thought of his words, “I am not pleased with you.”
But at last she was left alone with him, even Rose having disappeared from the room in response to a call from the nursery.
The instant the door closed on the last of them, Mr. Dinsmore turned to his child with outstretched hand and a kind, fatherly smile, saying, “Come, daughter dear! we have not many minutes left before it will be time for you to go to bed.”
“Papa, O papa!” she said, hastening to him and hiding her face on his breast, “are you quite, quite pleased with me now?”
“Yes, darling, your fault is entirely forgiven, and now let it be forgotten. I think it will not be repeated, and I am glad to be able to say it is a rare thing for my little girl to be guilty of the slightest act of disobedience. You haven’t told me about your afternoon’s walk. Was it pleasant?”
“Oh, very nice!” she replied, lifting her head to wipe away her tears, and give him a grateful, loving look. “Mr. Travilla was with us and told us such nice stories. He is almost as entertaining and instructive in conversation as you yourself, papa.”
“Almost!” he said, laughing. “Well, I can swallow the flattery, because of the large admixture of filial love in it.”
“Is it flattery when we are perfectly sincere, papa?” she asked.
“Not gross flattery,” he said, “not meant as such at all in this case, I am sure; love makes my little girl see her father through rose-colored glasses.”
“But don’t you like it?” she asked naïvely.
“Yes; I must confess I do,” he returned, with a look of amusement.
Annis was with Mildred, talking about the coming party. It would be quite an event in the child’s life, and though very unwilling to miss it, she felt some shrinking and timidity at the prospect of meeting so many strange people in a strange place.
“I’m afraid I won’t behave right, Milly,” she said, a little anxiously. “I wish you could tell me just how.”
“Forget yourself, dear, and think only how to add to the enjoyment of others. Be modest and retiring—though I need hardly tell you that—but don’t be troubled with the idea that people are watching you; they will have something else to attend to, and a little girl like you is not likely to be noticed in so large a company.”
“That’s nice!” Annis remarked with satisfaction. “I think it will be fun to watch the doings of the grown-up folks and listen to their talk, without anybody taking notice of it—it will be almost as good as being invisible.”
“Ah, don’t be too sure of a great deal of fun to be gained in that way; some of the talk at such gatherings is apt to be too insipid to be worth hearing; if nothing worse.”
“Milly, I don’t believe you care much for parties,” Annis said, half in wonder and surprise, half inquiringly.
“No; I did once, but got my fill of them long ago; quiet home pleasures with those I love and who love me are now far more to my taste. Still we owe something to neighbors and friends outside of our family, and one must not give up society altogether.”
“You’ve made me feel more comfortable about going,” remarked Annis.
“Why, I thought you were quite desirous to go! quite pleased with the prospect!” Mildred returned in surprise.
“Yes, I did want to go, and yet I felt half frightened at the thought of seeing so many grand ladies and gentlemen all together. I was afraid I shouldn’t behave right at all. It’s very comfortable to think I can look at them and hardly be seen myself.”
“You would not like to think your dress would miss being seen?” Mildred said, playfully.
“No, indeed! it is so pretty.”
“I wish mother could see you in it!”
“Yes; and you in yours, Milly,” glancing at a beautiful evening-dress that had just come from the mantuamaker’s. “I wonder what they are doing at home!”
“Probably getting ready for bed; Fan at least. I think she would not envy you your dress if it must be worn by its possessor to a large party.”
“No, she’s so bashful; poor dear Fan!”
“Now, daughter,” Mr. Dinsmore said as they left the dinner-table on the all-important day, “I want you to go and lie down; sleep all the afternoon if you can. And I should advise Annis to do the same.”
Elsie obeyed of course, Annis followed his advice, and both felt very fresh and bright when the time came for them to be arrayed for the party.
Aunt Chloe undertook the dressing of both, “so dat Miss Mildred needn’t hab no botheration ’bout it,” and found no difficulty in accomplishing her task to the entire satisfaction of all concerned.
The two were dressed exactly alike except that Elsie wore a white sash and Annis a blue one.
When the last finishing touch had been given, they went into the library to show themselves to Mr. Dinsmore.
“Are you satisfied with us, papa?” Elsie asked, as they presented themselves before him.
“Perfectly,” he said, glancing from one to the other with a pleased smile, then bestowing a kiss upon each. “I hope you may enjoy yourselves very much indeed.”
“Thank you, sir! And now I’m going up to Mildred,” Annis said, running gayly from the room.
Elsie looked wistfully at her father. “You are all ready, papa, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” he said, drawing her to his knee, “and as it will be far past your usual bedtime when we come home to-night, we must have our good time together now. Did you take your nap?”
“Oh, yes, sir, mammy says I slept more than two hours.”
“That is well; I could hardly have consented to let you go on any other condition, because you are not strong enough to bear much loss of sleep. It is quite possible I may not be near you in the refreshment-room at Pinegrove, so I tell you now that you are not to eat any rich cake or preserves, or any salad.”
Elsie laughed. “Why, papa,” she said, giving him a hug, “you never let me eat such things at any time!”
“No, that is true, and yet I thought it as well to remind you lest you should be tempted to yield to hospitable urgency.”
“Papa, I would not dis—” But a sudden recollection made her pause and drop her eyes, while a crimson tide swept over the fair face and neck.
“I have not a doubt that my dear little girl fully intends to be perfectly obedient,” he said kindly, lifting the sweet, downcast face and pressing a kiss upon the ruby lips.
At that instant the door opened and Rose entered in full evening-dress.
“Will I do, my dear?” she asked; “does your wife’s attire meet your approval?”
“I am altogether satisfied with both it and her,” was the gallant rejoinder. “Are the others ready?”
It was Annis, just coming in at the door, who answered. “Milly says they will be down in five or ten minutes, Cousin Horace. Elsie, sha’n’t we go and put on our wraps?”
Mrs. Dinsmore was hurrying away. Her husband called after her. “My dear, wrap up well; for the night is cold. I have ordered the two close carriages, but wraps will not come amiss.” Then taking Elsie’s hand, he went with her and Annis to their rooms to see that they were warmly clad for the ride.
“We’ll have plenty of room in two carriages, won’t we?” Annis said, as they all gathered in the entrance hall.
“Yes; room enough to avoid crushing the ladies’ dresses I trust,” replied Mr. Dinsmore. “Come, Mildred, you, Annis and the doctor step into this one, and my wife, my daughter and I will take the other.”
On reaching Pinegrove they found the house ablaze with lights and many of the guests already arrived. The ladies were shown to a dressing-room where a servant-woman was in waiting, to help them off with their cloaks and perform any other needed service.
Rose and Mildred here showed themselves not a whit less solicitous about the appearance of the two little girls than in regard to their own. Sashes and stray ringlets were readjusted and each trim little figure subjected to a careful scrutiny to make certain that the best effect was secured, ere they descended to the reception-rooms.
The young people were in a parlor by themselves, and thither Annis and Elsie were conducted by one servant, while another showed the ladies and gentlemen into the drawing-room, announcing them by name.
The host and hostess came forward to meet them with cordial greeting, then Mildred, with an emotion of pleasure, found herself beside Mrs. Travilla; she was sure now that the evening would pass pleasantly to her.
There were also many other intelligent, agreeable people present, and the room was soon full of the hum of many voices conversing in tones more or less subdued.
Mr. Travilla sauntered round the room chatting with one and another of his many friends and acquaintances, then passed into that appropriated to the children. They seemed to be very merry. His entrance was greeted with applause from the boys and looks of delight on the part of the girls; for he was a general favorite.
“Will you allow me to take this vacant seat by your side, little lady?” he asked, addressing Elsie.
“Oh, yes, indeed, sir! I shall be happy to have you do so,” she returned, looking up into his face with one of her sweetest smiles.
“What is the game?” he asked. “May I take part in it?”
“It’s consequences, and we’re having fine fun. Of course we’ll be glad to have you join us, sir,” answered several voices.
So he stayed and took part in that and several succeeding games, apparently enjoying the sport as thoroughly as the youngest of them all.
When the time came for the refreshments to be served, he conducted Elsie and Annis to the supper-room and waited upon them there.
Elsie was glad her father happened to be so near at hand as to be able to tell her what she might eat; and Annis was wise enough to follow her cousin’s example in avoiding rich and indigestible food.
Their party were among the first to leave, yet it was so late that the two mothers felt anxious about their babes, and the little girls were conscious of fatigue; Elsie especially so.
Her father perceived it with concern as she came down from the dressing-room and he caught sight of the pale, tired little face half concealed by her hood.
He handed Rose to the carriage, then lifted Elsie tenderly and placed her in it, seated himself by her side, and took her in his arms.
“There, darling, lay your head down on father’s shoulder,” he said. “You must go to bed as soon as we get home, and lie there as long as you like to-morrow morning. There shall be no lessons; nothing to prevent my tired little girl from taking all the rest she needs.”
“Papa, you’re so good to me!” she murmured, dropping asleep almost before the words had fairly left her lips.