“At Christmas play, and make good cheer,
For Christmas comes but once a year.”
—TUSSER.
THE whole house was aroused and terrified by the sudden crashing sound, succeeded by perfect stillness, and members of the family, guests, and servants came rushing into the hall, most of them in wild excitement, not knowing but the next thing might be the falling in of the roof, or the tumbling of the walls about their ears.
Mr. Dinsmore, who happened to be standing close by the drawing-room door at that end of the hall, was the foremost of the crowd, and saw with a thrill of terror and despair his darling only daughter lying apparently insensible upon the floor, killed as he thought by the crushing weight of the statue, which seemed to rest upon her prostrate form.
In an instant he was at her side, his terror somewhat abated as he perceived that it had missed her, though by but a hair’s breadth, and that she was making an effort to rise.
“My child! my darling!” he said tremulously, stooping over her and gently raising her in his arms, “are you much hurt?”
“No, papa; not much I think,” she murmured faintly, for the fall had partially stunned her, “but O papa, I’ve broken your lovely statue, and I’m so sorry!”
“Never mind that; what do I care for it in comparison with you!” he said almost indignantly, making his way through the crowd of frightened, anxious guests and servants.
“Is she much hurt?”
“How did it happen?”
“How did she come to fall?” everybody was asking of her father or of each other, as they fell back from the drawing-room door to let him enter.
He did not seem to hear or heed them: his attention was wholly occupied with her.
“Am I giving you pain?” he asked in tenderest tones.
“Very little,” she answered, and her voice sounded quite natural now.
He sat down with her on a sofa, Rose, Mildred, Dr. Landreth, and Mr. Travilla gathering round.
“Where are you hurt, dear child?” the doctor asked.
“Only my knee, sir, and I don’t think it’s more than bruised,” she said, looking up into his face with a faint smile, “and I’m ashamed to have frightened you all so.”
But her head dropped on her father’s shoulder as she spoke and she grew deathly pale.
Her father’s face reflected the pallor of hers as the thought darted into his mind that she might have received some internal injury.
“She is faint from the shock to her nervous system,” the doctor said. “Better carry her to her room and lay her on her bed.”
The advice was followed at once, her father lifting her again in his arms and carrying her as gently and tenderly as possible, the doctor and Rose following at his request.
The last named soon returned to the drawing-room, where the guests were waiting in almost silent expectancy, with the good news that the doctor found no serious injury, the shock of the fall and a few not very bad bruises were all he could discover. He thought she would be about again next day.
Rose added that Mr. Dinsmore wished to be excused for a short season, and hoped they would enjoy themselves as if nothing had happened to disturb them.
“I should have her put to bed at once and get to sleep as soon as possible,” Dr. Landreth said as he left Elsie’s room.
“Yes, it shall be done,” Mr. Dinsmore answered. “Aunt Chloe, undress her immediately. I will help you. There, put these away carefully,” handing her the necklace and bracelets he just unclasped from his daughter’s neck and arms. Then to Elsie, “Keep as quiet as you can, dearest, and let papa and mammy do it all.”
“Dear papa, you seem to have no reproof at all for me!” she said, looking lovingly into his eyes.
“That can wait till to-morrow,” he answered with playful look and tone. “I am sorry for my little pet that her Christmas eve should be so spoiled for her,” he added presently, giving her a tender caress.
“But it was my own fault, papa, and I’m afraid I’ve spoiled yours and other people’s too.”
“Well, well, accidents will happen; and you shall tell me all about it to-morrow if you feel equal to the task. Now I shall sit beside you until you go to sleep.”
“How nice, dear papa!” she exclaimed, “it more than pays for my slight hurts and my fright, for oh, I was frightened when I felt myself falling.”
“There! don’t talk about it any more to-night,” he said, holding her close to his heart for an instant, then laying her in her bed.
“Papa,” she asked, “must I say my prayers in bed?”
“For to-night I think you must; and they need not be very long; we are not heard for our much speaking.”
It was not long ere she slept; until then he sat beside the bed, holding her hand in his and singing softly one of her favorite hymns.
Then enjoining it upon the old nurse to watch her carefully, and if she woke and seemed in pain to send at once for him, he returned to his guests.
He wanted her without a bed-fellow that night that he might feel free to go to her when he would, so Annis occupied a couch in Mildred’s dressing-room.
Elsie was still sleeping sweetly when her father came in and stood by her bed the last thing before seeking his own, and he always found her so when he stole softly in again two or three times during the night.
She woke at her usual hour in the morning, and hearing him moving quietly about in the next room, called softly to him, “Merry Christmas, dear papa.”
“Ah, my darling! a merry Christmas and happy New Year to you!” he responded, coming quickly to her side. “You are looking very bright,” he added joyously, bending down to kiss forehead, lips, cheeks, and eyes. “Do you feel no ill effects from your fall?”
“No, sir. May I get up now, and come to you in the study when I am dressed?”
“Yes; if you feel quite able. Aunt Chloe,” as the old nurse came in, “bring Miss Elsie a glass of good, rich iced milk and let her drink it before she rises.”
“Yes, sah, I’se do dat berry ting,” returned Aunt Chloe. “How is you, honey? well ’nuff to get out ob bed dis Christmas mornin’?”
“Yes, mammy; but why don’t you catch me? aren’t you afraid you’ll miss your Christmas gift?”
“Yah, yah, chile! not a bit! ’spect you’s got it all ready an’ couldn’t keep it from your ole mammy ef you tried. Now I’se off after dat milk. But fust I hopes, darlin’, you’ll hab de merriest of Christmases and de happiest New Year de good Lord eber give you.”
“Thank you, dear old mammy; and may you have the same,” Elsie responded, looking affectionately after her nurse as she hurried from the room.
Her father stayed with her till he had seen her drain the glass of sweet rich milk which Aunt Chloe brought, then left her to be dressed.
Going through the hall on the way to his study, he passed the scene of last night’s accident. The statue had been replaced in its niche by the servants, but it was a wreck, the nose crushed, an arm and a foot broken.
He had valued it in the past, but his only emotion as he glanced at it now was one of heartfelt thankfulness that it had fallen beside rather than upon his child.
Half an hour later she came to him looking so bright and happy, so sweet and fair, that his pulses bounded with joy at the sight.
She ran into his outstretched arms, put hers about his neck and pressed her sweet lips to his again and again. “Dear, dear papa, how I love you!” she said, laying her soft cheek to his. “I do believe almost any other father would have scolded and punished me too, last night.”
“Not a father who loved you as I do. But how did it all happen? I cannot think what you could have been doing there.”
Then she told him all about it, adding, “I saw the statue just now and it is quite ruined. O papa, I am so sorry!”
“Never mind that; if this accident teaches you a lesson on the folly and danger of climbing up and reaching in that way—such a lesson that you will never try it again—I shall not mourn over the loss; but consider your safety cheaply purchased by it. But do you know what you have brought on yourself by this escapade?”
“What, papa?” she asked with a startled look up into his face. His tone was so grave it half frightened her.
“Your father’s presence with you and your mates whenever there is any romping game to be played.”
“Oh,” she cried, clapping her hands, “that will be so nice! And will you join us in the games?”
“Perhaps. Now let us have our reading. I have chosen the sweet story of our Saviour’s birth and the visit of the angels to the shepherds, as the most appropriate to the day.”
“Yes, papa, surely it is,” she said, a sweet, tender gravity overspreading her lovely countenance, while the soft eyes were luminous with love and joy. “I have been thinking of it all the morning, and thanking God in my heart for the gift of his dear Son. And this is my verse for to-day: ‘God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’ O papa, isn’t that a sweet, sweet verse? and wasn’t it wonderful love?”
A little before the breakfast hour Mr. Dinsmore and Elsie went to the drawing-room, where they found Rose, Mildred, and Annis.
No one else was there at the moment, though very soon Dr. Landreth and Mr. Travilla came in; then one guest after another until nearly all were present.
The two ladies and Annis embraced Elsie in turn, saying how glad they were to see her looking so well in spite of her accident, and how alarmed about her they had been.
“Are you quite sure that you feel none the worse for it?” asked Rose.
“No, mamma; I am so very sorry to have broken that lovely statue.”
“It is a pity,” Rose said with a slight smile, “but I am sure your papa does not want you to grieve in the very least over it, and my query referred altogether to bodily injury.”
“Please excuse me, mamma,” Elsie said, “I’m afraid my misunderstanding was partly wilful. I have a few bruises, but they scarcely hurt me unless they are touched.”
Inquiries, condolences, and Christmas greetings and good wishes were showered upon her as the other visitors gathered in, until at length Enna remarked with a disdainful toss of the head, “Dear me! Elsie, what a fuss everybody does make over you, just because you had a trifling accident—a fall off a chair!”
“A fall off a chair, Miss Enna,” said Mr. Travilla, “has sometimes proved a very serious affair; and if that statue had fallen on instead of alongside of our little friend, it would without doubt have broken some of her bones, if nothing worse.”
“I’m glad it didn’t then; ’twould have spoiled all our fun, for of course Horace would have sent us all home at once.”
“Well, Enna, one thing can be said in your praise—that you are no hypocrite,” exclaimed Carrie Howard, with a scornful curl of the lip, “if you are utterly heartless, you don’t try to hide it with a pretence of sensibility and kindness.”
“You are well answered and reproved for once, Enna,” remarked Mr. Dinsmore with grave displeasure and disgust.
The morning was so fine that the family and guests spent the greater part of it in the open air, riding, driving, or walking. Elsie generously gave up her phaeton to Carrie and Lucy—the other little girls to take their turn afterward—the larger ponies to the boys; but her father and Mr. Travilla drove her and Annis out in the carriage of the latter.
There was a great deal of candy about, every one having received a box of it when the gifts were distributed, and some of the little people ate so much that evening and on getting up in the morning that they brought little appetite to their breakfast; but Elsie had not yet tasted it.
“What is that?” her father asked, seeing a paper parcel in her hand as she came out to take her drive.
“My box of candy, papa. I thought it would be nice to hand round to you all, and perhaps you would let me eat some too. I haven’t had any at all yet.”
“Yes,” he said, handing her into the carriage, “you may eat a little now, and shall have a larger quantity after dinner.”
“Cousin Horace,” remarked Annis, who was already seated in the carriage, “I do think Elsie is the best girl in the world! I don’t believe I could have resisted the temptation to taste a little candy, when everybody around me was eating it, as she did last night.”
“Yes,” he said, looking fondly at his little girl, “she is a good, obedient child.”
Elsie’s face flushed with pleasure at his words and her eyes sparkled.
Of course there was a grand Christmas dinner at the Oaks, where, in addition to a great variety of toothsome viands, there was “the feast of reason and the flow of soul.”
Innocent pleasures were provided in abundance for the afternoon and evening of that day and all the others to the end of the week; intellectual conversation, music of a high order, tableaux vivans, acting of charades, and others too numerous to mention.
There was very little jarring among the participants, old or young. Enna behaved uncommonly well, probably because either Mr. Dinsmore or Mr. Travilla was almost always present; often both were; and in their occasional absences, Rose, Adelaide, or Mildred was sure to be near enough to see and hear all that went on.
Thus Elsie was secured from ill-usage and from being burdened with the responsibility of providing amusement for her guests.
Both she and Annis enjoyed the week greatly, yet felt a sense of relief when on Saturday evening the last of their guests had departed, leaving them to the full enjoyment of each other’s society and that of the usual quiet home circle. The older guests had gone too, with the exception of Adelaide and Mr. and Mrs. Travilla, but they seemed almost to belong to the family.