Elsie's Womanhood Part 48

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHTH.

"She led me first to G.o.d; Her words and prayers were my young spirit's dew."

--JOHN PIERPONT.

Elmgrove, the country-seat of the elder Mr. Allison, had never looked lovelier than on a beautiful June morning in the year 1865.

The place had been greatly improved since Elsie's first sight of it, while it was still Rose's girlhood's home where Mr. Dinsmore and his little daughter were so hospitably entertained for many weeks.

There was now a second dwelling-house on the estate, but a few hundred yards distant from the first, owned by Edward Allison, and occupied by himself, wife, and children, of whom there were several.

Our friends from Naples had arrived the night before. The Dinsmores were domiciled at the paternal mansion, the Travillas with Edward and Adelaide.

The sun was not yet an hour high as Elsie stood at the open window of her dressing-room, looking out over the beautiful grounds to the brook beyond, on whose gra.s.sy banks, years ago, she and Harold and Sophie had spent so many happy hours. How vividly those scenes of her childhood rose up before her!

"Dear Harold!" she murmured, with a slight sigh, "how kind he always was to me."

She could not think of him without pain, remembering their last interview and his present suffering. She had not seen him yet, but had learned from others that those months at Andersonville had injured his health so seriously that it was not likely ever to be restored.

"What happy children we were in those days," her thoughts ran on; "and I am even happier now, my treasures have so increased with the rolling years; but they! what bitter trials they are enduring; though not less deserving of prosperity than I, who am but a miserable sinner. But it is whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth."

At that moment the sound of little hurrying feet, entering the room, and glad young voices crying, "Good-morning, dear mamma!" broke in upon the current of her thoughts.

"Good-morning, my darlings," she said, turning from the window to embrace them. "All well and bright! Ah, how good our heavenly Father is to us!"

"Yes, mamma, it is like my text," said wee Elsie, "We have each a short one this morning. Mine is, 'G.o.d is love.'"

Mamma had sat down and taken Violet on her lap, while Elsie and Eddie stood one on each side.

Three lovelier children fond mother never looked upon. Elsie, now seven years old, was her mother's miniature. Eddie, a bright manly boy of five, had Mr. Dinsmore's dark eyes and hair, firm mouth and chin; but the rest of his features, and the expression of countenance, were those of his own father. Violet resembled both her mother and the grandmother whose name she bore; she was a blonde, with exquisitely fair complexion, large deep blue eyes, heavily fringed with curling lashes several shades darker than the ringlets of pale gold that adorned the pretty head.

"True, beautiful words," the mother said, in reply to her little daughter; "'G.o.d is love!' Never forget it, my darlings; never forget to thank Him for His love and goodness to you; never fear to trust His love and care.

Can you tell me, dear, of some of His good gifts to you?"

"Our dear, kind mamma and papa," answered Eddie quickly, leaning affectionately against her, his dark eyes lifted to her face, full of almost pa.s.sionate affection.

"Mammy too," added Violet.

"And dear, dear grandpa and grandma; and oh, so many more," said Elsie.

Rose was called grandma now, by her own request.

"Yes, dear grandpa and grandma, and so many more," echoed the other two.

"But Jesus the best gift of all, mamma," continued little Elsie.

"Yes, my precious ones," returned the mother, in moved tones, "Jesus the best of all; for He loves you better than even papa and mamma do, and though they should be far away, He is ever near, ready and able to help you. Now, Eddie, what is your verse?"

"A little prayer, mamma, 'Lord help me.'"

"A prayer that I hope will always be in my children's hearts when trouble comes, or they are tempted to any sin. The dear Saviour loves to have you cry to Him for help, and He will give it."

"Now Vi's tex', mamma," lisped the little one on her knee. "'Jesus wept.'"

"Why did Jesus weep, little daughter?"

"'Cause He so tired? so sick? naughty mans so cross to Him?"

"No, dear; it was not for any sorrow or trouble of His own that Jesus shed those tears. Can you tell us why it was, Elsie?"

"Yes, mamma; He was so sorry for poor Martha and Mary, 'cause their brother Lazarus was dead."

"Yes, and for all the dreadful sufferings and sorrows that sin has brought into the world. We are not told that Jesus wept for His own trials and pains; but He wept for others. We must try to be like Him; to bear our own troubles patiently, and to feel for the grief and pain of other people.

"We must try to keep these thoughts in our hearts all the day long: that G.o.d is love; that Jesus is our help in every trouble and temptation, that He feels for us, and we must feel for others, and do what we can to make them happy. Now we will kneel down and ask the dear Saviour to help us to do this."

The prayer was very short and simple; so that even Baby Vi could understand every word.

There was a moment's quiet after they had risen from their knees; then the children went to the window to look out upon the grounds, which they had hardly seen last night.

"Mamma!" said Elsie. "I see a brook away over yonder; and there are big trees there, and nice green gra.s.s. Mamma, is that where you and Aunt Sophie and Uncle Harold used to play when you were a little girl?"

"Yes, daughter."

"Oh, mamma, please tell us again about the time when you waded in the brook, and thought you'd lost your rings; and dear grandpa was so kind and didn't scold or punish you at all."

"Yes, mamma, do tell it."

"Please mamma, do," joined in the other little voices; and mamma kindly complied.

That story finished, it was, "Now, mamma, please tell another; please tell about the time when you wanted to go with the school children to pick strawberries, and grandpa said 'No.'"

"Ah, I was rather a naughty little girl that time, and cried because I couldn't have my own way," answered the mother musingly, with a dreamy look in her eyes and a tender smile playing about her lips as she almost seemed to hear again the loved tones of her father's voice, and to feel the clasp of his arm as he drew her to his knee and laid her head against his breast, asking, "Which was my little daughter doubting, this afternoon--papa's wisdom, or his love?"

But her own little Elsie's arm had stolen about her neck, the cherry lips were pressed again and again to her cheek, and the sweet child voice repelled the charge with indignation.

"Mamma, you couldn't help the tears coming when you were so disappointed; and that was all. You didn't say one naughty word. And grandpa says you were the best little girl he ever saw."

"And papa says just the same," added a pleasant, manly voice from the door, as Mr. Travilla came in, closing it after him.

Then the three young voices joined in a glad chorus, "Papa! papa!

good-morning, dear papa."

"Good-morning, papa's dear pets," he said, putting his arms round all three at once, as they cl.u.s.tered about him, and returning with interest their affectionate caresses.