ELSIE'S
WIDOWHOOD
A SEQUEL TO
" ELSIE'S CHILDREN "
BY
MARTHA FINLEY
'Alone she wanders where with HIM she trod,
No arm to stay her, but she leans on God."
O. W. HOLMES
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1880, 1908,
BY DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
PEEFAOE.
IT was not in my heart to give to my favorite
child, Elsie, the sorrows of Widowhood. But
the public made the title and demanded the
book and the public, I am told, is autocratic.
So what could I do but write the story and try
to show how the love of Christ in the heart can
make life happy even under sore bereavement ?
The apostle says, "I am filled with comfort, I
am exceeding joyful in all our tribulation ;"
and since trouble, trial and affliction are the lot
of all in this world of sin and sorrow, what
greater kindness could I do you, dear reader,
than to show you where to go for relief and con-
solation ? That this little book may teach the
sweet lesson to many a tried and burdened soul,
is the earnest prayer of your friend,
THE AUTHOB.
CONTENTS.
PAOK
CHAPTEB 1 7
CHAPTER II 18
CHAPTER III 28
CHAPTER IV 38
CHAPTER V 47
CHAPTER VI 59
CHAPTER VII * . . . 68
CHAPTER VIII 80
CHAPTER IX 91
CHAPTER X 101
CHAPTER XI 114
CHAPTER XII 127
CHAPTER XIII 140
CHAPTER XIV 151
CHAPTER XV 165
vl CONTENTS.
PAG*
CHAPTER XVI 178
CHAPTEB XVII 194
CHAPTEB XVIII 207
CHAPTER XIX 220
CHAPTER XX 236
CHAPTER XXI 247
CHAPTER XXII 263
CHAPTER XXIII 279
CHAPTER XXIV 296
CHAPTER XXV. . . . . 323
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
CHAPTER I.
"All love is sweet,
Given or returned. Common as light is love,
And its familiar voice wearies not ever."
-Shelley.
" COME in, Vi, darling," said Mrs. Travilla's
sweet voice, " we will be glad to have you with
us."
Violet, finding the door of her mother's dress-
ing-room ajar, had stepped in, then drawn
hastily back, fearing to intrude upon what
seemed a private interview between her and her
namesake daughter ; Elsie being seated on a
cushion at her mamma's feet, her face half hid-
den on her lap, while mamma's soft white hand
gently caressed her hair and cheek.
" I feared my presence might not be quite de-
sirable just now, mamma," Violet said gayly,
coming forward as she spoke. " But what is
the matter?" she asked in alarm, perceiving
that tears were trembling in the soft brown
eyes that were lifted to hers. "Dear mamma,
are you ill? or is Elsie ? is anything wrong with
her ?"
8 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
" She shall answer for herself," the mother
said with a sort of tremulous gayety of tone and
manner. " Come, bonny lassie, lift your head
and tell your sister of the calamity that has be-
fallen you."
There was a whispered word or two of re-
ply, and Elsie rose hastily and glided from the
room.
" Mamma, is she sick ?" asked Violet, sur-
prised and troubled.
" Xo, dear child. It is the old story:" and
the mother sighed involuntarily. " We cannot
keep her always ; some one wants to take her
from us."
" Some one ! oh who, mamma ? who would
dare ? But you and papa will never allow it ?"
" Ah, my child, we cannot refuse ; and I un-
derstand now, as I never did before, why my
father looked so sad when yours asked him for
his daughter.''
Light flashed upon Violet. " Ah mamma, is
that it ? and who but I think I know. It ig
Lester Leland, is it not?"
Her mothers smile told her that her conjec-
ture was correct.
Violet sighed as she took the seat just vacated
by her sister, folded her arms on her mother's
lap, and looked up with loving eyes into her
face.
" Dear mamma, I am so sorry for you ! for
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 9
papa too, and for myself. What shall I do
without my sister ? How can you and papa do
without her ? How can she ? I'm sure no one
in the world can ever be so dear to me as my
own precious father and mother. And I wish
I wish Lester Leland had never seen her."
" No, darling, we should not wish that.
These things must be ; God in his infinite wis-
dom and goodness has so ordered it. I am sad
at the thought of parting with my dear child,
yet how could I be so selfish as to wish her to
miss the great happiness that I hare found in
the love of husband and children?"
Violet answered with a doubtful " Yes, mam-
ma, but "
" Well, dear ?" her mother asked with a smile,
after waiting in Tain for the conclusion of the
sentence.
" I am sure there is not another man in all
the world like papa ; not one half so dear and
good and kind and lovable."
" Ah, you may change your mind about that
some day. It is precisely what I used to think
and say of my dear father, before I quite learn-
ed the worth of yours."
" Ah, yes, I forgot grandpa ! he is almost
as nice and dear as papa. But here can't be
another one, I'm yery, evry sure of that. Les-
ter Leland is not half so nice- Oh I don't see
how Elsie can !"
10 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
" How Elsie can what ?" asked her father,
coming in at that moment, and regarding hei
with a half quizzical look and smile.
" Leave you and mamma for somebody else,
you dear, dear, dearest father !" returned Vi,
springing up and running to him to put her
arms about his neck and half smother him with
kisses.
" Then we may hope to keep you for a good
while yet ?" he said interrogatively, holding
her close and returning her caresses in most
tender fatherly fashion, the mother watching
them with beaming eyes.
" Yes, indeed ; till you grow quite, quite
tired of me, papa."
"And that will never be, my pet. Ah, little
wife, how rich we are in our children ! Yet
not rich enough to part with one without a pang
of regret. But we will not trouble about that
yet, since the evil day is not very near."
" Oh isn't it ?" cried Violet joyously.
" No ; Lester goes to Italy in a few weeks,
and it will be one, two, or maybe three years
before he returns to claim his bride."
" Ah, then it is not time to begin to fret about
it yet !" cried Vi, gleefully, smiles chasing away
the clouds from her brow.
At her age a year seems a long while in an-
ticipation.
" No. daughter, nor ever will be," her father
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. H
responded with gentle gravity. "I hope my
little girl will never allow herself to indulge in
so useful and sinful a thing as fretting over
either what can or what cannot be helped."
" Ah, you don't mean to let me fret at all, I
see, you dear, wise old papa," she returned with
a merry laugh. "Now I must find Elsie and
pass the lesson over to her. For I shrewdly sus-
pect she's fretting over Lester's expected de-
parture."
" Away with you then !" was the laughing re-
joinder, and she went dancing and singing
from the room.
" The dear, merry, light-hearted child," her
father said, looking after her. " Would that I
could keep her always thus."
" Would you if you could, my husband ?"
Mrs. Travilla asked with a tender smile, a look
of loving reverence, as he sat down by her
side.
"No, sweet wife, I would not," he answered
emphatically; " for, as Rutherford says, 'grace
groweth best in winter ; ' and the Master says,
' As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten.' "
" Yes ; and 'we must through much tribula-
tion enter into the kingdom of God.' Ah, we
could never choose for our precious children ex-
emption from such trials and afflictions as He
may see necessary to fit them for an eternity of
joy and bliss at His right hand !"
12 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
" No ; nor for ourselves, nor for each other,
my darling. But how well it is that the choice
is not for us ! How could I ever choose a single
pang for you, beloved ? vein of my heart, my
life, my light, my joy !"
" Or I for you, my dear, dear husband!" sh&
whispered, as he drew her head to a resting^
place upon his breast and pressed a long kiss of
ardent affection on her pure white brow. "Ah,
Edward, I sometimes fear that I lean on you
too much, love you too dearly! What could I
ever do without you husband, friend, counsel-
lor, guide everything in one?"
Violet went very softly into her sister's dress-
ing-room and stood for several minutes watch-
ing her with a mixture of curiosity, interest
and amusement, before Elsie became aware of
her presence.
She sat with her elbow on the window seat,
her cheek in her hand, eyes fixed on some dis-
tant point in the landscape, but evidently with
thoughts intent upon something quite foreign
to it; for the color came and went on the soft
cheeks with every breath, and conscious smiles
played about the full red lips.
At last turning her head and catching her
young sister's eye, she crimsoned to the very
forehead.
"0 Elsie, don't mind me!" Violet said,
springing to her side and putting her arms
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 13
around her. "Are you so very happy? You
look so, and I am glad for you; but but I can't
understand it."
"What, Vi?" Elsie asked, half hiding her
blushing face on her sister's shoulder.
" How you can love anybody better than our
own dear, darling, precious papa and mamma."
"Yes. I I don't wonder, Vi," blushing more
deeply than before, " but they are not angry
dear, dear mamma and papa it seems to me I
never loved them half so dearly before and
they say it is quite natural and right."
"Then it must be, of course; but I wish it
was somebody else's sister and not mine. I
can't feel as if a stranger has as much right to
my own sister as I have; and I don't know how
to do without you. Elsie, can't you be con-
tent to live on always in just the way we have
ever since we were little bits of things?"
Elsie answered with an ardent embrace and a
murmured " Darling Vi, don't be vexed with
me. I'm sure you wouldn't if you knew how
dearly, dearly I love you."
" Well, I do suppose you can't help it!" sighed
Violet, returning the embrace.
" Can't help loving you? No, indeed; who
could?" Elsie returned laughingly. " You
wouldn't wish it, surely? You value my affec-
tion?"
"Oh you dear old goose!" laughed Violet;
14 ELSIE 1 8 WIDOWHOOD.
"but that was a wilful misunderstanding.
None so stupid as those that won't comprehend.
Now I'll run away and leave you to your pleas-
ant thoughts. May I tell Molly?"
" Yes," Elsie answered with some hesitation,
" she'll have to know soon. Mamma thinks it
should not be kept secret, though it must be so
long before "
"Ah, that reminds me that I was to pass over
to you the lesson papa just gave me that fret-
ting is never wise or right. I leave you to make
the application," and she ran gayly away.
So joyous of heart, so full of youthful life and
animation was she that she seldom moved with
sedateness and sobriety in the privacy of home,
but went tripping and dancing from room to
room, often filling the house with birdlike war-
blings or silvery laughter.
Molly Percival sat in her own cheery, pleas-
ant room, pen in hand and surrounded by books
and papers over which she seemed very intent,
though now and then she lifted her head and
sent a sweeping glance through the open win-
dow, drinking in with delight the beauties of a
panorama of hill and dale, sparkling river, cul-
tivated field and wild woodland, to which the
shifting lights and shadows, as now and again a
fleecy, wind-swept cloud partially obscured the
brightness of the sun, lent the harm of endless
variety.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 15
Molly's face was bright with intelligence and
good hurnor. She enjoyed her work and her
increasing success. And she had still another
happiness in the change that had come over
her mother.
Still feeble in intellect, Enna Johnson had
become as remarkable for gentleness and docili-
ty as she had formerly been for pride, arrogance
and self-will.
She had grown very fond of Molly, too, very
proud of her attainments and her growing fame,
and asked no greater privilege than to sit in the
room with her, watching her at her work, and
ever ready to wait upon and do her errands.
And so she, too, had her home at Ion, made
always welcome by its large-hearted, generous
master and mistresss.
"Busy, as usual, I see," remarked Violet, asr
she came tripping in. " Molly, you are the veri-
est bee, and richly deserve to have your hive-
full of the finest honey. I'm the bearer of a
bit of news very interesting to Elsie and me, in,
fact I suppose I might say to all the family.
Have you time to hear it?"
"Yes, indeed, and to thank you for your
kindness in bringing it," Molly answered, lay-
ing down her pen and leaning- back in a restful
attitude. " But sit down first, won't you?"
" Thank you, no; it's time to dress for din-
ner. I must just state the fact and run away,"
16 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
said Violet, pulling out a tiny gold watch set
with brilliants. "It is that Elsie and Lester
Leland are engaged."
"And your father and mother approve?"
asked Molly in some surprise.
"Yes, of course; Elsie would never think of
engaging herself to anybody without their ap-
proval. But why should they be expected to
object?"
" I don't know, only he's poor, and most
wealthy people would consider that a very great
objection."
Violet laughed lightly. " What an odd idea!
If there is wealth on one side, there's the less
need of it on the other, I should think. And
he is intelligent, sensible, talented, amiable and
good; rather handsome too."
"And so you are pleased, Vi?"
"Yes, no, I don't know," and the bright face
clouded slightly. " I wish but if people must
marry, he'll do as well as another to rob me of
my sister, I suppose."
She tripped away, and Molly, dropping her
head upon her folded arms on the table, sighed
profoundly.
Some one touched her on the shoulder, and
her mother's voice asked, "What's the matter.
Molly? You don't envy her that poor artist
fellow, do you? You needn't: there'll be a bet-
ter one coming aloTv/, :5or you one of these days."
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 17
" No. no; not for me ! not for me !" gasped
the girl. " I've nothing to do with love or
marriage, except to picture them for others.
It's like mixing delicious draughts for other
lips, while I I may not taste them may not
have a single drop to cool my parched tongue,
or quench my burning thirst."
At the moment life seemed to stretch out be-
fore her as a dreary waste, unbrightened by a
single flower a long, toilsome road to be trod
in loneliness and pain. Her heart uttered the
old plaint: " They eem to have everything and
I nothing."
Then her cheek burned with shame, and peni-
tent tears filled her eyes, as better thoughts
came crowding into her mind.
Had she not a better than an earthly love to
cheer, comfort, and sustain her on her way?
a love that would never fail, a Friend who
would never leave nor forsake her ; whose sym-
pathy was perfect ; who was always touched
with the feeling of her infirmities, and into
whose ear she could ever whisper her -every sor-
row, perplexity, anxiety, certain of help ; for
His love and power were infinite.
And the minor blessings of her lot were in-
numerable : the love of kindred and friends,
and the ability to do good and give pleasure by
the exercise of her God-given talents, not the
least.
CHAPTER II.
M Marriage is a matter of more worth
Than to be dealt in by attorneyship."
Shakespeare.
LESTEB LELAXD would sail in a few weeks
for Europe. He was going to Italy to study the
great masters, and with the determination to
epare no effort to so perfect himself in his art
that his fame as the first of American sculptors
should constitute a prize worthy to lay at the
feet of his peerless Elsie.
Their engagement was presently made known
to all the connection, and with no pledge or
request of secrecy, her parents deeming such a
course wisest and kindest to all parties. Elsie
had many suitors, and it was but just to them
to let it be understood that her selection was
made.
The communication was by note to each fam-
ily, which note contained also an invitation to a
family dinner at Ion, given in honor of the new-
ly affianced pair.
Of course the matter called forth more or
less of discussion in each household, every one
feeling privileged to express an opinion in re-
gard to the suitableness of the proposed match.
It created some surprise at the Oaks, but as
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 19
Lester was liked and his genius admired by
them all, there were no unfavorable comments.
At Ashlands the news was received in much
the same way, Herbert remarking, "Well, as it
isn't Vi, I don't care a pin."
Everybody at Fairview was delighted. At
Pinegrove it was pronounced " an odd affair,
but just like the Travillas ; in choosing their
friends and associates they never seemed to look
upon wealth as a recommendation, or the want
of it as an objection.
It was at breakfast-time that the note of in-
vitation, addressed to old Mr. Dinsmore, reached
Roselands. He glanced over it, then read it
aloud.
"My great-granddaughter engaged to be
married !" he remarked, as he laid it down. " 1
may well feel myself an aged patriarch! Though
* few and evil have the days of the years of my
life been,' " he added, low and musingly, end-
ing with a heavy sigh.
"No such thing, father!" said Mrs. Conly,
in a quick, impatient tone. "I'm not going
to hear you talk so about yourself ; you who-
have been always an honorable, upright, pol-
ished gentleman."
" But what a wretched mesalliance is this!'*
she commented, with covert delight, taking up
the note and glancing over its contents. "A
poor artist v destitute of fame and money alike>
20 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
to mate with an heiress to hundreds of thou-
sands ! Why, poor as I and my children are, J
should have rejected overtures from him for one
of my girls with scorn and indignation."'
" Which would have been a decided mistake,
I think, mother," remarked Calhoun, respect-
fully. " Leland is a fine fellow, of good family,
and very talented. He'll make his mark some
day, and you may live to take pride in saying
that the wife of the famous sculptor Leland is
a niece of yours."
"A half grandniece," she corrected, bridling.
" But I shall be an ancient dame indeed before
that comes to pass."
" I have found him a very gentlemanly and
intelligent fellow," remarked Arthur ; "and as
for money, Elsie is likely to have enough for
both."
" So she is," said the grandfather.
" And he is thoroughly good, and will make
a kind and appreciative husband," added Isadore.
Virginia looked scornful and contemptuous.
" He's too goody-goody for me," she said, "but
just like the Travillas in that, so will fit in
exactly, I presume. Well, if people like to
make fools of themselves, I don't see that we
need be unhappy about it. We'll accept the in-
vitation, of course, mamma ?" turning to her
mother ; " and the next question is, what shall
we wear ?>
ELSIE' 8 WIDOWHOOD. 21
" We must make handsome dinner toilets, of
course/' was the reply; "for, though none but
relatives and connections are to be present, it
will be a large company."
" Yes, and I've no fancy for being outshone
by anybody, and Aunt Rose is sure to be very
elegantly attired ; Cousin Rose Lacey and
Cousin Horace's wife no less so. Talk of my
fondness for dress ! It's small compared to
theirs."
"It is principally the doing of the hus-
bands," said Isadore. "Both or I might say
all three, for Uncle Horace is no exception are
very fond of seeing their wives well dressed."
"An excellent trait in a gentleman the de-
termination that his nearest female relatives
shall make a good appearance," remarked Mrs.
Conly, significantly, glancing from father to
sous.
" But the ability to bring it about is not al-
ways commensurate with the desire, mother,"
said Isadore.
" Thank you, Isa," said Calhoun, following
her from the room, for she had risen from the
table with her last words ; " my mother does
^ot seem to comprehend the difference between
our circumstances and those of some of our
relatives, and I am sure has no idea of the pam
her words sometimes give to grandpa, Art, and
myself."
22 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
" No, Cal, or she could never be so cruel,*
Isa answered, laying her hand affectionately on
Ids arm and looking lovingly into his eyes. " I
know that my brothers deny themselves many
an innocent gratification for the sake of their
mother and sisters: and Cal, I do appreciate it.
" I know you do, Isa. Now tell me what you
will want for this "
"Nothing," she interrupted, with an arch
smile up into his face. " Do you suspect me of
praising your generosity for a purpose? I have
everything I want for the occasion, I do assure
you. But, Cal, what do you suppose Uncle
Horace will think of Elsie's choice?"
" He will not object on the score of Leland's
lack of wealth, unless I am greatly mistaken.
Bui here he comes to speak for himself," he
added, as a horseman was seen coming up the
avenue at a brisk canter.
They were standing in the hall, but now step-
ped out upon the veranda to greet Mr. Dins-
more as he alighted, giving his horse in charge
to a young negro who came eagerly forward to
do the service, quite sure that he would be suit-
ably rewarded.
It was the lad's firm conviction that " Massa
Horace" possessed an inexhaustible supply of
email coin, some of which was very apt to be
transferred to the pockets of those who waited
upon him.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 33
Greetings were exchanged and Mr. Dinsmore
gaid, "I am on my way to Ion. Suppose yon
order your pony, Isa, and ride over with me.
They will be glad to see you. I want a few mo-
ments chat with my father, and that will give
you time to don your hat and habit."
Isadore was nothing loath, and within half an
hour they were on their way.
"You have heard the news?" her uncle re-
marked inquiringly.
" Of Elsie's engagement? Yes, sir. You were
discussing it with grandpa and mamma, were
you not?"
" Yes," and he smiled slightly.
" You don't think as she does about it, un-
cle?"
"No, I am fully satisfied; that the young
man is well-bred, good, amiable, honest, intelli-
gent, educated, talented and industrious seems to
me quite sufficient. My only objection is that
the engagement seems likely to be a long one.
And yet that has the advantage of leaving the
dear child longer in her father's house."
" Of which I for one am very glad," said Isa.
" What a sweet girl she is, uncle!"
"Yes; she strongly resembles her mother in
person and character; has always seemed to me
a sort of second edition of her."
They found the Travillas, old and young, all
out on tha veranda enjoying a family chat before
24 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
scattering to tlieir various employments for the
day.
Grandpa, though seldom a day passed without
a visit from him to Ion, was welcomed with all
the effusion and delight that might reasonably
have been expected if he had not been seen
for a month. His daughter's eyes shone with
filial love and pleasure as they exchanged their
accustomed affectionate greeting, and, as he took
possession of the comfortable arm-chair Mr. Tra-
villa hastened to offer, his grandchildren cluster-
ed about him, the little ones climbing his knees
with the freedom and fearlessness of those who
doubted neither their right nor their welcome.
But in the meantime Isadore was not forgot-
ten or overlooked. She too was quite at home
at Ion and always made to feel that her visits
were esteemed a pleasure.
There was a slight timidity of manner, a
sweet half shyness about the younger Elsie this
morning that was very charming. Her eyes
drooped under her grandfather's questioning
look and smile and the color came ai?^ went on
her fair cheek.
He said nothing to her, however, until the
younger ones had been summoned away to
their studies, then turned to her with the re-
mark, "I must congratulate Lester Leland
when next I see him. Well, my dear child, I
trust you have not made a hasty choice?"
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 25
" I think not, grandpa ; we have known each,
other quite intimately for several years," she
answered, casting down her eyes and blushing
deeply. "You do not disapprove?"
" I have no right to object if your parents are
satisfied," he said. "But there, do not look
uncomfortable ; I really think Lester a fine fel-
low, and am quite willing to number him among
my grandchildren."
She gave him a bright, grateful look ; then
she and Isa stole away together for a little girl-
ish confidence, leaving the older people to a
more business-like discussion of the matter.
On every subject of grave importance Mr.
Dinsmore was taken into the counsels of his
daughter and her husband. His approval on
this occasion, though they had scarcely doubted
it, was gratifying to both.
There were no declinations of the invitation
to the family dinner-party, and at the appointed
time the whole connection gathered at Ion a
large and goodly troop the adults in drawing-
room and parlors, the little ones in the nursery.
There was the Eoselands branch, consisting
of the old grandfather, with his daughter, Mrs.
Conly, and her numerous progeny.
Prom the Oaks came Mr. Horace Dinsmore,
Sr., and Mr, Horace Dinsmore, Jr., with their
wives and a bright, beautiful, rollicking year-
old boy, whom the proud young father styled
26 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOL.
Horace III. ; also Molly's half brother and si*,
tor, Bob and Betty Johnson, to whom their
uncle and aunt still gave a home and parental
care and affection.
All the Howards, of Pinegrove, were there
too three generations, two of the sons bringing
wives and little ones with them.
The Oarringtons, of Ashlands, were also pres-
ent ; for, though not actually related to the
Travillas, the old and close friendship, and the
fact that they were of Mrs. Kose Dinsmore's
near kindred, seemed to place them on the foot-
ing of relationship.
But we are forgetting Mrs- Travilla's sister
Rose. She was now Mrs. Lacey, of the Laurels
a handsome place some four miles from Ion
and mother of a fine son, whom she and her
husband brought with them to the family gath-
ering and exhibited to the assembled company
with no little joy and pride.
It remains only to mention Lester Leland and
his relatives of Fairview, who were all there, re-
ceived and treated as honored guests by their
entertainers, with urbane politeness by all the
others, except Mrs. Conly and Virginia, who saw
fit to appear almost oblivious of their existence.
They, however, took a sensible view of the
situation, and were quite indifferent as to the
opinions and behavior toward them of the two
haughty women.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 27
No one else seemed to notice it; all was ap-
parent harmony and good will, and Lester felt
himself welcomed into the family with at least
a show of cordiality from the most of the rela-
tives of "his betrothed.
She behaved very sweetly, conducting herself
with a half shy, modest grace that disarmed even.
Aunt Conly's criticism.
A few happy weeks followed, weeks rosy and
blissful with love's young dream, then Lester
tore himself away and left his Elsie mourning;
for half the brightness and bloom of life seemed
to have gone with him.
Father and mother were very pati.mt with
her, very tender and sympathizing, very solici^
tous to amuse and entertain and help her to re-
new her old zest for simple home pleasures and
employments, the old enjoyment of their love
and that of her brothers and sisters.
Ah! in after days she recalled it all especial*
ly the gentle, tender persuasiveness of her
father's looks and tones, the caressing touch of
his hand, the loving expression of his eye-
with a strange mixture of gladness and bitter
sorrow, an unavailing, remorseful regret that
she had not responded more readily and heartily
to these manifestations of his strong fatherly
affection. There came a time when a caress
from him was coveted far more than those of her
absent lovr
CHAPTER III.
^ Faith is exceedingly charitable and believeth no evil of God*
Rutherford.
DELICIOUS September days had come; the air
was soft and balmy; a mellow haze filled the
woods, just beginning to s"how the touch of the
Frost King's fingers.
The children could not content themselves
within doors, and the wisely indulgent mother
had given them a holiday and spent the morn-
ing with them on the banks of the lakelet and
floating over its bright surface in their pretty
pleasure-boat.
Eeturned to the house, she was now resting in
her boudoir, lying back in a large easy chair with
a book in her hand. Suddenly it dropped into
her lap, she started up erect in her chair and
seemed to listen intently.
Was that her husband's step coming slowly
along the hall ? It was like and yet unlike it,
lacking the firm, elastic tread.
The door opened and she sprang to her feet.
"Edward! you are ill !" for there was a deathly
pallor on his face.
"Do not be alarmed, little wife; it is nothing
a strange pain, a sudden faintness," he said,
trying to smile, but tottered and would have
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 29
fallen had she not hastened to give him the sup-
port of her arm.
She helped him to a couch, placed a pillow
beneath his head, rang for assistance, brought
him a glass of cold water, cologne and smell-
ing-salts from her dressing-table; doing all with
a deft quickness free from flurry, though her
heart almost stood still with a terrible fear and
dread.
What meant this sudden seizure, this anguish
so great that it had bowed in a moment the
strength of a strong man ? She had never
known him to be seriously ill before. He had
seemed in usual health when he left her for hi&
accustomed round over the plantation only a few
hours ago, and now he was nearly helpless with
suffering.
Servants were instantly despatched in diffei
ent directions : one to Eoselands to summon Dr.
Arthur Conly, another to the Oaks for her fa-
ther, to whom she instinctively turned in every
time of trouble, and who was ever ready to obey
the call.
Both arrived speedily, to find Mr. Travilla in
an agony of pain, bearing it without a murmur,
almost without a moan or groan, but with cold
beads of perspiration standing on his brow;
Elsie beside him. calm, quiet, alert to anticipate
every wish, but pale as a marble statue and with
a look of anguish in her beautiful eyes. It was
30 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
so hard to stand by and see the suffering en-
dured by him who was dearer than her own life.
She watched Arthur's face as he examined
and questioned his patient, and saw it grow
white to the very lips.
Was her husband's doom then sealed?
But Arthur drew her and Mr. Dinsmore
aside.
" The case is a bad one, but not hopeless," he
said. " I am unwilling to take the responsibility
alone, but must call in Dr. Barton and also send
to the city for the best advice to be had there."
" We have great confidence in your skill. Ar-
thur," Elsie said, " but let nothing be left un-
done. God alone can heal, but he works by
means."
"And in the multitude of counsellors there is
safety," added Mr. Dinsmore. ''Dear daugh-
ter, ' be strong and of a good courage ;' there
shall no evil befall you, for your heavenly
Father knows, and will do what is best."
" Yes, papa, I know, I believe it," she an-
swered with emotion. "Ah, pray for me, that
strength may be given me according to my day:
and to him, my dear, dear husband; no mur-
muring thoughts arise in either of our hearts."
The news had flown through the house that
its master and head had been stricken down
with sudden, severe illness. Great were the
consternation and distress among both children
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 3:
and servants, so beloved was he, so strange a
thing did it seem for him to be ill, for he had
seldom had a day's sickness in all the years that
they had known him.
Elsie, Edward and Violet hastened to the door
of the sick-room, begging that they might be
admitted, that they might share in the work of
nursing the dear invalid.
Their mamma came to them, her sweet face
very pale but calm.
" No, darlings," she said in her gentle, tender
tones, "it will not do to have so many in the
room while your dear father is suffering so
much. Your grandpa, mammy and I must be
his only nurses for the present; though after a
time your services may be needed."
" mamma, it is very hard to have to stay away
from him," sobbed Violet.
" I know it, dearest," her mother said, " and
my heart aches for you and all my darlings; but
I am sure you all love your dear father too well
not to willingly sacrifice your own feelings when
to indulge them might injure him or increase
his pain."
" mamma, yes, yes indeed!" they all cried.
" Well then, dears, go away now; look after
the younger ones and the servants I trust
them all to your care; and when the doctors say
it will do, you shall see and speak to your father,
and do anything for him that you can."
32 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
So with a loving, motherly caress bestowed
upon each, she dismissed them to the duties she
had pointed out, and returned to her station
beside her husband's couch.
Mr. Dinsmore, Arthur Conly, and Aunt
Chloe were gathered about it engaged in efforts
to relieve the torturing pain. His features were
convulsed with it, but his eyes wandered rest-
lessly around the room as if in search of some-
thing. As Elsie drew near they fixed them-
selves upon her face, and his was lighted up with
a faint smile.
" Darling, precious little wife," he murmured,
drawing her down to him till their lips met in a
long loving kiss, "don't leave me fora moment.
Nothing helps me to bear this agony like the
sight of your sweet face."
"Ah, beloved, if I might bear it for you!" she
sighed, her eyes filling with tears, while her
soft white hand was laid tenderly upon his brow.
"No, no! " he said, " that were far worse, far
worse!"
'. Her tears were falling fast.
"Ah, do not be so distressed; it is not unen-
durable," he hastened to say with a loving, ten-
der look" and an effort to smile in the midst of
his agony. "And He, He is with me; the Lord
my Saviour! ' I know that my Redeemer liv-
eth,' and the sense of His love is very sweet,
never so sweet before."
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 33
"" " Thank God that it is so! Ah, He is faith-
ful to his promises!" she said.
Then kneeling by his side she repeated one
sweet and precious promise after another, the
blessed words and loved tones seeming to have a
greater power to soothe and relieve than any-
thing else.
The other physicians arrived, examined, con-
sulted, used such remedies as were known to
them; everything was done that science and
human skill could do, but without avail; they
could give temporary relief by the use of opiates
and anaesthetics, but were powerless to remove
the disease which was fast hurrying its victim
to the grave.
Both Mr. Travilla and Elsie desired to know
the truth, and it was not corcealed from them.
On Mr. Dinsmore devolved the sad task of im-
parting it.
It was in the afternoon of the second day.
The doctors had held a final consultation and
communicated their verdict to him. Moved to
his very heart's core at the thought of parting
with his lifelong bosom friend, and more for the
far sorer bereavement awaiting his almost idol-
ized child, he waited a little to recover his com-
posure, then entered the sick-room and drew
silently near the bed.
Elsie sat close at her husband's side, one hand
clasped in his, while with the other she gently
34 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
fanned him or wiped the death damp from his
brow. Did she know it was that? Her face
was colorless, but quite calm.
Mr. Travilla was at that moment entirely
conscious, and his eyes were gazing full into
hers with an expression of unutterable love and
the tenderest compassion.
At length they turned from her face for an
instant and were uplifted to that of her father,
as he stood close beside her, regarding them
both with features working with emotion.
The dying man understood its cause. "Is it
so, Dinsmore?" he said feebly, but with perfect
composure. "Elsie, little wife," and he drew
her to him, both tone and gesture full of exceed-
ing tenderness. "Olove, darling, precious one,
must we part? I go to the glory and bliss of
heaven, but you " His voice broke.
Her heart seemed riven in twain ; but she
must comfort him. One bursting sob as she
bid her face upon his breast, one silent agonized
cry to Heaven for help, and lifting her head,
she gave him a long look of love, then laid her
cheek to his, put her arm about his neck.
"My darling, my dear, dear husband," she
said in her sweetest tones, " do not fear for
me, or for our children. The Lord, even Josus,
will be our keeper. Do not let the thought of
us disturb you now, or damp the glad anticipa-
tion of the wondrous glory and bliss to which
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 35
you go. Soon you will be with Him, ' forever
with the Lord.' And how glad our darling
Lily will be to see her beloved father ; dear
mother to recover her son ; and what a little,
little while it will seem till we all shall join you
there, never, never to part again."
" And neither she, my dear daughter, nor her
children, shall want for a father's love and care
while I live, my dear friend," said Mr. Dins-
more, his voice tremulous with emotion.
" I know it, I know it, and God be thanked
that I leave them in such good and loving
hands," Mr. Tra villa answered, looking grate-
fully at his friend.
" You trusted your darling child to me," ha
went on low and feebly and with frequent
pauses for breath, " and I give her back to you.
Oh she has been a dear, dear wife to me !" he
exclaimed, softly stroking her hair. " God bless
you, my darling ! God bless you for your faith-
ful, unselfish love ! You have been the sun-
shine of my heart and home."
" And you, my beloved, oh what a husband
you have been to me !" she sobbed, covering his
face with kisses ; " never one unkind or impa-
tient word, or look, or tone, nothing but the
tenderest love and care have I had from you
since the hour we gave ourselves to each other.
And I thought, oh I thought we had many
more years to live and love together ! But God's
will be done !"
36 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
" Yes," he said, " His will be done with me
and mine. Darling, he will never leave nor for-
sake you ; and though I am almost done with
time, we shall have all the ages of eternity to
live and love together."
Silent caresses were all that passed between
them for some moments ; then Mr. Dinsmore
inquired if his friend had any directions to give
about his affairs.
"$Q," he said, " all that was attended to long
since. Elsie knows where to find all my papers,
and understands everything in regard to the
property and my business matters as well as I do.
" And my peace is made with God," he con-
tinued after a pause, speaking in a sweetly
solemn tone. " His presence is with me, I
feel the everlasting arms underneath and around
me. All my hope and trust are in the blood
and righteousness of Christ, my crucified and
risen Saviour. All is peace. I am a sinner
saved by grace.
" Let me see my children and give them a
father's blessing, and I shall have nothing more
to do but fall asleep in Jesus."
Elsie and Vi were together in a room across
the hall from that in which their father lay,
sitting clasped in each other's arms, waiting,
hoping for the promised summons to go to him
when he should be sufficiently relieved to bear
their presence.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 37
Ah, there was in each young heart an un-
spoken fear that he would never rise from that
couch of pain, for they had seemed to read his
doom in the grave, anxious faces of grandfather
and physicians ; but oh it was too terrible a fear
for either to put into words even to her own
consciousness ! How could life go on without the
father who had thus far constituted so large a
part of it to them !
A shuffling step drew near, and Aunt Chloe
appeared before them, her face swollen with
weeping, her eyes filled with tears.
" You's to come now, chillens."
" Oh is papa better ?" they cried, starting up
in eager haste to obey the summons.
The old nurse shook her head, tears bursting
forth afresh. "He's mos' dar, chillens, mos'
dar, whar dey don' hab no mo' pain, no mo' sick-
ness, no mo' dyin'. I see de glory shinin' m
his face ; he's mos' dar."
Then as their sobs and tears burst forth,
"Oh my mistis, my bressed young mistis," she
cried, throwing her apron over her head, " yo>
ole maminy'd die to keep massa here for yo*
sake. But de Lord's will mus 5 be done, an' He
ueber makes no mistakes."
CHAPTEK IV.
"Death is another life."
Bailey.
" OH Elsie, Elsie, what shall we do ! But it
can't, it can't be true !" sobbed Violet, clinging
to her sister in a heart-breaking paroxysm of
grief. " Oh it will kill mamma, and we shall
lose her too !"
" No, no, honey, not so," said Aunt Chloe ;
"my bressed young missus will lib for yo' sake,
for her chillens' sake. An' you ain't gwine to
lose massa : he's only gwine home a little while
'fore de rest,"
"Dear Vi, we must try to be composed for
both their sakes," whispered Elsie, scarcely able
to speak for weeping.
" Dear bressed Lord help dem, help dese po'
chillens," ejaculated Aunt Chloe. " Come, chil-
lens, we's losin' precious time."
They wiped away their tears, checked their
sobs by a determined effort, and hand in hand
followed her to the sick-room.
Perfect ease had taken the place of the ago-
nizing pain which for many hours had racked
Mr. Travilla's frame, but it was the relief af-
forded not by returning health, but by approach-
ing dissolution ; death's seal was on his brow ;
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 39
even his children could read it as they gathered,
weeping, about his bed.
He had a few words of fatherly counsel, of
tender, loving farewell for each Elsie, Violet,
Edward : to the last saying, " My son, I com-
mit your mother to your tender care. You
have almost reached man's estate ; take your
father's place, and let her lean on your young,
vigorous arm ; yet fail not in filial reverence and
obedience ; be ever ready to yield to her wise,
gentle guidance.
" I will, father, I will," returned the lad in a
choking voice.
"And may not I too, and Herbert, papa?"
sobbed Harold.
"Yes, dear son, and all of you, love and
cherish mamma and try to fill my place to her.
And love and obey your kind grandpa as you
have always loved and obeyed me."
One after another had received a last caress, a
special parting word, till it had come to the
turn of the youngest darling of all little four-
year-old Walter.
They lifted him on to the bed, and creeping
close to his father, he softly stroked the dying
face, and kissing the lips, the cheeks, the brow,
cooed in sweet baby accents, "Me so glad to
see my dear papa. Papa doin' det well now.
Isn't you, papa?"
" Yes, papa's dear pet; I'm going where sick-
40 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
ness and pain can never come. My little boy must
love the dear Saviour and trust in him, and then
one day he shall follow me to that blessed land.
Ah, little son, you are too young to remember
your father. He will soon be forgotten!"
"No, no, dearest," said his weeping wife,
" not so; your pictured face and our constant
mention of you shall keep you in remembrance
even with him."
" Thanks, dearest," he said, turning a loving
gaze on her, "it is a pleasant thought that my
name will not be a forgotten sound among the
dear ones left behind. We shall meet again,
beloved wife, meet again beyond the river. I
shall be waiting for you on the farther shore.
I am passing through the waters, but He is with
me, He who hath washed me from my sins in
His own blood. And you, dearest wife does
He sustain you in this hour?"
"Yes," she said, "His grace is sufficient for
me. Dear, dear husband, do not fear to leave
me to his care."
Tears were coursing down her white cheeks,
but the low, sweet tones of her voice were calm
and even. She was resolutely putting aside all
thought of self and the sore bereavement that
awaited her and her children, that she might
smooth his passage to the tomb; she would not
that he should be disturbed by one anxious
thought of them.
ELSIE' 8 WIDOWHOOD. 41
He forgot none of his household. Molly and
her mother were brought in for a gentle, loving
farewell word; then each of the servants.
He lingered still for some hours, but his wife
never left him for an instant ; her hand was
clasped in his when the messenger came; his
last look of love was for her, his last whisper,
" Precious little wife, eternity is ours !"
Friends carried him to his quiet resting place
beside the little daughter who had preceded
him to the better land, and widow and children
returned without him to the home hitherto
made so bright and happy by his loved presence.
Elsie, leaning on her fathers arm, slowly
ascended the steps of the veranda, but on the
threshold drew back with a shudder and a low,
gasping sob.
Her father drew her to his breast.
" My darling, do not go in. Come with me
to the Oaks ; let me take you all there for a
time."
"'No, dear papa; 'twould be but putting off
the evil day the trial that must be borne
sooner or later," she said in trembling, tearful
tones. " But if you will stay with me "
" Surely, dearest, as long as you will. I
could not leave you now, my poor stricken one!
Let me assist you to your room. You are com-
pletely worn out, and must take some rest."
" My poor children " she faltered.
42 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
" For their sakes you must take care of your,
self, " he said . < t Your mamma is here. She and.
I will take charge of everything until you are
able to resume your duties as mother and mis-
He led her to her apartments, made her lie
down on a couch, darkened the room, and sit-
ting down beside her, took her hand in his.
"Papa, papa!" she cried, starting up in a
sudden burst of grief, " take me in your arms,
take me in your arms and hold me close as you
used to do, as he has done every day that he
lived since you gave me to him!"
" My poor darling, my poor darling!" he said,
straining her to his breast, " God comfort you!
May He be the strength of your heart and your
portion forever! Eemember that Jesus still lives,
and that your beloved one is with Him, rejoic-
ing with joy unspeakable and full of glory."
" Yes, yes, but oh, the learning to live with,
out him!" she moaned. "How can I! how
can I!"
"'When thou passest through the waters, I
will be with thee; and through the rivers, they
shall not overflow thee; when thou walkest
through the fire, thou shalt not be burned,
neither shall the flame kindle upon thee. For I
am the Lord thy God, the Holy One of Israel,
thy Saviour,' " he repeated in low, moved tones.
" ' Behold I have refined thee, but not with sil-
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 43
ver, I have chosen thee in the furnace of afflic-
tion.' Dear daughter, my heart bleeds for you,
and yet I know that He who has sent this sorrow
loves you far better than I do, and He means it
for good. ' Faith is the better of the free air
and of the sharp winter storm in its face. Grace
withereth without adversity.' "
" Yes, yes," she whispered, clinging to him.
"Go on, dear papa, you bring me comfort."
" What so comforting as the love of Christ!"
he went on; "the assurance that * in all our
afflictions He is afflicted!' My darling, 'the
weightiest end of the cross of Christ, which is
laid upon you, lieth upon your strong Saviour! ' "
"And He will never let me sink," she said.
"Oh what love is His! and how unworthy
am I!"
Never very strong, Elsie was, as her father
plainly perceived, greatly exhausted by the com-
bined influence of the fatigue of nursing, over-
whelming sorrow and the constraint she had put
upon herself to control its manifestations while
her husband lived.
She must have rest from every care and re-
sponsibility, must be shielded from all annoy-
ance, and as far as possible from every fresh,
reminder of her loss.
For several days he watched over her with
unceasing care and solicitude, doing all in hi?
lower to soothe, to comfort and console, allow-
44 ELSIE'S
ing only short interviews with Rose and the chil-
dren, and keeping every one else away except her
old mammy.
Never had father and daughter seemed nearer
and dearer to each other than in these sorrowful
days. To lay her weary head upon his breast
while his arms folded her close to his heart,
gave some relief more than could anything
else to the unutterable longing to feel the clasp
of those other arms whose loving embrace she
could never know again on earth.
But her nature was too unselfish and affection-
ate to allow of long indulgence in this life of
inactivity and, nursing of her grief. She could
not resist the anxious, pleading looks of her
children. She, their only remaining parent,
must now devote herself to them even more
entirely than had been her wont. Grandma
Eose was kind as kind could be, but mamma's
place could be filled by no one but herself.
" Dear papa," she said when three days had
passed, " I am rested now, and you must please
let me go back to my duties. My dear little
ones need me ; the older ones too. I cannot
deprive them of their mother any longer."
" Would it not be well to give yourself one
more day of rest ?" he asked, gazing sadly at
the wan cheeks and the mournful eyes that
looked so unnaturally large. "I do not think
you are strong enough yet for anything like
exertion."
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 45
" I think the sweet work of comforting and
caring for my darlings his children as well as
mine," she said with a tremble in her voice,
"will do me good."
" It is partly for their sakes that I want you
to take care of yourself," he said, putting his
arm about her, while her head dropped on his
shoulder. " Would it not have been his wish ?
were you not always his first care ?"
She gave a silent assent, the tears coursing
down her cheeks.
" And he gave you back to me, making you
doubly mine my own darling, precious child !
and your life, health and happiness must be
my special charge," he said, caressing her with
exceeding tenderness.
" My happiness ? Then, papa, you will not
try to keep me from my darlings. My dear,
dear father, do not think I am ungrateful for
your loving care. Ah, it is very sweet and rest-
ful-to lean upon you and feel the strong tender
clasp of your arm ! but I must rouse myself and
become a prop for others to lean upon."
" Yes, to some extent when you are quite
rested. But you must bear no burdens, dear
daughter, that your father can bear for you."
She looked her gratitude out of tear-dimmed
eyos.
" God has been very good to me, in sparing
me, my father," she said. "And my children,
46 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
my seven darlings all good and loving. How
rich I ought to feel J lloiv rich I do feel, though
so sorely bereaved."
The tears burst forth afresh.
" You will let me go to them ?" she said when
she could s'peak again.
" To-morrow, if you will try to rest and gain
strength to-day. I am quite sure it is what he
would have wished that you should rest a
little longer. v The children can come to you
for an hour or two to-day."
She yielded for that time, aud the next day he
withdrew his opposition and himself led her
down to thfe breakfast parlour, where all were
gathered to partake of the morning meal.
CHAPTEE Y.
" Weep not for him that dieth,
For he hath ceased from tears."
Mrs. Norton.
THERE was much unselfish love for their mam-
ma and for each other displayed by the young
Travillas in those sad days immediately follow-
ing the death of their dearly loved father.
Every heart ached sorely with its own burden of
grief excepting that of little Walter, who was
too young to understand or realize his loss, yet
was most solicitous to assuage that of the
brothers and sisters, but especially to comfort
and help "poor, dear, dear mamma."
They were filled with alarm as they saw
their grandfather almost carry her to her room,
then close the door upon them.
" Oh," cried Violet, clinging to her older
sister, and giving way to a burst of terrified
weeping, " I knew it would be so ! mamma
will die too. Oh mamma, mamma !"
" Dear child, no !" said Eose, laying a caress-
Ing hand on the young weeper's arm ; " do not
be alarmed ; your dear mother is worn out with
grief and nursing she has scarcely slept for
several days and nights but is not ill otherwise,
and I trust that rest and the consolations of God
4 g ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
will still restore her to her wonted health and
cheerfulness."
" grandma," sobbed Elsie, ' do you think
mamma can ever be cheerful and happy again ?
I am sure she can never forget papa."
"No, she will never forget him, never cease
^o miss the delight of his companionship ; but
she can learn to be happy in the thought of his
eternal blessedness and the sure reunion that
awaits them when God shall call her home ; and
in the love of Jesus and of her dear chil-
dren."
Hose had thrown one arm about Elsie's waist,
the other round Violet, and drawn them to a
eeat, while Edward and the younger children
grouped themselves about her, Rose and "Walter
leaning on her lap.
They all loved her, and now hung upon her
words, finding comfort in them, though listen-
ing with many tears and sobs.
She went on to speak at length of the glory
and bliss of heaven, of the joy of being with
Christ and free from sin ; done with sorrow and
sighing, pain and sickness and death ; of the
delight with which their sister Lily, their Grand-
mother Travilla, and other dear ones gone be-
fore, must have welcomed the coming of their
father ; and of the glad greeting he would give
to each of them when they too should reach-
the gate of the Celestial City.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 49
"Yes, grandma, papa told us all to come/'
said little Kosie.
" I know he did, dear child ; and do you
know the way ?"
" Yes, grandma, Jesus said, ' 1 am the way.'
He died to save sinners, and He will save all who
love Him and trust in Him alone, not thinking
anything they can do is going to help to save
them."
" Save them from what, darling ?"
"From their sins, grandma, and from going
to live with Satan and his wicked angels, and
wicked people that die and go there."
" Yes, that is all so, and oh what love it was
that led the dear Saviour to suffer and die upon
the cross that we might live ! Dear children,
it was His death that bought eternal life for
your beloved father and has purchased it for us
all if we will but take it as His free, unmerited
gift." '
"But, grandma," sobbed Harold, "why
didn't He let our dear papa stay with us a little
longer ? Oh I don't know how we can ever, ever
live without him!"
This called forth a fresh burst of grief from
all, even little Walter crying piteously, "I want
my papa ! I want my own dear papa!"
Rose lifted him to her lap and caressed him
tenderly, her tears falling fast."
"Dear children," she said, as the storm of
50 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
grief subsided a little, " we must not be selfish
in our sorrow ; we must try to rejoice that your
beloved father is far, far happier than he conld
ever be here. I think the dear Saviour took him
home because He loved him so much that He
could no longer spare him out of heaven. And
He, Jesus, will be your Father now even more
than He was before: ' A father of the fatherless
and a judge of the widows is God in his holy
habitation.'"
" I'm veiy glad the Bible tells us that," re-
marked Herbert, checking his sobs. " I have
heard and read the words often, but they never
Beemed half so sweet before."
" No," said Harold, putting an arm about him
(the two were very strongly attached and almost
inseparable); "and we have grandpa too : papa
said he would be a father to us."
"And he will, dear children," said Rose. " 1 do
not think he could love you much more than he
does if he were really your own father, as he is
your dear mamma's."
" And I am to try to fill papa's place," said
Edward, with a strong but vain effort to steady
his voice. " I am far from competent, I know,
but I shall try to do my very best."
" And God will help you if you ask Him,"
said Rose ; "help you to be a great comfort and
assistance to your mother and younger brothers
and sisters."
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 5J
" Ah, if we might only go to mamma!" sigh-
ed Violet, when she and Elsie had withdrawn to
the privacy of their own apartment. " Do you
think we might venture now?"
" Not yet awhile, I think I hope she is rest-
ing ; and grandpa will let us know when it will
not disturb her to see us."
" Elsie, can we ever be happy again?" cried
Violet, throwing herself into her sister's arms.
" Where, where shall we go for comfort?"
" To Jesus and His word, dear Vi. Let us
kneel down together and ask Him to bless us ail
and help us to say with our hearts ' Thy will be
done,' all of us children and our dear precious
mamma."
" Oh we can't pray for papa any more!" cried
Vi, in an agony of grief.
"No, dear Vi, but he no longer needs our
prayers. He is so close to the Master, so happy
in being forever with Him, that nothing could
add to his bliss."
Violet hushed her sobs, and with their arms
about each other they knelt, while in low, plead-
ing tones Elsie poured out their grief and their
petitions into the ear of the ever compassionate,
loving Saviour.
Fortunately for them in this hour of sore af-
fliction, they were no strangers to prayer or to
the Scriptures, and knew where to turn to find
the many sweet and precious promises suited to
their needs.
52 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
Some time was given to this, and then Elsie,
mindful of the duty and privilege of filling to
the best of her ability her mother's place to the
little ones, went in search of them.
The tea hour brought them all together
again all the children but father and mother
were missing. Oh this gathering about the
table was almost the hardest thing of all ! It
had been wont to be a time of glad, free, cheer-
ful, often mirthful intercourse between parents
and children; no rude and noisy hilarity, but
the most enjoyable social converse and inter-
change of thought and feeling, in which the
young people, while showing the most perfect
respect and deference to their parents, and un-
eelfish consideration for each other, were yet
under no galling constraint, but might ask
questions and give free expression to their opin-
ions, if they wished ; and were indeed encour-
aged to do so.
But what a change had a few days brought 3
There was an empty chair that would never
again be filled by him to whom one and all had
looked up with the tenderest filial love and rev-
erence. All eyes turned toward it, then were
suffused with tears, while one and another vain-
ly strove to suppress the bursting sobs.
They could not sit down to the table. They
drew close together in a little weeping group.
The grandparents came in, and Mr. Dinsmore,
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 53
trying to gather them all in his arms, caressed
them iii turn, saying in broken, tender tones,
" My dear children, my poor dear children ! I
will be a father to you. I cannot supply his
place, but will do so as nearly as I can. You
know, my darlings, my sweet Elsie's children,
that I have a father's love for you."
"Yes, grandpa, we know it," "Dear grand-
pa, we're glad we have you left to us," sobbed
one and another.
"And mamma, dear, precious mamma! O
grandpa, is she sick?"
" Not exactly sick, my darlings," he said,
"but very much worn out. We must let her
rest. 1 '
" Can't we see her ? can't we go to her?"
" Not now, not to-night, I think. I left her
sleeping, and hope she will not wake for some
hours."
At that the little ones seemed nearly heart-
broken. "How could they go to their beds
without seeing mamma?"
But Elsie comforted them. She would help
mammy to put them to bed ; and oh it was the
best of news that dear mamma was sleeping!
because if she did not she would soon be quite
ill.
Molly Percival, because of her crippled con-
dition, making locomotion so difficult, seldom
joined the family at table, but took her meals in
54 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
her own room, a servant waiting upon her and
her mother, who, in her new devotion to poor
Molly, preferred to eat with her.
The appointments of their table were quite as
dainty as those of the other, the fare never less
luxurious.
A very tempting repast was spread before
them to-night, but Molly could not eat for
weeping.
Her mother, tasting one dish after another
with evident enjoyment, at length thought fit
to expostulate with her.
" Molly, why do you cry so ? I do wish yon
would stop it and eat your supper."
"I'm not hungry, mother."'
" That's only because you're fretting so ; and
what's the use ? Mr. Travilla's better off ; and
besides he was nothing to you."
"Nothing to me! mother! he was so
good, so kind to me, to Dick, to everybody
about him. He treated me like a daughter,
and I loved him as well as if he had been my
own father. He did not forget you or me when
he was dying, mother."
" No ; and it was good of him. Still, cry-
ing doesn't do any good ; and you'll get weak
.aa sick if you don't eat."
' Molly's only answer was a burst of grief.
*' Oh poor, poor Cousin Elsie ! her heart must
fee quite broken, for she idolized her husband,
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 55
And the girls and all of them ; how they did
love their father !"
The servant came in with a plate of hot cakes,
and a slender girlish figure presently stole softly
after, without knocking, for the door stood open,
and to the side of Molly's chair. It was "Violet,
looking, oh so sad and sweet, so fair and spirit-
uel in her deep mourning dress.
In an instant she and Molly were locked in
each other's arms, mingling their sobs and tears
together.
" I'm afraid we have seemed to neglect you,
Molly dear," Violet said when she could speak-
"but"
"No, no, you have never done that !" cried
Molly, weeping afresh. " Ant" how could I
expect you to think of me at such a time ! O
Vi, Vi !"
" Mamma cannot come up, for she is not
not able to leave her room, and and Molly,
I'm afraid she's going to be sick !"
Molly tried to comfort and reassure her.
" Aunt Hose was in for a while this afternoon,"
she said, "and she thinks it is not really sick-
ness, only that she needs rest and and comfort.
And, Vi, the Lord will comfort her. Don't you
remember those sweet words in Isaiah ? * As
one whom his mother comf orteth, so will I com-
fort you ; and ye shall be comforted.'"
Violet had come up to see Molly, lest the poor
56 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
afflicted cousin should feel neglected,
Elsie was engaged with the little ones taking
mamma's place in seeing them to bed with a lit-
tle loving talk on some profitable theme.
To-night it was the glory and bliss o heaven;
leaving in their young minds, instead - t gloomy
and dreadful thoughts of death an<J the cold,
dark grave, bright visions of angelic choirs, of
white robes and palms of victory, of golden
crowns and harps, of the river of the water of
life, and the beautiful trees on its banks bearing
twelve manner of fruits ; of papa with sweet
Lily by his side, both casting their crowns at
Jesus' feet and singing with glad voices,
"Worthy is the Lamb that was slain."
Leaving them at length to their slumbers, she
joined Violet and Molly for a few moments ;
then Edward came to say that their mother was
awake and grandpa had given permission
for them to go to her and just bid her good-
night, if they could be quite composed.
They thought they could; they would try
very earnestly.
She was in her dressing-room, reclining in aa
easy chair, looking, oh so wan and sorrowful.
She embraced each in turn, holding them to
her heart with a whispered word or two of ten-
der mother love. " God bless you, my dear, deal
children ! He will be a father to the fatherless
and never leave nor forsake you."
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 57
Violet dared not trast herself to speak. Elsie
only murmured, " Dear, dearest mamma !"
and Edward, " Darling, precious mother, don't
grieve too sorely."
" The consolations of God are not small ! my
dear son," was all she said in reply, and they
withdrew softly and silently as they had come.
The next morning and each following day
they were all allowed a few moments with her,
until four days had passed.
On the fifth, as we have said, she came down to
the breakfast room leaning on her father's arm.
As they neared the door she paused, trembling
like a leaf, and turning to him a white, anguished
face.
He knew what it meant. She had not been
in that room, had not taken her plaoe at that
table, since the morning of the day on which hei
husband was taken ill. He was with her then,
in apparently perfect health; now the places
which had known him on earth would know
him no more forever.
Her head dropped on her father's shoulder,
a low moan escaping her pale lips.
"Dear child," he said, drawing her closer to
him, and tenderly kissing her brow, " think
how perfectly happy, how blest he is. You
would not call him back?"
" Oh no, no!" came from the quivering lips.
" * The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak? ' "
58 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
"Lean on your strong Saviour," he said,
"and His grace will be sufficient for you."
She sent up a silent petition, then lifting her
head, " I can bear it now He will help ine,"
she said, and suffered him to lead her in.
Her children gathered about her with a joy
that was as a cordial to her fainting spirit ;
their love was very sweet.
But how her heart yearned over them because
they were fatherless; all the more so that she
found her father's love so precious and sustain-
ing in this time of sorrow and bereavement.
He led her to her accustomed seat, bent over
her with a whispered word of love and encour-
agement, then took the one opposite once her
husband's, now his no more.
Perhaps it was not quite so hard as to have
seen it empty, but it cost a heroic effort to re-
strain a burst of anguish.
CHAPTEK VI.
" Happy he
With uneli a mother ! faith in womankind
Beats with his blood, and trust in all things hig..
Comes easy to him, and though he trip and fall
He shail not blind his soul with clay."
Tennyson.
LIFE at Ion moved on in its accustomed quiet
course, Mr. Travilla's removal seeming, to out-
siders, to have made very little change except
that Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore now took up their
abode there for the greater part of the time,
leaving the younger Horace and his wife in.
charge at the Oaks.
An arrangement for which Elsie was very
thankful, for her father's presence and his love
were as balm to her wounded spirit.
Her strongest support in this, as in every trial
of her life, was in her almighty Saviour; on Him
she leaned every hour with a simple childlike
faith and confidence in His unerring wisdom
and infinite love ; but it was very sweet to lean
somewhat upon the strength and wisdom of the
earthly father also, and to feel that the shield
of his care and protection was interposed be-
tween her and the cold world.
Both his and Hose's companionship had ever
GO ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
been delightful to her, and were now a great
solace and pleasure.
She gave no indulgence to a spirit of repining
because her chief earthly treasure had been
taken from her for the remainder of her life in
this world, but was filled with gratitude for
those blessings that were left, ever deeming
God's goodness to her far beyond her deserts.
And her own sorrow was often half forgotten
in tender compassion for her fatherless children.
For their sakes, as well as because such was her
Christian duty, she strove after a constant abid-
ing cheerfulness; and not without success.
But it was not sought in forgetfulness of the
dear one gone. They talked freely and tenderly
of him, his looks, his words, his ways ;. his pres-
ent happiness and the joy of the coming reunion
with him. He was not dead to them, but liv-
ing in the blessed land where death could never
enter, a land that grew more real and attractive
because he was there.
Elsie found great comfort in her children
dear as her own offspring, and dearer still be-
cause they were his also. 1'hey were very good
and obedient, loving her so devotedly that the
Tery thought of grieving her was pain.
Her unselfish love seemed to call forth its coun-
terpart in them: they vied with each other in
earnest efforts to make up to her the loss of
their father's love and ever watchful tender care.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 61
They were very fond of their grandfather too,
and always yielded a ready obedience to his coin-
mands or directions.
He never had shown to them the sternness
that had been one of the trials of their mothers
youthful days, but was patient and gentle, as
well as firm and decided. Mr. Travilla's exam-
ple as a father had not been wasted on him.
He was wont to say " he had three reasons
for loving them that they were the children of
his friend, Elsie's children, and his own grand-
children."
It was very evident that they were very dear
to him, and they loved him dearly in return.
Mr. Travilla had left no debts, no entangle-
ments in his affairs; his will was short, plainly
expressed, and its conditions such as there was
no difficulty in carrying out.
Elsie and her father were joint executors, and
were associated in the guardianship of the chil-
dren also. The estate was left to her during
her natural life, to Edward after her death.
Hitherto the education of all the sons and
daughters had been carried on at home, but
now Edward was to go to college.
It had been his father's decision, and his
wishes and opinions were sacred ; so neither the
lad nor any one else raised an objection, though
all felt the prospect of parting sorely just at this
62 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
There had. been some talk of sending Harold
and Herbert away also to a preparatory school;
but to save them and their mother the pain of
separation, Mr. Dinsmore offered to prepare
them to enter college.
Elsie was in fact herself competent to the
task, but gladly accepted her father's offered as-
sistance; desiring to increase as much as possi-
ble his good influence over her boys, hoping
that so they would learn to emulate all that was
admirable in his character.
They were of course leading a very quiet and
retired life at Ion; but with her household cares
and the superintendence of the education of her
younger children to attend to in addition to
other and less pressing duties, Elsie was in nc
danger of finding time hanging heavy on her
hands.
One of the numerous demands upon her ma-
ternal responsibility and affection was found in
the call to cheer, comfort and console her name-
sake daughter under the trial of separation from
her betrothed, delay in hearing from him, and
a morbid remorse on account of having, as she
expressed it, " troubled poor, dear papa by griev-
ing and fretting over Lester's departure."
"Dear child," the mother said, "he sympa-
thized with but did not blame you, and would
not have you blame yourself so severely now and
embitter your life with unavailing regrets. He
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 63
loyed you very, very dearly, and lias often said
to me, ' Elsie has been nothing but a blessing
to us since the hour of her birth.' "
" mamma, how sweet! Thank you for tell-
ing me," exclaimed the daughter, tears of min-
gled joy and sorrow filling her eyes. " He said
it once to me, when I was quite a little girl at
the time grandpa your grandpa and Aunt
Enna were hurt, and you went to Roselands to
nurse her, leaving me at home to try to fill y?ur
place. Oh I shall never forget how dear and
kind he was when he came home from taking you
there! how he took me in his arms and kissed
me and said those very words. Mamma, T can-
not recall one cross word ever spoken by him to
me, or to any one."
" No, daughter, nor can I; he was most kind,
patient, forbearing, loving, as husband, father,
master in all the relations of life. What a
privilege to have been his cherished wife for so
many years !"
The sweet voice was very tremulous, and un-
bidden tears stole over the fair cheeks that- had
not quite recovered their bloom; for scarce a
month had passed since the angel of death had
come between her beloved and herself.
4 'Dear mamma, you made him very happy,"
whispered Elsie, clasping her close with loving
caresses.
" Yes, we were as happy together, I believe,
04 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
as it is possible for any to be in this world of sin
and sorrow. I bless God that he was spared to
me so long, and for the blessedness that now is
his, and the sure hope that this separation is
but for a season."
" Mamma, it is that sweet hope that keeps you
from sinking."
" Yes, dearest, that and the sweet love and
sympathy of Jesus. My father's and my dear
children's love does greatly help me also. Ah
how great is the goodness of my heavenly Father
in sparing me all these ! And keeping me from
poverty too ; how many a poor widow has the
added pang of seeing her children suffering sore
privations or scattered among strangers, because
she lacks the ability to provide them with food
and clothing."
" Mamma, how dreadful !" cried Elsie. " I
had never thought of that. How thankful we
ought to be that we do not have to be separated
from you or from each other. To be sure Ed-
ward is going away for a time, " she added, with
a sigh and a tear," but it is not to toil for a
livelihood or endure privations."
"No, but to avail himself of opportunities
for mental culture for which we should be grate-
ful as still another of the many blessings God
has given us. He will be exposed to tempta-
tions such as would never assail him at home :
but these he must meet, and if he does BO look-
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 65
ing to God for strength, he will overcome and
be all the stronger for the conflict. And we,
daughter, must follow him constantly with our
prayers. Thank God that we can do that I"
To Edward himself she spoke in the same
strain in a last private talk had with him the
night before he went away.
" I know that you have a very strong will of
your own, my dear boy," she added, " and are
not easily led ; and because I believe it to be
your earnest desire and purpose to walk in the
way of God's commands, that is a comfort to me."
" You are right in regard to both, mother,"
lie said with emotion : "and oh I could sooner
cut off my right hand than do aught to grieve
you, and dishonor the memory of of my saint-
ed father !"
"I believe it, my son, but do not trust in your
own strength. ' Be strong in the Lord, and in
the power of his might.'"
" Yes, mother, I know, I feel that otherwise I
shall fail; but I can do all things through Christ
which strengthened me.' Mother," he added,
turning over the leaves of his Bible (they had
been reading together), " in storing my memory
with the teachings of this blessed book, you have
given me the best possible preparation for meet-
ing the temptations and snares of life."
" Yes," she said, " ' Thy word is a lamp unto
my feet, and a light unto my path ; ' f Thy tes-
65 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
timonies also are my delight and my counsellors.*
Let them ever be yours, my son; in doubt and
perplexity go ever to them for direction not
forgetting prayer for the teachings of the Holy
Spirit and you cannot go far astray. Make
the Bible your rule of faith and practice, bring
everything to the test of Scripture. 'To the
law and to the testimony; if they speak not ac-
cording to this word, it >s because there is no
light in them/ "
" Mother," he said, " I think I have a pretty
clear idea of some of the temptations of college
life: doubtless there are always a good many idle,
profane, drinking, dissolute fellows among the
students, but it does not seem possible that I
shall ever find pleasure in the society of such."
" I hope not indeed! " she answered with em-
phasis. " It would be a sore grief to me. But
I hardly fear it; I believe my boy is a Christian
and loves purity: loves study too for its own
sake. What I most fear for you is that the pride
of intellect may lead you to listen to the argu-
ments of sceptics and to examine their works.
My son, if you should, you will probably regret
it to your dying day. It can do you nothing but
harm. If you fill your mind with such things
your spiritual foes will take advantage of it to
harass you with doubts and fears. ' Blessed is
the man that walketh not in the counsel of the
ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners^
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 67
nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful.' He who
would rob you of your faith in God and His holy
word is your greatest enemy. Study the evi-
dences of Christianity and be ever ready to give
a reason for the hope that is in you."
" Mother," he said, taking her hand in his,
" I will heed your counsels, but it seems to me
that having seen Christianity so beautifully ex-
emplified in your life and my father's, I can
never doubt its truth and power."
Then after a pause in which tears of mingled
joy and sorrow fell freely from her eyes, " Dear
mother, you have given me a very liberal allow-
ance. Can you spare it ? I do not know, 1
have never known the amount of your income."
" I can spare it perfectly well, my son," she
answered, with a tender smile, pleased at this
proof of his thoughtful love. " It is the sum
your father thought best to give you for we
had consulted together about all these matters.
I do not wish you to feel stinted, but at the
same time would have you avoid waste and ex-
travagance, remembering that they are incon-
sistent with our Saviour's teachings, and that
money is one of the talents for whose use or
abuse we must render an account at the last."
CHAPTER VH.
" But O ! for the touch of a vanished hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still."
Tennyton.
IT was a chill November day, a day of lower-
ing clouds, wind, rain, sleet and snow.
Arthur Conly coming into the drawing-room
at Ion and finding its mistress there alone, re-
marked as he shook hands with her, " The
beginning of winter, Cousin Elsie ! It is setting
in early. It froze hard last night, and the wind
to-day is cutting."
" Yes," she said, " even papa and my two big,
hardy boys found a short walk quite sufficient
to satisfy them to-day. But you poor doctors
can seldom consult your own comfort in regard
to facing wind and storm. Take this easy chair
beside the fire."
" Thank you, no ; I shall find it quite warm
enough on the sofa beside you. I am glad to
have found you alone, for I want to have a little
semi-confidential chat."
She gave him an inquiring look.
" I am a little uneasy about grandpa," he went
on: "he seems feeble and has a troublesome
cough, and I think should have a warmer cli-
mate through the coming winter. I think too,
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 09
cousin, that such a change would be by no means
hurtful to you or your children," he continued,
regarding her with a grave, professional air :
" you are a trifle thin and pale, and need some-
thing to rouse and stimulate you."
" What is it you wish, Arthur ?" she asked,
with a slight tremble in her voice.
" I should be glad if you would go to Viamedo
for the winter and take our grandfather with
you."
He paused for an answer.
Her face was turned toward a window looking
out upon the grounds ; her eyes rested with
mournful gaze upon a low mound of earth with*
in a little enclosure not many rods away.
Arthur read her thoughts, and laying a gentle
hand on hers, said in low compassionate tones:
" He is not there, cousin, and his spirit will
be as near you in your Lily's birthplace, an<J
Tour own, as here. Is not that home also full
of pleasant memories of him?"
She gave a silent assent.
" And you can take all your other dear ones
with you."
"Except Edward."
" Yes, but in his case it will only involve a
little delay in receiving letters. Your father and
Aunt Rose I am certain will go with you. And
our old grandpa "
<f Is a dear old grandpa, and must not suffer
7Q ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
anything I can save him from," she interrupted.
" Yes, Arthur, I will go, if if my father ap-
proves and will accompany us, of which I Iiave
no doubt."
He thanked her warmly. '< It may be the
saving of grandpa's life," he said.
"He is getting very old, Arthur."
" Yes, past eighty, but with care he may live
to be a hundred ; he has a naturally vigorous
constitution. And how he mellows with age,
Elsie ! He has become a very lovely Christian,
as humble and simple-hearted as a little child."
" Yes," she said turning toward him eyes fill-
ed with glad tears, " and he has become very
dear to me. I think he loves us all especially
papa and that we shall have a happy winter
together."
" I don't doubt it ; in fact, I quite envy you
the prospect."
" Oh could you not go with us to stay at least
a few weeks ? We should all be so very glad to
have you."
, " Quite impossible," he said, shaking his head
rather ruefully. "I'm greatly obliged, and
should be delighted to accept your invitation,
but it isn't often a busy doctor can venture to
take such a holiday."
" I'm very sorry. But you think there is no
doubt that grandpa will be willing to go ?"
"He'll not hesitate a moment if he hears
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 71
Uncle Horace is to go. He clings to him now
more than to any other earthly creature."
" Papa is in the library; shall we join him
and hear what he thinks of your plan ?" said
Elsie, rising.
" By all means," returned Arthur, and they
did so.
Mr. Dinsmore highly approved, as did Kose
also on being called in to the conference.
''How soon do you think of starting ?" she
asked, looking at Elsie, then at her husband.
" Papa should decide that," Elsie answered,
a slight tremble in her voice, thinking of the
absent one to whom that question should have
been referred were his dear presence still with
them.
She caught a look of tenderest love and sym-
pathy from her father. How well he under-
stood her ! How ever thoughtful of her feelings
he was !
" I think the decision should rest with you,
daughter," he said; "though I suppose the
sooner the better."
" Yes," said Arthur; " for grandpa especially."
"I presume no great amount of preparation
will be needful, since it is but a change from one
home to another," suggested Eose.
"No," said Elsie, "and I think a week will
suffice for mine. Papa, can business matters be
arranged in that time?"
72 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
"Oh yes ! so we will say this day week."
The door had opened very quietly a few mo-
ments before, admitting little Rose and Walter,
and stealing softly to their mother's side they
were now leaning on her lap, looking from one
to another of their elders and listening with
some curiosity to their conversation.
" What is it, mamma ?" asked Rosie.
" We are talking of going to Viamede, dear."
" Oh that will be nice !"
" But we tan't doe wis-out papa," prattled
Walter ; " tan we, mamma ? I wish my dear
papa turn back quick."
Rosie saw the pain in mamma's dear face, the
tears in her eyes as she pressed a silent kiss on
the brow of the innocent questioner, and with
ready, loving tact she seized the little fellow's
hand, and, drawing him away, " Come, Walter,"
she said, " let us go and tell the rest about it"
They ran away together, and Arthur rose to
take leave. "
" Am I imposing upon your unselfish kind-
ness of heart, my dear cousin ?" he asked in An
undertone, taking Elsie's hand in his ; " is it too
great a sacrifice of your own feelings and incli-
nations ?"
She answered with a text, as was not unusual
With her, " ' Even Christ pleased not himself.' "
Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore were conversing apart
at the moment.
/" ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 73
" Perhaps," returned Arthur musingly, "we
might make some other arrangement ; grandpa
might be willing to go without "
" No, no," she interrupted, " I could not
think of giving him the pain of separation from
papa, nor could I bear that myself. But do not
trouble about me; there will be much pleasure
mingled with the pain pleasure in ministering
to the comfort and happiness of the dear old
grandpa, and in seeing Viamede and the old
servants. I have always loved both the place
and them."
Her father had caught a part of her words.
" Separation from me?" he said, turning to-
ward her, "who talks of that? It shall not be
with my consent."
" No, papa, nor with mine, for either grand-
pa or myself," she said with a look of affection
and a slight smile. " Arthur, will you carry a
message from me to Isa?"
"With pleasure."
" Then tell her I should be very glad to have
her spend the winter at Viamede with us, if she
feels that she would enjoy the trip and the quiet
life we shall lead there. There will, of course,
be no gayeties to tempt a young girl."
"Thank you," he said, his eyes shining; "I
have not the slightest doubt that she will be de-
lighted to accept the invitation. And, now I
think of it, Aunt Enna and Molly will of course
4 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
find a home with us at Roselands while you are
away."
"No, no, they will go with us," returned
Elsie quickly, "unless indeed they prefer to be
left behind."
Arthur suggested that they would be a great
charge, especially upon the journey, but the ob-
jection was promptly overruled by Mr. Dins-
more, Eose and Elsie.
Molly must go, they all said; she would be
sure to enjoy the change greatly: and the poor
child had so few pleasures; and the same was
true of Enna also: she had never seen Viamede,
and could not fail to be delighted with its love-
liness; nor would it do to part her from Molly,
who was now her chief happiness.
"I trust they will appreciate your kindness;
Molly will, I am sure," Arthur said as he went
away.
As the door closed on him, Elsie glided to the
window and stood in a pensive attitude gazing
out upon that lowly mound, only faintly dis-
cernible now in the gathering darkness, for
night was closing in early by reason of the
heavy clouds that obscured the sky.
A yearning importunate cry was going up
from her almost breaking heart. "My hus-
band, oh my husband, how can I live without
you! Oh to hear once more the sound of your
voice, to feel once again the clasp of your arm,
the touch of your hand!"
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 75
A sense of utter loneliness was upon her.
But in another moment she felt herself en-
folded in a strong yet tender embrace, a gentle
caressing hand smoothing her hair.
" My darling, my precious one, my own be-
loved child!" murmured her father's voice in
its most endearing accents, as he drew her head
to a resting place on his breast.
She let it lie there, her tears falling fast.
"I fear this going away is to be too great a
trial to you," he said.
"No, papa, but I am very weak. Forgive
my selfish indulgence of my sorrow."
" My darling, I can sympathize in it, at least
to some extent. I remember even yet the an-
guish of the first months of my mourning for
your mother."
"Papa, I feel that my wound can never heal;
it is too deep ; deep as the roots of my love for
him, that had been striking farther and farther
into the soil with every one of the many days
and years that we lived and loved together."
" I fear it may be so," he answered with ten-
derest compassion; "yet time will dull the edge
of your sorrow; you will learn to dwell less
upon the pain of the separation, and more upon
his present happiness and the bliss of the re-
union that will be drawing nearer and nearer
with each revolving day. Dear one, this aching
pain will not last forever; as Rutherford says,
70 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
' Sorrow and the saints are not married together;
or suppose it were so, Heaven would make a di-
vorce.'"
" They are very sweet words," she murmured,
te and sweeter still is the assurance given us in
the Scriptures that ' our light affliction, which is
but for a moment, worketh for us a far more ex-
ceeding and eternal weight of glory.' "
" Yes," said Rose, coming to her other side
and speaking in low, tender tones, " dear Elsie,
let those words comfort you; and these others
also, ' Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and
scourgeth every son whom he receiveth.' But
for that and similar texts I should wonder much
that trial of any kind was ever permitted to
come nigh one who has been a loving disciple of
Jesus since her very early years."
" Was it that I loved my husband too well?"
Elsie queried in tremulous tones. " I do not
think I made an idol of him; for inexpressibly
dear as he was, the Master was dearer still."
" If that be so you did not love him your
husband too well," her father answered.
" I hear my children's voices; I must not let
them see their mother giving way to grief like
this," she said, lifting her head and wiping away
her tears.
They came in the whole six preceded by a
servant bearing lights.
There was a subdued eagerness about the
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 77
younger ones, as they hastened to their mother
asking, "Mamma, is it really so that we are
going to Viamede?"
"Yes, dears, I believe it is quite settled.
Grandpa approves, and I hope you are all
" Oh yes, yes!"
"If you are, mamma," the older girls said,
noticing with affectionate concern the traces of
tears on her face; "if not, we prefer to stay
here."
" Thank you, my darlings," she answered,
smiling affectionately upon them; "for several
reasons I shall be glad to go, the principal be-
ing that our poor old grandfather needs the
warm climate he will find there; and of course
we could not think of letting him go alone."
" Oh no!" they said; " he could not do with-
out grandpa, and neither could we."
"And neither could grandpa do without his
eldest daughter, or her children," added Mr.
Dinsmore playfully, sitting down and taking
Walter upon one knee, Eosie upon the other.
" So we will all go together, and I trust will have
a happy time in that lovely land of fruits and
flowers."
They had not seen it for several years, not
since Walter was a babe and Rosie so young that
she remembered but little about it. Both were
delighted with the prospect before them, and
78 ELSIE' 8 WIDOWHOOD.
plied their grandpa with many eager questions,
while their mother looked on with growing cheer-
fulness, resolutely putting aside her grief that
she might not mar their pleasure.
The other four had gathered about her, Vi on.
a cushion at her feet, Elsie seated close on one
side, Herbert standing on the other, and Harold
at the back of her chair, leaning fondly over
her, now touching his lips to her cheek, now
softly smoothing her shining hair.
"Dear mamma, how beautiful you are!" he
whispered.
" You might as well say it out loud," remarked
Herbert, overhearing the words, " because every-
body knows it and nobody would want to con-
tradict you."
"We are very apt to think these beautiful
whom we love," their mother said with a pleased
smile, " and the love of my children is very
sweet to me."
"Yes, mamma, but you are beautiful," in-
sisted Harold; " it isn't only my love that makes
you look so to me, though I do love you dearly
dearly."
Mamma knows we all do," said Violet; " we
should be monsters of ingratitude if we did not."
"As I should be if I were not filled with
thankfulness to God that he has blessed me
with such dutiful and affectionate children,"
added the mother.
"Mamma, how soon will we go to Viamede?"
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 79
asked Violet; and that question being answered,
another quickly followed. " We will not leave
Molly behind?"
"No, certainly not; nor Aunt Enna, if they
will kindly consent to go with us."
" Consent, mamma! I'm sure they cannot
help being delighted to go. May I run and tell
them?"
"Yes, my child; I know you always enjoy
being the bearer of pleasant news."
Molly heard it with great pleasure and grati-
tude to her cousin; Enna with even childish
delight. Neither had a thought of declining.
Isadore Conly, also, was very much pleased,
and sure she should vastly enjoy the winter with
her relations, spite of many an envious prognos-
tication to the contrary on the part of her
mother and Virginia. They would not go on
any account, they averred, and were glad they
had been overlooked in the invitation mean as
it was in Elsie not to include them for life at
Viamede could not fail to be a very dull affair
for that winter at least.
But Elsie, of course, heard none of these un-
kind remarks, and seeing the happiness she was
conferring not only upon more distant relations
but upon her children also, who showed increas-
ing pleasure in the thought of the expected visit
to their lovely southern home as the time drew
near, she felt fully repaid for the sacrifice of
feeling she was making.
CHAPTER VIII.
" Tis easier for the generous to forgive
Than for offence to ask it."
Thomson.
THE only noteworthy incident of the journey
of our friends took place at New Orleans, where
they halted for a few days of rest to all, and
sight-seeing on the part of the young people.
Mr. Horace Dinsmore, who had some busi-
ness matters to attend to in connection with
Elsie's property in the city, was hurrying back
to his hotel one afternoon, when a beggar ac-
costed him, asking for a little help, holding out
a very forlorn hat to receive it.
There seemed something familiar in the voice,
and Mr. Dinsmore stopped and looked earnestly
at its owner.
A seamed, scarred face, thin, cadaverous,
framed in with unkempt hair and scraggy
beard an attenuated form clothed in rags
these were what met his view, surely for the
first time, for there was nothing familiar about
either.
No, not for the first time; for, with a start of
recognition and a muttered curse, the mendi-
cant dropped his hat, then stooped, hastily
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 81
snatched it from the ground, and rushed away
down an alley.
"Ah, I know you now!" cried Mr. Diiismore,
giving instant pursuit.
He could not be mistaken in the peculiarly
maimed hand stretched out to regain the hat.
Its owner fled as if for his life, but, weak
from disease and famine, could not distance his
pursuer.
At last, finding the latter close at his heels,
he stopped and faced him, leaning, panting and
trembling, against a wall.
" George Boyd, is it you? reduced to such a
condition as this!" exclaimed Mr. Dinsmore,
eying him searchingly.
''You've mistaken your man, sir," panted
the fugitive. " My name's Brown Sam Brown
at your service."
" Then why did you run away from me?"
coolly inquired the gentleman. " No, I cannot
mistake that hand," pointing to the maimed
member.
"And you'd like to hang me, I suppose," re-
turned the other bitterly. " But I don't believe
you could do it here. Beside, what's the use?
I'll not cumber the ground much longer, can't
you see that? Tra villa himself," he added,
with a fierce oath, " can hardly wish me any-
thing worse than I've come to. I'm literally
starring can hardly get enough food to keep
g2 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
ecul and body together from one day to
another."
" Then corne with me and I will feed you/'
Mr. Dinsmore said, his whole soul moved with
pity for the miserable wretch. " Yonder is a
restaurant; let us go there, and I will pay for
all you can eat."
"You don't mean it?" cried Boyd in incredu-
lous surprise.
" I do; every word of it. Will you come? "
"A strange question to ask a starving man.
Of course I will; only too gladly."
They crossed the street, entered the eating-
house, and Mr. Dinsmore ordered a substantial
meal set before Boyd. He devoured it with
wolfish voracity, his entertainer watching him
for a moment, then turning away in pained
disgust.
Time after time plate and cup were filled and
emptied, but at last he declared his appetite
fully satisfied. Mr. Dinsmore paid the reckon-
ing, and they passed out into the street together.
"Well, sir," said Boyd, "I'm a thousand
times obliged. Shall be more so if you will ac-
commodate me with a small loan or gift if you
like, for I haven't a cent in the world."
" How much do you think you deserve at
my hands?" asked Mr. Dinsmore somewhat
severely, for the request seemed to him a bold
one under the circumstances.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 83
" I leave that to your generosity, sir," was
the cool reply.
" Which you expect to be great enough to al-
low you to escape the justice that should have
been meted out to you years ago?"
" I've never harmed a hair of your head nor
of any one belonging to you; though I owe a
heavy scare to both you and Travilla," was the
insolent rejoinder.
" No, your imprisonment was the due reward
of your lawless and cruel deeds."
" Whatever I may have done," retorted the
wretch with savage ferocity, "it was nothing
compared to the injury inflicted upon me. I
suffered inconceivable torture. Look at me and
judge if I do not speak the truth; look at these-
fearful scars, these almost blinded eyes." He
finished with a torrent of oaths and curses di-
rected at Travilla.
"Stop!" said Mr. Dinsmore authoritatively,
"you are speaking against the sainted dead,
and he entirely innocent of the cause of your
sufferings."
" Whatl is he dead? When? where? how did
he die?"
"At Ion, scarce two months ago, calmly,
peacefully, trusting with undoubting faith in
the atoning blood of Christ."
Boyd stood leaning against the outer wall of
the restaurant; he was evidently very weak; he
84 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
seemed awe-struck, and did not speak again for
a moment; then, " I did not know it," he said
in a subdued tone. "So he's gone! And his
wife? She was very fond of him."
" She was indeed. She is in this city with
her family, on her way to Viamede."
"I'm sorry for her; never had any grudge
against her," said Boyd. "And my aunt?"
" Is still living and in good health, but be-
ginning to feel the infirmities of age. She has
long mourned for you as worse than dead.
You look ill able to stand; let me help you to
your home."
" Home? I have none." There was a mix-
ture of scorn and despair in the tones.
"But you must have some lodging place?"
"Yes, sometimes it is a door-step, some-
times a pile of rotten straw in a filthy cellar.
On second thoughts, Dinsmore, I rather wish
you'd have me arrested and lodged in jail,"
he added with a bitter laugh. "I'd at least
have a bed to lay my weary limbs upon, and
something to eat. And before the trial was
over I'd be beyond the reach of any heavier
penalty."
" Of human law," added Mr. Dinsmore sig-
nificantly, "but do not forget that after death
comes the judgment. No, Boyd; I feel no re-
sentment toward you, and since your future ca-
reer in this world is evidently very short, I do
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 85
not feel called upon to deliver you up to human
justice. Also, for your aunt's sake especially,
I am inclined to give you some assistance. I
will therefore give you the means to pay for a
decent lodging to-night, and to-morrow will see
what further can be done, if you will let me
know where to find you."
Time and place were fixed upon, money
enough to pay for bed and breakfast was given
to Boyd, and they parted company, Mr. Dins-
more hastening on his way to his hotel the
very best the city afforded with a light, free
step, while Boyd slowly dragged himself to a
very humble lodging in a narrow, dirty street
near at hand.
Mr. Dinsmore found his whole party gathered
in their private parlor and anxiously awaiting
his coming. As he entered there was a general
exclamation of relief and pleasure on the part
of the ladies and his father, and a joyous shout
from Eosie and Walter as each hastened to
claim a seat upon his knee.
" My dears, grandpa is tired," said their
mother.
"N~ottoo tired for this," he said, caressing
them with all a fathers fondness.
"Are you not late, my dear?" asked his wife;
"we were beginning to feel a trifle anxious
about you."
" Rather, I believe. I will explain the cause
at another time," he said pleasantly.
86 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
Tea was brought in, family worship followed
the meal, and shortly after that Elsie retired
with her little ones to see them to bed; the
others drew round the table, each with book 01
work, Harold pushing Molly's chair up near the
light; and Mr. Dinsmore, seating himself beside
his wife, on a distant sofa, gave her in subdued
tones an account of his interview with Boyd.
"Poor wretch!" she sighed, "what can we
do for him? It is too dreadful to think of his
dying as he has lived."
"It is, indeed! We will consult with Elsie
as to what can be done."
" The very mention of his name must be a
pain to her; can she not be spared it?"
" I will consider that question. You know I
would not willingly pain her," he said, with a
tenderly affectionate glance at his daughter as
she re-entered the room; then rising he paced
the floor, as was his habit when engaged in deep
or perplexing thought.
Elsie watched him a little anxiously, but with'
out remark until all the others had retired,
leaving her alone with him and Rose.
Then going to him where he sat, in a large
easy chair beside the table, looking over the even-
ing paper, " Papa," she said, laying her hand
affectionately on his arm, " I fear you are find-
ing my affairs troublesome."
"No, my dear child, not at all, "he answered,
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. g?
throwing down the paper and drawing her to a
seat upon his knee.
"It seems quite like old, old times," she said
with a smile, gazing lovingly into his eyes, then
stealing an arm about his neck and laying her
cheek to his.
"Yes," he said, fondling her; "why should
I not have you here as I used to twenty odd
years ago? You are no larger or heavier nor I
a whit less strong and vigorous than we were
then."
" How thankful I am for that last," she re-
turned, softly stroking his face, "and it is very
pleasant occasionally to imagine myself your own
little girl again. But something is giving you
anxiety, my dear father. Is it anything in
which I can assist you?"
" Yes ; but I fear I can hardly explain without
calling up painful memories."
He felt her start slightly, and a low-breathed
sigh met his ear.
" Still say on, dear papa," she whispered trem-
ulously.
" Can you bear it ?" he asked ; " not forme,
but for another an enemy."
" Yes, the Lord will give me strength. Of
whom do you speak ?"
" George Boyd."
" The would-be murderer of my husband I"
ehe exclaimed, with a start and shiver, while the
88 ELSIE '8 WIDOWHOOD.
tears coursed freely down her cheeks. "I
thought him long since dead."
"]So, I met him this evening, but so worn
and altered by disease and famine, so seamed
and scarred by Aunt Dicey's scalding shower,
that I recognized him only by the mutilated
right hand. Elsie, the man is reduced to the
lowest depths of poverty and shame, and evi-
dently very near his end. "
" Papa, what would you have me do ?" she
asked in quivering tones.
" Could you bear to have him removed to Via-
mede ? could you endure his presence there for
the few weeks he has yet to live ?"
She seemed to have a short struggle with her-
self, then the answer came in low, agitated tones.
" Yes, if neither my children nor I need look
upon him or hold any communication with him."
" That would not be at all necessary," her
father answered, holding her close to his heart.
" And indeed I could not consent to it myself.
He is a loathsome creature both morally and
physically ; yet for his aunt's sake, and still
aiore for His sake who bids us ' Love your ene-
mies, bless them that curse you, do good to them
that hate you,' I shall gladly do all in my power
for the wretched prodigal. And who can tell but
there may yet be mercy in store for him ? God's
mercy and power are infinite, and He has ' no
pleasure in the death of him that dieth/ bu
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 89
would rather that he turn from his evil way and
live."
There was a little pause, then Elsie asked if
her father had arranged any plans in regard to
Boyd's removal.
" Yes," he said, " subject of course to youi ap-
proval. I have thought it would be well to send
him on at once and let him be settled in his
quarters before the arrival of our own party.
You must decide what room he is to occupy."
She named one situated in a wing of the
mansion, and quite distant from the apartments
which would be used by the family.
"What more, papa ?" she asked.
" He must have an attendant a nurse. And
shall we not write to his aunt, inviting her to
come and be with him while he lives ? remain
through the winter with us, if she can find it
convenient and agreeable to do so ?"
" Yes, oh yes! poor dear Mrs. Carrington ; it
will be but a melancholy pleasure to her. But
I think if any one can do him good it will be
she. I will write at once."
" Not to-night ; it is too late ; you are look-
ing weary, and I want you to go at once to bed.
To-morrow morning will be time enough for the
letter."
" What, sending me to bed, papa !" she said
with a slightly amused smile. " I must be indeed
your little girl again. Well, I will obey as I
90 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
used to in the olden time, for I still believe you
know what is best for me. So good-night, my
dear, dear father 1"
" Good-night, my darling," he responded,
caressing her with all the old, fatherly tender-
ness. " May God bless and keep you and your
dear children."
Otf AFTER IX,
*She l?d me first to God ;
Her worm, *hC prayers were my young spirit's dew.*
Pierpont.
ELSIE'S letter to Mrs. Carrington was des-
patched by tlje first morning mail, and directly
after breakfast Mr. Dinsrnore went in search of
Boyd.
Hardened as the man was, he showed some
sense of gratitude toward the new-made widow
of his intended victim, when informed of her
kind intentions toward himself ; some remorse
for his attempt to injure him whom she had so
dearly loved.
It is really a great deal more than I had the
least right to expect even for my aunt's sake,"
he said. " Why, sir, it will be like getting out,
of hell into heaven !"
" It is not for Mrs. Carrington's sake alone,
or principally strong as is the tie of friendship
between them," replied Mr. Dinsmore, " but
rather for the sake of the Master she loves and
serves, and who bids His followers return good
for evil."
" Cant !" sneered Boyd to himself : then
aloud, " Well, sir, I wish it were in my power
to make some suitable return to Mrs. Travilla ;
92 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
but that can never be, and unfortunately I can-
not even undo the past."
" No ; and that is a thought which might
well deter us from evil deeds. Now the next
thing is to provide you with a bath, decent
clothing, and suitable attendant, and get you,
and him aboard the boat, which leaves a few
hours hence."
All this was done and Mr. Dinsmore returned
to his daughter with a satisfactory report to that
effect.
Their party remained a few days longer in the
Crescent City, then embarked for Viamede,
where they arrived in due season, having met
with no accident or detention by the way.
As on former occasions, they were joyfull y
welcomed by the old servants; but many tears
mingled with the rejoicings, for Mr. Tra villa
had been greatly beloved by all, and they wept
for both their own loss and that of their " dear
bressed Missus," as they were wont to call her
whom his death had widowed.
She was much overcome at the first, memory
vividly recalling former arrivals when he her
dearest earthly friend was by her side, giving
her the support of his loved presence and shar-
ing her happiness.
Her thoughts dwelt particularly upon the
glad days of their honeymoon ; and she seemed
to see herself again a loved, loving, cherished
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 93
bride, now wandering with him through the
beautiful orange groves or over the velvety,
flower-bespangled lawn, now seated by his side
in the veranda, the parlor, the library, or on
jsome rustic seat under the grand old trees, his
arm encircling her waist, his eyes looking ten-
derly into hers ; or it might be gliding over the
waters of the lakelet or galloping or driving
through the woods, everywhere and always the
greatest delight of each the love and companion-
ship of the other.
Ah, how often she now caught herself listen*
ing for the sound of his voice, his step, waiting,
longing to feel the touch of his hand! Could
she ever cease to do so? ever lose that weary
homesickness of heart that at times seemed
almost more than mortal strength could endure?
But she had more than mortal strength to
sustain her; the everlasting arms were under-
neath and around her, the love that can never
die, never change, was her unfailing support
and consolation.
She indulged in no spirit of repining, no
nursing of her grief, but gave herself with
cheerful earnestness to every good work: the
careful, prayerful instruction and training of
her children as her first duty; then kindly at-
tentions to her old grandfather, to parents and
guests; after that the care of house servants,
field hands, and the outside poor of the vicinity,
94 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
neglecting neither their bodies nor their souls;
also helping the cause of Christ in both her
own and foreign lands, with untiring efforts,
earnest, believing prayer, and liberal gifts,
striving to be a faithful steward of the ample
means God had committed to her trust, and re-
joicing in the ability to relieve the wants of His
people, and to assist in spreading abroad the
glad news of salvation through faith in Christ.
There was no gayety at Viamede that winter,
but the atmosphere of the house was eminently
cheerful, its walls often echoing to the blithe
voices and merry laughter of the children;
never checked or reproved by mamma; the days
gliding peacefully by, in a varied round of use-
ful and pleasant employment and delightful
recreation that left no room for ennui riding,
driving, walking, boating for all, and healthful
play for the children.
Lester r -eland had been heard from, was well,
and wrote in so hopeful a strain that the heart
of his affianced grew light and joyous. She was
almost ashamed to find she could be so happy
without the dear father so lately removed.
Her mother reassured her on that point: it
was right for her to be as happy as she could;
it was what her papa would have highly ap-
proved and wished; and then in being so and
allowing it to be perceived by those around her,
she would add to their enjoyment.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 95
" We are told to ' rejoice in the Lord always,' "
concluded the mother, "and a Christian's heart
should never be the abode of gloom and sadness."
"Dear mamma, what an unfailing comfort
and blessing you are to me and to all your chil-
dren," cried the young girl. " Oh, I do thank
God every day for my mother's dear love, my
mother's wise counsels I"
It was very true, and to mamma each one of
the six or we might say seven, for Edward did
the same by letter carried every trouble, great
or small, every doubt, fear, and perplexity.
No two of them were exactly alike in disposi-
tion each required a little different manage-
ment from the others but attentively studying
each character and asking wisdom from above,
the mother succeeded wonderfully well in guid-
ing and controlling them.
In this her father assisted her, and she was
most careful and decided in upholding his au-
thority, never in any emergency opposing hers
to it.
" Mamma," said Harold, coming to her one
day in her dressing-room, " Herbie is in trouble
with grandpa."
" I am very sorry," she said with a look of
concern, "but if so it must be by his own fault;
your grandpa's commands are never unreasona-
ble."
"No, I suppose not, minima," Harold re-
96 ELSIE'S, WIDOWHOOD.
turned doubtfully, "but Herbie is having a
very hard time over his Latin lesson, and says
he can't learn it: it is too difficult. Mamma,"
with some hesitation, "if you would speak to
grandpa perhaps he would let him off this once."
" Do you think that would be a good plan?"
she asked with a slight smile. "Herbert's
great fault is lack of perseverance; he is too
easily discouraged, too ready to give up and say
' I can't.' Do you think it would be really kind
to indulge him in doing so?"
" Perhaps not, mamma; but I feel very sorry
to see him in such distress. Grandpa has for-
bidden him to leave the school-room or to have
anything to eat but bread and milk till he can
recite his lesson quite perfectly. And we had
planned to go fishing this afternoon, if you
should give permission, mamma."
" My son," she said with an affectionate look
into the earnest face of the pleader, " I am glad
to see your sympathy and love for your brother,
but I think your grandpa loves him quite as
well and knows far better what is for his good,
and I cannot interfere between them; my chil-
dren must all be as obedient and submissive to
my father as they are to me."
" Yes, mamma, I know, and indeed we never
disobey him. How could we when papa bade
us not? and made him our guardian, too?"
Mrs. Travilla sat thinking for a moment after
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 9?
Harold had gone, then rose and went to the
school-room.
Herbert sat there alone, idly drumming on
his desk, the open book pushed aside. His face
was flushed and wore a very disconsolate and
slightly sullen expression.
He looked up as his mother came in, but
dropped his eyes instantly, blushing and
ashamed.
"Mamma," he stammered, ''I I can't learn
this lesson, it's so very hard, and I'm so tired of
being cooped up here. Mayn't I go out and
have a good run before I try any more?"
" If your grandpa gives permission; not other-
wise."'
" But he won't; and it's a hateful old lesson!
and I can't learn it!" he cried with angry im-
patience.
" My boy, you are grieving your mother very
much," she said, sitting down beside him and
laying her cool hand on his heated brow.
" mamma, I didn't mean to do that !" he
cried, throwing his arms about her neck. "I
do love you dearly, dearly."
"I believe it, my son," she said, returning his
caress, " but I want you to prove it by being
obedient to your kind grandpa as well as to me,
and by trying to conquer your faults."
"Mamma, I haven't been naughty only I
can't learn such hard lessons as grandpa gives."
98 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
" My son, I know you do not mean to be un-
truthful, but to say that you cannot learn your
lesson is really not the truth ; the difficulty is
not so much in the ability as in the will. And
are you not indulging a naughty temper ?'
"Mamma," he said, hanging his head, "you
don't know how hard Latin is."
; " Why, what do you mean, my son?" she asked
in surprise ; " you certainly know that I haye
studied Latin."
"Yes, mamma, but wasn't it easier for you to
learn than it is for me ?"
" I think not," she said with a smile, " though
I believe I had more real love for study and was
less easily conquered by difficulties ; and yet
shall I tell you a little secret ?"
" Oh yes, ma'am, please do !" he answered,
turning a bright, interested face to hers.
"Well, I disliked Latin at first, and did not
want to study it. I should have coaxed very
hard to be excused from doing so, but that I
pared not, because my papa had strictly forbid-
den me to coax or tease after he had given his
decision ; and he had said Latin was to be one
of my studies. There was one day, though, that
I cried over my lesson and insisted that I could
not learn it."
" And what did grandpa do to you ?" he asked
with great interest.
" Treated me just as he does you told me I
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 99
must learn it, and that I could not dine with
him and mamma or leave my room until I knew
it. And, my boy, I see now that he was wise
and kind, and I have often been thankful since
that he was so firm and decided with me."
"But did you learn it ?"
" Yes ; nor did it take me long when once I
gave my mind to it with determination. That
is exactly what you need to do. The great fault
of your disposition is lack of energy and per-
severance, a fault grandpa and I must help you
to conquer, or you will never be of much use
in the world."
"But, mamma, it seems to me I shall not need
to do much when I'm a man," he remarked a
little shamefacedly ; " haven't you a great deal
of money to give us all ?"
" It may be all gone before you are grown up,"
she said gravely. " I shall be glad to lose it if
its possession is to be the ruin of my sons.
But I do not intend to let any of you live in
idleness, for that would be a sin, because our
talents must be improved to the utmost and
used in God's service, whether we have much or
little money or none at all. Therefore each of
my boys must study a profession or learn some
handicraft by which he can earn his own living
or make money to use in doing good.
"Now I am going to leave you," she added,
rising, "and if you do not want to give me a sad
100 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
heart yon will set to work at that lesson with
a will, and soon have it ready to recite to your
grandpa."
"Mamma, I will, to please you," he returned,
drawing the book toward him.
"Do it to please God, your kind heavenlj
Father, even more than to make me happy, ''
she answered, laying her hand caressingly on his
head.
" Mamma, what is the text that, says it will
please Him ?" he asked, looking up inquiringly,
for it had always been a habit with her to en-
force her teachings with a passage of Scripture.
" There are a great many that teach it more
or less directly," she said ; "we are to be dili-
gent in business, to improve our talents and use
them in God's service ; children are to obey
their parents ; and both your grandpa and I have
directed you to learn that lesson."
"Mamma, I will do my very best," he said
cheerfully, and she saw as she left the room
that he was really trying to redeem the promise.
An hour later he came to her with a very
bright face, to say that grandpa had pronounced
his recitation quite perfect and released him
from confinement.
Her pleased look, her smile, her kiss were a
sweet reward and a strong incentive to continu-
ance in well-doing.
CHAPTER X.
"To the law and to the testimony: if they speak not accord*
this word, it ig because there is no light in them."
-Isaiah 8 : 20.
SOME years before this Elsie had built a little
church on the plantation, entirely at her own ex-
pense, for the use of her dependents and of her
own family when sojourning at Viamede. The
membership was composed principally of blacks.
A few miles distant was another small church
of the same denomination, attended by the better
class of whites; planters and their families.
To these two congregations conjointly Mr.
Mason had ministered for a long while, preach-
ing to the one in the morning, to the other in
the afternoon of each Sabbath.
He had, however, been called to another field
of labor, a few weeks previous to the arrival
of our friends, leaving the two congregations
pastorless, and the pretty cottage built for him
at Yiamede without a tenant.
Still they were not entirely without the preach-
ing of the word, now one and now another com-
ing to supply the pulpits for a Sunday or two.
At present they were filled by a young minister
who came as a candidate, and whose services had
been engaged for several weeks.
$2 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
Elsie and her family were paying no visits no*
in this time of mourning, but nothing but sick-
ness, or a very severe storm, ever kept them
from church. They attended both services, and
in the evening the older ones gathered about the
table in the library with their Bibles, and, witk
Crudens' Concordance and other helps at hand,
spent an hour or more in the study of the word.
" Mamma," said little Eosie, one Sunday as
they were walking slowly homeward from the
nearer church, " why don't we have a minister
that believes the Bible?"
"My child, don't you think Mr. Jones be-
lieves it?"
" No, mamma," most emphatically, " because
he contradicts it; he said there's only one devil,
and my Bible says Jesus cast out devils seven
out of Mary Magdalen, and ever so many out of
one man, besides other ones out of other folks. ''
" And last Sunday, when he was preaching
about Jonah, he said it was a wicked and foolish
practice to cast lots," remarked Harold, " while
the Bible tells us that the Lord commanded the
Israelites to divide their land by lot, and that
the apostles cast lots to choose a successor to
Judas."
"Yes," said Violet, "and when Achan had
sinned, didn't they cast lots to find out who it
was that troubled Israel?"
" And to choose a king in the days of the
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 103
prophet Samuel," added their older sister.
" How strange that any one should say it was a
foolish and wicked practice!"
"I don't think his mother can have brought
him up on the Bible as ours does us," remarked
Herbert.
"Mamma, which are we to belieye," asked
Rosie, "the minister or the Bible?"
" Bring everything to the test of scripture,"
answered the mother's gentle voice. " ' To the
law and the testimony: if they speak not ac-
cording to this word, it is because there is no
light in them. ' I want you to have great respect
for the ministry, yet never to receive any man's
teachings when you find them opposed to those
of God's holy word."
When the Bibles were brought out that even-
ing, Isa proposed that they should take up the
question of the correctness of that assertion of
Mr. Jones which had led Rosie to doubt his be-
lief in the inspiration of the Scriptures.
"Yes, let us do so," said her unele. "It is
an interesting subject."
"Yes, I think it is," said Molly; "but do
you consider it a question of any importance,
uncle?"
"I do; no Bible truth can be unimportant.
' All scripture is by inspiration of God, and is
profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correc-
tion, for instruction in righteousness: that the
104 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
man of God may be perfect, thoroughly fur-
nished unto all good works.' And if we have
spiritual foes we surely need to know it, that we
may be on our guard against them."
"And we have not been left without warning
against them," observed old Mr. Dinsmore.
"'Put on the whole armor of God, that ye
may be able to stand against the wiles of the
devil. For we wrestle not against flesh and
blood, but against principalities, against powers,
against the rulers of the darkness of this world,
against spiritual wickedness in high places.'
How absurd the idea that principalities and
powers can mean but one creature!"
" David prays, ' Lead me in a plain path be-
cause of mine enemies; and again, * Lead me,
Lord, in thy righteousness because of mine
enemies, make thy way straight before my
face,'" said Mrs. Travilla. "It seems evident
to me that it was spiritual foes he meant; that
he feared to be left a prey to their temptations,
their deceit, the snares and traps they would set
for his soul."
"Undoubtedly," returned her father. "On
any other supposition some of the psalms would
seem to be very bloodthirsty and unchristian."
" I rather took Mr. Jones to task about it aa
we came out of church," said old Mr. Dinsmore,
" and he maintained that he was in the right on
the ground that the name devil comes from the
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 105
Greek Diabolos, which, is applied only to the
prince of the devils.*'
" And what of that?" said his son; " the He
brew name, Satan, has the very same significa-
tion an adversary, an accuser, calumniator or
slanderer and Christ called the devils he had
,just cast out, Satan: 'How can Satan cast out
Satan? If Satan rise up against himself, and
be divided, he cannot stand.' If they are so
like him, so entirely one with him, as to be
called himself and that by Him who has all
knowledge and who is the Truth I cannot see
that there is any occasion to deny them the
name of devil, or anything to be gained by doing
so; while on the other hand there is danger of
positive harm, as it seems to throw doubt and
discredit upon our English translation."
"A very serious responsibility to assume,
fcince the vast majority of the people must de-
pend upon it," remarked Mrs. Travilla. "I
think any one who makes the assertion we are
discussing should give a very full explanation
and strong warning against the lesser evil spirits
we call devils. ' If the foundations be destroyed,
what can the righteous do?' "
" Yes," said her father, " and I have very
strong faith in the learning, wisdom and piety
of the translators."
"Is Satan a real person? and were the devils
whom Christ and his disciples cast out, real per-
206 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
sons?" asked Isadore. " I have heard people talk
of Satan as if he were an imaginary creature, a
myth; and of the others, with which persons
were possessed in those days, as probably noth-
ing more than bad tempers."
" ' To the law and to the testimony,' " replied
her uncle, opening his Bible. " We will con-
sider your questions in the order in which they
were asked. 'Is Satan a real person?* There
can be no difficulty in proving it to any one who
believes the Bible to be the inspired word of
God; the difficulty is rather in selecting from
the multitude of texts that teach it."
Some time was now spent in searching out,
with the help of Bible Text Book and Concord*
ance, a very long list of texts bearing on the
question giving the titles, the character and
the doings of Satan; showing that he sinned
against God, was cast out of heaven; down to
hell; that he was the author of the fall; that he
perverts scripture; opposes God's work; hinders
the Gospel; works lying wonders; that he
tempted Christ; is a liar and the father of lies;
is a murderer; yet appears as an angel of light.
"Here," said Mr. Dinsmore, "is a summing-
np of what he is, by Cruden, who was without
question a thorough Bible scholar; and remem-
ber, as I read it, that the description applies not
to Satan alone, but also to those wicked spirits
under him. 'He is surprisingly subtile: hia
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 107
strength is superior to ours, his malice is dead-
ly; his activity and diligence are equal to his
malice; and he has a mighty number of prin-
cipalities and powers under his command! '"
"Yes," said old Mr. Dinsmore, meditatively,
" 'the rulers of the darkness of this world,' the
word is plural : it seems there must be several
orders of them, composing a mighty host."
" I find both my queries already fully answer-
ed," said Isa.
"Nevertheless, let us look a little farther into
that second question," her uncle answered. " I
will give the references as before, while the rest
of you turn to and read them."
When this had been done, " Now," said he,
" let us sum up the evidence as to their personal-
ity, character, works, and right to the name of
devil."
"As to the first they sinned: hell is prepared
for them: they believe and tremble: they spoke:
knew Christ and testified to his divinity, ' Jesus,
thou son of God.' ' I know thee who thou art,
the Holy One of God.' Wicked tempers could
not do any of these things. As to the second,
their character, they are called in the Bible ' un-
clean spirits,' foul spirits; and since Christ call-
ed them Satan himself, the description of his
character, as I have before remarked, is a faith-
ful description of theirs also. This last proves
also their right to the title of devil. The scrip-
108 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
ture Christ himself calls them the devil's
angels, his messengers; for that is the meaning
of angel, they do Satan's behests, go on his er-
rands and help him in the work of destroying
souls and tempting and tormenting those whom
they cannot destroy. Well, Vi, what is it?" ;
For she had given him a perplexed, troubled
look.
" There is just one difficulty that I see,
grandpa. Here in Jude we are told, * And the
jmgels which kept not their first estate, but left
their own habitation, he hath reserved in ever-
lasting chains under darkness unto the judgment
of the great day.' The apostle Peter says the
game thing. My difficulty is to reconcile this
statement with 'the other teaching that they
are going about the world on their wicked, cruel
errands."
" To the law and to the testimony," repeated
Mr. Dinsmore. " Since the infallible word of
God makes both statements, we must believe
both, whether we can reconcile them or not; but
I doubt not we shall be able to do so if we dili-
gently search the word with prayer for the
teachings of the Holy Spirit."
He then offqred a short, fervent petition to
that end; after which they resumed their inves-
tigation.
" Let us remember," he said, " that the same
Word often has many significations, and that hell
ELSIE -8 WIDOWHOOD. 109
may bo a state or condition rather than a place
I mean that the word may be sometimes used
in that sense: so with chains and with darkness.
"We use the expression, 'the chains of hab-
it,'" suggested his daughter; "a spirit could
not be bound with a material chain; but in Prov-
erbs we are told, ' His own iniquities shall take
the wicked himself, and he shall be holden with
the cords of his sins.' Think of the awful wick-
edness and utter despair of those lost spirits
no space for repentance, no hope or possibility
of salvation and I think we have chains on
them of fearful weight and strength."
"The cords of sin are the consequences of
crimes and bad habits. Sin never goes unpun-
ished, and the bad habits contracted are, as it
were, indissoluble bands from which it is impos-
sible to get free," read Mr. Dinsmore from the
Concordancej, adding, " and to those lost spirits
it is utterly impossible; yes, here in their wicked
tempers, malignant desires and utter despair, we
have, I think, the chains that bind them."
" But the darkness, grandpa?" queried Harold.
"We are coming to that. Cruden tells us
here that darkness sometimes signifies great dis-
tress, perplexity and calamity; as in Isa. 8 : 22,
Jo8i 2 : 2. Sometimes sin or impurity, 1 John
1 : 5. The devil have all these; how great is their
sin, how great must be their distress and anguish
in the sure prospect of eternal destruction from
HO ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
the presence of God, eternal torment! dense and
tearful must it be beyond the power of words to
eapress! They are darkness, for our Saviour
calls the exercise of Satan's power ' the power of
darkness.' * This is your hour and the power of
darkness.' By the gates of hell, Matt. 16 : 18, is
meant the power and policy of the devil and his
instruments. It would seem that they carry
their chains, their darkness, their hell with them
wherever they go. And now for the application,
the lesson we should learn from all this: what
do you think it is, Harold?"
" That we should be constantly on our guard
against the wiles of these adversaries, is it not,
sir?"
" Yes, and ever looking to the captain of our
salvation for strength and wisdom to do so effect'
ually."
" Putting on the whole armor of God," added
old Mr. Dinsmore; "the shield of faith, the hel-
met of salvation, the sword of the spirit which
is the word of God. What else, Herbert?"
"The breast-plate of righteousness, sir; and
the loins are to be girt about with truth, the feet
shod with the preparation of the gospel of
peace."
" There is yet another lesson," said Mrs. Tra-
villa, her face all aglow with holy joy and love,
"how it should quicken our zeal for the Master,
our gratitude, our joy and love, when we think
WIDOWHOOD \\~
of his salvation offered to us as his free gift,
the purchase of his own blood, when he might
justly have left us in the same awful state oi
horror and despair that is the portion of the an^
gels that sinned. And how should we cling to
him who alone is able to keep us from falling
into the traps and snares they are constantly
spreading for our unwary feet. Ah, my dear
children, there is no safety but in keeping close
to Christ!"
"But there we are safe," added her father;
" ( he is able also to save them to the uttermost.
that come unto God by him.' He says of his
sheep, ' I give unto them eternal life; and they
shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck
them out of my hand.' He saves his people
from sin, from hell and destruction."
" Can't we find some texts about the good an*
gels?" asked little Rosie, who had been permitted
to sit up beyond her usual bedtime to share ia
the Bible lesson.
" Yes," said her grandpa, " we may be thank
ful for them, because they are kind and good
and loving, taking delight in our salvation and
in ministering to God's people, as they did to tha
Master when on earth. Which of you c<m nama
some instances given in the Bible?"
" One fed BUjaJb when he fled from wicked
Jezebel," answered Rosie, promptly.
" They carried Lazarus to heaTGn," said Her*
bert.
112 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
" And stopped the lions' mouths when they
would have eaten Daniel/' added Harold.
The others went on, "One comforted Paul
when he was in danger of shipwreck."
" One delivered Peter from prison."
" Now who can quote a promise or assurance
that we, if the true children of God, shall have
help or protection from them?"
" ' He shall give his angels charge over thee, to
keep thee in all thy ways. They shall bear thee
up in their hands,lest thou dash thy foot against a
stone!'" repeated the younger Elsie, and her
mother added in low, sweet tones, full of joy and
thankfulness, " * The angel of the Lord encamp-
eth round about them that fear him, and deliver-
eththem.' Is it not a sweet assurance?" she ex-
claimed: " he is not a transient visitor, but en-
camps as intending to remain; and not upon one
side alone, leaving the others exposed to the en-
emy, but round about. Blessed are they who
have the Lord of hosts for their Keeper!"
They united in a song of praise, old Mr. Dins-
more led in prayer, then with an exchange of
affectionate good-nights they separated.
"Mamma," said the younger Elsie, lingering
for a little in her mother's boudoir, " to-night's
study of the word has done me good. I want to
live nearer to Jesus, to love him more, to serve
him better."
" I too," said Violet. "I want to give him
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD, 113
the service of my whole heart and life, time,
talents, money, everything! "
" It rejoices my heart to hear it, my darlings,"
the mother answered, folding them in her arms,
while glad tears shone in her eyes; "it is what I
desire above all things for you, for all my dear
ones, and for myself."
CHAPTER XI.
'' Ti* not the whole of life to ttvc,
Nor all of death to die."
^Montgomery.
CARRIXGTOX obeyed with all speed the
call to come to the aid of her unworthy nephew,
and her arrival was not delayed many days after
that of their kind entertainers.
She received a cordial welcome; but since that
first day the ladies and children of the family
had seen very little of her, for Boyd had taken
to his bed, and she devoted herself to him.
The gentlemen frequently spent a little time
in his room, induced thereto by motives of kind-
ness, but the others never approached it.
Elsie looked upon him as the would-be mur-
derer of her husband, and could scarcely think
of him without a shudder.
She was willing, even anxious to give him
every comfort that money could buy, and that
every effort should be made by her father and
others to lead him to repentance and faith in
Christ to the saving of his soul ; but she shrank
from seeing him, though she made kind in-
quiries, sent messages, and offered many sincere
and fervent prayers on his behalf.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 115
Strolling about the grounds one afternoon
with her little ones, she saw her father coming
towards her.
Something in the expression of his counte-
nance as he drew rapidly nearer startled her
with a vague fear.
"What is it, papa ?" she asked tremulously.
"Take my arm," he said, offering it. "I
have something to say to you. Rosie, do you
and Walter go to your mammy."
The children obeyed, while he and their
mother turned into another path.
Elsie's heart was beating very fast. " Papa,
is is anything wrong with "
" With any of your loved ones ? No, daugh-
ter : they are all safe and well so far as I know.
But I have a message for you a request which
it will not be easy or pleasant for you to grant,
or to refuse. Boyd is drawing very near his
end, and with a mind full of horror and despair.
He bays there is no hope, no mercy for him
nothing but the blackness of darkness forever."
Elsie's eyes overflowed. " Poor, poor fellow I
Papa, can nothing be done for him ?"
" Could you bear to go to him ?" he asked
tenderly. " Forgive me, dear child, for paining
you with such a suggestion ; but the poor wretch
thinks he could die easier if he heard you say
that you forgive him."
There was a shudder, a moment's struggle
116 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
with herself ; then she said, very low and sadly,
" Yes, papa, I will go at once. How selfish I
have been in staying away so long. But
Edward ! my husband, my husband !"
He soothed her very tenderly for a moment,
then asked gently, "Would he not have bidden
you go ?"
" Oh, yes, yes : he would have forgiven, he
did forgive him with all his great, generous
heart. And, God helping me, so will I. I am
ready to go."
" Lost, lost, lost! no hope, no help, the black-
ness of darkness forever !" were the words, ut-
tered in piercing tones, full of anguish and
despair, that greeted Elsie's ears as her father
softly opened the door of Boyd's room and led
her in.
At those sounds, at the sight that met her
view the wretched man with the seal of death
on his haggard, emaciated face, seamed and
scarred beyond all recognition, tossing restlessly
from side to side, while he rent the air with his
cries she turned so sick and faint that she
staggered, and but for the support of her father's
arm would have fallen to the floor.
"Call up all your courage, my dear child,"
he whispered, leaning over her, " look to the
Lord for strength, and who shall say you may
not he able to do the poor dying wretch some
good?"
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 117
She struggled determinately with her faint-
ness, and they drew near the bed.
Boyd started up at sight of her, thrusting the
maimed hand under the bedclothes, and holding
out the other with a ghastly smile.
" You're an angel, Mrs. Tra villa!" he gasped,
" an angel of mercy to a miserable wretch whom
you've a good right to hate."
"No," she said, taking the hand in a kindly
grasp, " I have no right to hate you, or anj*
one I whose sins against my Lord are far, far
greater than yours against me or mine. I for-
give you, as I hope to be forgiven. May God
forgive you also."
"No, no, it is too late, too late for that!" he
groaned. "I have sinned against light and
knowledge. He has called and I refused many,
many times ; and now the door is shut."
"It is your adversary the devil who tells you
that," she said, tears streaming from her eyes ;
"he would destroy your soul : but the words of
Jesus are, ' Him that cometh to me I will in no
wise cast out ?' ' Whosoever will, let him take
the water of life freely.' "
" Ah, but he also says, ' Because I have called
and ye refused ; I have stretched out my hand,
and no man regarded ; but ye have set at naught
all my counsel, and would none of my reproof ; I
also will laugh at your calamity ; I will mock
when your fear cometh ; when your fear oometb
118 ELSIE'S WIDOWROOD.
as desolation, and your destruction cometh as a
whirlwind ; when distress and anguish cometh
npon you. Then shall they call upon me, but
I will not answer.' Oh it's all true, every word
of it !" he cried, with a look of horror and de-
spair that none who saw it could ever forget, " I
feel it in my inmost soul. There was a time
when mercy's door was open to me, but it's shut
now, shut forever."
"0 George, George !" sobbed his aunt, "the
invitation is without limit ' whosoever will ;'
if you have a will to come, it cannot be that it
is even now too late."
"But those words those dreadful words,*
he said, turning eagerly toward her, ' Then shall
they call upon me, but I will not answer.' "
" Are addressed to those who desire deliver*
ance, not from sin itself, but only from its
punishment," said Mr. Dinsmore. "If you
have any desire to be saved from your sins, to be
cleansed from their pollution, to be made holy,
it is not too late the ' whosoever will ' is for
you."
He shook his head sadly. " I don't know, I
don't know, a death-bed is a poor place to ana-
lyze one's feelings. Oh! warn men everywhere
not to put it off, not to put it off ! Tell them
it is running a fearful risk."
"We will, we will," said his aunt; "but, O
George, think of yourself : ' cry to Jesus, he is
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. H9
able to save to the uttermost,' and he has no
pleasure in the death of any soul ; he Would have
you turn now and live : oh cry to him for
mercy!"
" Too late, too late !" he muttered faintly,
"the door is shut"
They knelt about his bed and poured out fer-
vent prayers for him ; they repeated promise
after promise, invitations and assurances from
the word, of God's willingness to save.
At last, " I'm going, going !" he gasped.
"Oh God be merciful to me a sinner!" And
with the last word the spirit took its flight.
Mrs. Carrington sank, half fainting, into
Elsie's arms, and Mr. Dinsmore and the doc-
tor bore her from the room.
It was Elsie's sad task to try to comfort and
console where there was little to build hope
upon : she could but dwell upon God's great
mercy, his willingness to save, and the possi-
bility that that last dying cry came from a truly
penitent heart.
" I must try to believe it, else my heart would
break !" cried the old lady. " Elaie, my
heart has bled for you, but your sorrow is not
like unto my sorrow ! You can rest in the sure
and certain hope of a blissful reunion, you know
that your beloved is rejoicing before the throne ;
while I alas, alas ! I know not where my poor
boy is. And I am tortured with the fear thafc
120 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
some of his blood may be found in my skirts
that I did not guide and instruct, warn and en-
treat him as I might ; that my prayers were not
frequent and fervent enough, my example all
that it should have been."
" My dear friend, ' who is sufficient for these
things ?'" Elsie answered, weeping ; "who has
not reason for such self reproach ? I think not
you more than the rest of us."
" Ah !" sighed the old lady, " I wish that were
so : had I but been to him, and to my own
children, the mother you are to yours, my con-
science would not now trouble me as it does."
Mrs. Tra villa had caused a room to be fitted
up as a studio for her older daughters, and
here they were spending their afternoon Vi
painting, Elsie modelling and thinking, the
while, of her absent lover, perchance busy in
his studio with hammer and chisel.
"The sun is setting," exclaimed Violet at
length, throwing down her brush. " What can
have become of mamma that she has not been
in to watch our progress ?"
" I hope she has been taking a drive," Elsie
answered, ceasing work also. " Come, let us
go and dress for tea, Vi ; it is high time."
They hastened to do so, and had scarcely
completed their toilet when Harold rapped and
asked if mamma were there.
" No ? Where can she have gone ?" he said.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 121
"Herbie and I came in from fishing a little
while ago, and we have hunted for her almost
every where."
"Except in the nursery," suggested Herbert.
"Let's go and see if she's there."
" The carriage is driving up," said Vi, glanc-
ing through the window ; " probably mamma
is in it," and all four hurried down to the
front veranda eager to meet and welcome her.
Their old grandfather alighted, handed out
Grandma Eose, Aunt Enna, Isa, and then, with
the help of one of the servant men, Molly.
The carriage door closed. Mamma was not
there. Indeed their grandma and Isa were ask-
ing for her as they came up the steps.
And childish voices were now heard in their
rear making the same inquiry Rosie and Wal-
ter coming from the nursery in search of the
mother they never willingly lost sight of for an
hour.
" Why, what can have become of mamma ?
Rosie, when did you see her last ?" asked
Harold.
"Out on the lawn. She was walking with
us, and grandpa came and took her away."
" Where to ?"
" I don't know," answered the child, burst-
ing into tears.
" There, there, don't cry ; dear mamma's sure
to be safe along with grandpa," Harold said,
222 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
putting his arms around his little sister.
here he comes to tell us about her," he added
joyously, as Mr. Dinsmore was seen coming
down the hall.
They crowded about him, the same question
on every tongue.
"She is with Mrs. Carrington," he said, pat-
ting the heads of the weeping Rosie and Walter.
" Don't cry, my children. She may not be able
to join us at tea, but you shall see her before
you go to your beds."
Then to the older ones, speaking in a sub-
dued tone, " Boyd is gone, and his aunt is much
overcome."
" Gone, Horace !" exclaimed his wife, looking
shocked and awe-struck: " how did he die ? was
there any ground for hope ?"
" Very little," he sighed, "that is the saddest
part of it. The body will be sent away to-
night," he added, in answer to a question from
hia father ; he is to be buried with the rest of
big family. Mra. Carrington will not go with
it, will probably remain here through tht
winter,"
All felt it a relief that the burial was not to
be near at hand, or the corpse to remain many
hours in the house" a wicked man's corpse,"
as Harold said with a shudder, but all were
wddened and horror-struck at the thought that
he had gone leaying so little reason for hope of
his salvation,
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 133
They gathered at the supper-table a yery
quiet, solemn company ; few words were spoken ;
the little ones missed their mother and were glad
to get away to the nursery, where she presently
came to them, looking sad and with traces of
recent tears about her eyes.
But she smiled very sweetly upon them, kissed
them tenderly, and sitting down, took Walter
on her lap and put an arm round Rosie as she
stood by her side.
They were curious to know about Mr. Boyd,
asking if he had gone to heaven where dear papa
and Lily were.
" I do not know, my darlings," she answered,
the tears coming into her eyes again; "he is
there if he repented of his sins against God, and
trusted in Jesus."
Then she talked to them, as often before, of
the dear Saviour the great love wherewith he
loves his people, and the many mansions he is
preparing for them.
She spoke to them, too, of God's hatred of
ein, and the need of watchfulness and prayer.
"The devil hates us, my darlings," she said;
" he goes about like a roaring lion, seeking to kill
our souls ; but Jesus loves us, he is stronger than
Satan, and if we keep close to him we are safe. "
Having seen them safe in bed, she went to
her dressing-room, to find the other four there
waiting for her.
124 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
They gathered about her with glad, loving
looks and words, each eager to anticipate her
wishes and to be the first to wait upon her.
" My dear children," she said, smiling through
glistening tears, "your love is very sweet to
me !"
" And what do you think yours is to us, mam-
ma ?" exclaimed Violet, kneeling at her mother's
feet and clasping her arms about her waist,
while she lifted to hers a face glowing with ar-
dent affection and admiration.
"Just the same, I hope and believe;" and
with the words the mother's hand passed caress-
ingly over the golden curls.
"Mamma, you have been crying very much,"
remarked Harold sorrowfully. " I wish "
" Well, my son ?" as he paused, leaving his
sentence unfinished."
" I wish I could make you so happy that you
would never want to shed a tear."
" When I get to heaven, my dear boy, it will
be so with me. ' God shall wipe away all tears
from their eyes; and there shall be no more
death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall
there be any more pain.' And that is where
your dear papa is now. Oh how glad we ought
to be for him !" she said with mingled smiles
and tears. ' Blessed are the dead which die iu
the Lord:' but oh, it is not so, my children, with
those who have not chosen him for their por.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 125
tion ! ' for to them is reserved the blackness of
darkness for ever.' "
There was a slight solemn pause, all think-
ing of the wretched man who had passed away
from earth that afternoon.
" Mamma," asked Harold at last, speaking in
a subdued tone, ' do you think it is so with Mr.
Boyd ?"
"My son," she said gently, "that is a ques-
tion we are not called upon to decide ; we can
only leave him in the hands of God, in full con-
fidence that the Judge of all the earth will do
right."
" Mamma, would you like to tell us about it ?"
asked Herbert.
"It is a painful subject," she sighed, "but
yes, I will tell you, that it may be a warning to
you all your lives."
They listened with awe-struck faces, and with
tears of pity, as she went on to give a graphic
picture of that death scene so different from the
one they had witnessed a few short months
ago.
"Oh my children," she said, "live not for
time, but for eternity ! remembering that this
life is but a preparation for another and endless
existence. ' Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and
his righteousness.' * Count all things but loss for
the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus
our Lord.' Choose his service now while youth
13$ ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
and health are yours, and when death comes you
will have nothing to fear. < The wicked is
driven away in his wickedness : but the right-
eous hath hope in his death.' 'Be not de-
ceived ; God is not mocked : for whatsoever a
man soweth, that sliall he also reap. For he
that soweth to his flesh, shall of the flesh reap
corruption: hut he that soweth to the Spirit,
shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting. '"
" Yes, mamma," Elsie said in a half -whisper,.
the tears stealing down her cheeks, " surely we
have seen it fulfilled in these last few months.
Our heloved father sowed to the Spirit, and
what a joyous reaping is his ! How calmly and
sweetly he fell asleep in Jesus."
" Yes.'' the mother said, mingling her tears
with theirs for all were weeping now yet with
a light shining in her eyes, "I am full of joy
and thankfulness to-night in the midst of my
grief. Oh how should we love and rejoice in
this dear Saviour, who through his own death-
has given eternal life to him and to us ; and to
as many as God has given him to all that will
come to him for it."
CHAPTER XII.
" If any man speak, let him speak as the oracles of God."
1 Peter, 4 1L
" MAMMA, can we Elsie and I have a lit-
tle private talk with you?" asked Violet as they
left the dinner-table the next Sunday.
" Certainly, daughter, if it be suited to the
sacredness of the day."
"Quite so, mamma," answered Elsie : "it is,
at least in part, a question of conscience."
" Then we shall want our Bibles to help us de-
cide it. Let us take them and go out upon the
lawn, to the inviting shade of yonder group of
magnolias."
" Do you intend to be so selfish as to monopo-
lize your mother's society ?" asked her father
playfully.
"Just for a little while, grandpa," Vi answer-
ed with coaxing look and tone. " Please, all of
you, let us two have mamma quite to ourselves
for a few minutes."
"Well, daughters, what is it?" Mrs. Travilla
asked, as she seated herself under the trees with
one on each side.
"Mamma," Elsie began, "you saw a young
lady talking with us after church ? She is Miss
128 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
Miriam Pettit. She says she and several other
young girls belonging to the church used to
hold a weekly prayer-meeting in Mrs. Mason's
parlor. It is the most central place they can
find, and she will be very glad, very much
obliged, if you will let them use it still. She has
understood that nearly all the furniture of the
cottage belongs to you and is still there."
"Yes, that is so ; and they are very welcome
to the use of any of the rooms. But that is not
all you and Vi had to say P'
" Oh no, mamma ! she wants us to join them
and take part in the meetings I mean not only
to sing and read, but also to lead in prayer."
"Well, my dears, I should be glad to have
you do so ; and you surely cannot doubt that
it would be right ?"
"No, mamma," Violet said in her sprightly
way, " but we should like to have you tell us
at least I should that it would not be wrong tc
refuse."
" My child, do you not believe in prayer as
both a duty and a privilege? social and public
as well as private prayer?"
" mamma, yes! but is it not enough for me
to pray at home in my closet, and to unite si-
lently with the prayers offered by ministers and
others in public?"
" Are we not told to pray without ceasing?"
" Oh yes, mamma ! and I did not mean to
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 129
omit silent, ejaculatory prayer; but is it my
duty to lead the devotions of others?"
"Our Saviour gave a precious assurance to
those who unite in presenting their petitions at
a throne of grace. * Where two or three are
gathered together in my name, there am I in
the midst of them.' Some one must lead there
ought always to be several to do so and why
should you be excused more than another?"
"Elsie is willing, mamma, and Miss Pettit
too."
'' I am glad to hear it," the mother said, with
an affectionate look at her eldest daughter. " I
know it will be something of a trial to Elsie, and
doubtless it is to Miss Pettit too it is to almost
every one: but what a light cross to bear for
Jesus compared to that he bore for us or those
borne by the martyrs of old; or even by the mis-
sionaries who leave home and dear ones to go
far away to teach the heathen ! I had hoped
my Vi was ready to follow her Master wherever
his providence called her: that she would not
keep back any part of the price, but give him
all."
" Oh yes, yes, mamma !" she cried, the tears
starting to her eyes, "I want to be altogether
his. I have given him all, and don't want to
keep back anything. I will try to do this if you
think he calls me to it; though it seems almost
impossible."
130 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
"My child, he will help you if you ask him;
will give his Holy Spirit to teach you how
to pray and what to pray for. Try to get your
mind and heart full of your own and others'
needs, to forget their presence and remember
his: then words will come, and you will find
that in trying to do the Master's work and will,
you have brought down a rich blessing upon
your own soul. And why should we feel it a
trial to speak aloud to our Father in the pres-
ence of others of his children, or of those who
are not?"
"I don't know, mamma; it does seem very
strange that we should."
" I should like to attend your meetings, but
hardly suppose I should be welcome, "Mrs. Tra-
villa said with a smile.
"To us, mamma," both answered, "but per-
haps not to the others. Miss Pettit said there
were to be none but young girls."
"Isa is invited, I presume?"
"Yes, mamma, and says she will attend; but
can't promise anything more. I think she will,
though, if you will talk to her as you have to
us," Violet added, as they rose to return to the
?eranda, where the rest of the family still lin-
gered.
And she was not mistaken. Isa was too true
and earnest a Christian, too full of love for the
Master and zeal for the upbuilding of his cause
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 131
and kingdom, to refuse to do anything that she
saw would tend to that, however much it might
cost her to attempt it.
" Well, cricket," Mr. Dinsmore said, giving
Violet a pet name he had bestowed upon her
when she was a very little girl, " come sit on my
knee and tell me if we are all to be kept in the
dark in regard to the object of this secret con-
ference with mamma?"
'" Oh, grandpa," she said, taking the offered
seat, and giving him a hug and kiss, "gentle-
men have no curiosity, you know. Still, now
it's settled, we don't care if you do hear all about
it."
Both he and his wife highly approved, and
the latter, seeing an interested yet regretful
look on poor Molly's face, asked, " Why should
we not have, in addition, a female prayer-meet-
ing of our own? We have more than twice the
number necessary to claim the promise."
The suggestion was received with favor by all
the ladies present, time and place were fixed
upon, and then, that they might be the better
prepared to engage in this new effort to serve
the Master, they agreed to take the subject of
prayer for that evening's Bible study.
But once entered upon, they found it so in-
teresting, comprehensive and profitable a theme
that they devoted several evenings to it.
The children as well as their elders were coii
(32 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
tinually finding discrepancies between the teach-
ings of the Bible and those of Mr. Jones, and
Elsie was not a little relieved to learn that the
time for which his services had been engaged
Lad now nearly expired. She hoped there was
no danger that he would be requested to remain.
One day as she was leaving the quarter, where
she had been visiting the sick, Uncle Ben, now
Tery old and feeble, accosted her respectfully.
" Missus, I'se be bery thankful to hab a little
conversation wid you when it suits yo' conven-
ience to talk to dis chile."
" What is it, Uncle Ben ?" she asked.
" May I walk 'longside ob de Missus up to de
house?" he returned.
" Certainly, Uncle Ben, if you feel strong
enough to do so."
" Tank you, Missus; do dese ole limbs good
to stretch 'em 'bout dat much. It's ''bout Massa
Jones I'se want to converse wid you, Missus. I
hear dey's talkin' 'bout invitin' him to stay, and
I want to ascertain if you intends to put him
ober dis church."
"I, Uncle Ben!" she exclaimed, "I put a
minister over your church? I have no right
and certainly no wish to do any such thing. It
is for the members to choose whom they will
have."
"But you pays de money and provides de
house for him, Missus."
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 133
"That is true; but it does not give me the
right to say who he shall be. Only if you should
choose one whose teachings I could not approve
one who was not careful to teach according to
God's word I should feel that I could not take
the responsibility of supporting him."
"I'se glad of dat, Missus," he said with a
gleam of satisfaction in his eyea ; " 'cause I'se
want de Bible truff and nuffin else. And young
Massa Jones, he preach bery nice sometimes, but
sometimes it 'pears like he disremembers what's
in de bressed book, and contradicts it wid some
of his own notions."
" Then you don't wish him to stay ?"
( ' No, Missus, dat I don't ! hopin' you won't
be displeased wid me for sayin' it."
"Not at all, Uncle Ben: I find the very
same objection to him that you do."
On reaching the house she bade the old man
a kindly good-bye, and directed him to go to
the kitchen and tell the cook, from her, to give
him a good dinner, with plenty of hot, strong
coffee.
Bosie and Walter were on the back veranda
looking out for mamma.
" Oh we're so glad you've turn home, mam-
ma !" cried "Walter, running to meet her and
claim a "kiss.
"Yes, mamma, it seemed so long to wait,"
said Rosie, "and now there is a strange gentle-
^34 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
man in the drawing-room, waiting to see you.
He's been here a good while, and both grandpas
are ont."
"Then I must go to him at once. But I
think he is not likely to detain me long away
from you, darlings," the mother said.
She found the gentleman a handsome map
of middle age looking not at all annoyed or im-
patient, but seemingly well entertained by Isa
and Violet, who were there, chatting sociably
together over some pretty fancy work, when he
was shown in by the servant.
They withdrew after Isa had introduced Mrs.
Travilla and Mr. Embury.
The former thought it a little singular when
she learned that her caller's errand was the same
with that of Uncle Ben, i.e., to talk about Mr.
Jones and the propriety of asking him to take
permanent charge of the two churches t yet with
this difference that he was personally not un-
favorable to the idea."
"I like him very well, though he is not by
any means Mr. Mason's equal as a preacher," he
said, "and I think our little congregation can
be induced to give him a call ; but we are too
few to support him unless by continuing the
union with this church, so that the small salary
we can give will still be supplemented by the
very generous one you pay, and the use of the
cottage you built for Mr. Mason. I am tak-
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 135
ing for granted, my dear Madame, that you in-
tend to go on doing for your retainers here as you
have hitherto."
"I do," she said, "in case they choose a
minister whose teachings accord with those of
the inspired word. I cannot be responsible for
any other."
"And do those of Mr. Jones not come up to
the standard ?"
" I regret to have to say that they do not ; his
preaching is far from satisfactory to me ; he
makes nothing of the work of the Spirit, or the
danger of grieving Him away forever ; nothing
of the danger of self-deception ; instructing
those who are in doubt about the genuineness of
their conversion that they must not be dis-
couraged, instead of advising them to go to
Christ now and be saved, just as any other sin-
ner must. I fear his teaching may lead some to
be content with a false hope. Then he often
speaks in a half hesitating way, which shows
doubt and uncertainty, on his part, of truths
which are taught most plainly and forcibly in
scripture. In a word, his preaching leaves the
impression upon me that he has no very
thorough acquaintance with the Bible, and no
very strong confidence in the infallibility of its
teachings. Indeed so glaring are his contradic-
tions of scripture, that even my young children
have noticed them more than once or twice. "
136 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD
" Eeally, Mrs. Travilla, you make out a strong
case against him," remarked her interlocutor,
after a moment's thoughtful silence, " and upon
reflection I believe a true one. I am surprised
at myself that I have listened with so little reali-
zation of the important defects in his system of
theology. I was not ardently in favor of calling
him before ; now I am decidedly opposed to it."
He was about to take leave, but, the two Mr.
Dinsmores coming in at that moment, resumed
his seat, and the subject was reopened.
They soon learned that they were all of sub-
stantially the same opinion in regard to it.
In the course of the conversation some account
was given Mr. Embury of the Sunday evening
Bible study at Viamede.
He seemed much interested, and at length
asked if he might be permitted to join them oc-
casionally.
"My boys are away at school," he said, "my
two little girls go early to bed, and my evenings
are often lonely since my dear Mary left me,
now two years ago," he added with a sigh.
'* May I come, Mrs. Travilla ?"
" Yes," she said, reading approval in the eyes
of her father and grandfather, while her own
tender heart sympathized with the bereaved
husband, though at the same time her sensitive
nature shrank from the invasion of their family
circle by a stranger.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 137
He read it all in her speaking countenance, but
could not deny himself the anticipated pleasure
of making the acquaintance of so lovely a family
group to say nothing of the intellectual or
spiritual profit to be expected from sharing in
their searching of the scriptures.
Mr. Embury was a man of liberal education
and much general information one who read
and thought a good deal and talked well.
The conversation turned upon literature, and
Mr. Dinsmore presently carried him off to the
library to show him some valuable books re-
cently purchased by himself and his daughter.
They were still there when the tea-bell rang,
and being hospitably urged to remain and par-
take of the meal with the family, Mr. Embury
accepted the invitation with unfeigned pleasure.
All were present even down to little Walter,
and not excepting poor Molly.
Her apartments at Viamede being on the
same floor with dining-room, library and parlors,
she joined the family gatherings almost as fre-
quently as any one else indeed whenever she
preferred the society of her relatives to the
seclusion of her own room.
Mr. Embury had occasionally seen her at
church. Her bright, intellectual face and crip-
pled condition had excited his interest and
curiosity, and in one way and another he had
learned her story.
138 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
Truth to tell, one thing that had brought him
to Viamede was the desire to make her acquaint-
ance though Molly and the rest were far from,
suspecting it at the time.
He had no definite motive for seeking to know
her, except that his large, generous heart was
drawn out in pity for her physical infirmity, and
filled with admiration of her cheerfulness under
it, and the energy and determination she had
shown in carving out a career for herself, and
steadily pursuing it spite of difficulties and dis-
couragements that would have daunted many a
weaker spirit.
She had less of purely physical beauty than
any other lady present, her mother excepted, yet
there was something in her face that would have
attracted attention anywhere ; and her conver-
sational powers were enviable, as Mr. Embury
discovered in the course of the evening, for so
delightful did he find the society of these nev
friends, both ladies and gentlemen, that he
lingered among them until nearly ten o'clock,
quite oblivious of the flight of time until re-
minded of it by the striking of the clock.
"Really, Mrs. Travilla," he said, rising to
take leave, " I owe you an apology for this
lengthened visit, which has somehow taken the
place of my intended call ; but I must beg you
to lay the blame where it should fall, on the verj
great attractiveness of your family circle."
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 139
" The apology is quite out of proportion to
the offence, sir," she returned, with a kindly
smile ; " so we grant you pardon, and shall not
refuse it fora repetition of the misdeed."
" I wish," he said, glancing round from one
to another, "that you would all make me a re-
turn in kind. I will not say that Magnolia Hall
is equal to Viamede, but it is called a fine
place, and 1 can assure you of at least a hearty
welcome to its hospitalities."
CHAPTER
" 1 preached as never sure to preach again.
And as a dying man to dying men."
Richard Baxter.
THEEE was a stranger in the pulpit the next
Sunday morning ; one whose countenance,
though youthful, by its intellectuality, its ear-
nest thoughtfulness, and a nameless something
that told of communion with God and a strong
sense of the solemn responsibility of thus stand-
ing as an ambassador for Christ to expound his
word and will to sinful, dying men, gave prom-
ise of a discourse that should send empty away
no attentive hearer hungering and thirsting for
the bread and the water of life.
Nor was the promise unfulfilled. Taking as
his text the Master's own words, " They hated
me without a cause," he dwelt first upon the
utter helplessness, hopelessness and wretched-
ness of that estate of sin and misery into which
all mankind were plunged by Adam's fall ; then
upon God's offered mercy through a Redeemer,
even his only begotten and well-beloved Son ;
upon the wondrous love of Christ " in offering
himself a sacrifice to satisfy divine justice and
reconcile us to God," as shown first in what
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. !.
he resigned the joy and bliss of heaven, " the
glory which he had with the Father before the
world was " secondly in his birth and life on
earth, of which he gave a rapid but vivid sketch
from the manger to the cross showing the
meekness, patience, gentleness, benevolence,
self-denial, humility and resignation of Jesus
how true, guileless, innocent, loving and com-
passionate he was ; describing the miracles he
wrought every one an act of kindness to some
poor sufferer from bereavement, accident, dis-
ease, or Satan's power ; then the closing scenes
of that wondrous life the agony in the garden,
the cruel mockery of a trial, the scourging, the
crucifixion, the expiring agonies upon the cross.
He paused ; the audience almost held their
breath for the next words, the silent tears were
stealing down many a cheek.
Leaning over the puipit with outstretched
hand, with features working with emotion, " I
have set before you," he said in tones thrilling
with pathos, " this Jesus in his life and in his
death. He lived not for himself, but for you ;
he died not for his own sins, but for yours and
mine : he offers you this salvation as a free gift
purchased with his own blood. Yea, risen
again, and ever at the right hand of God, he
maketh intercession for you. If you hate him,
is it not without a cause ?"
The preacher had wholly forgotten himself in
142 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
his subject ; nor did self intrude into the prayer
that followed the sermon. Truly he seemed to
stand in the immediate presence of Him who
died on Calvary and rose again, as he poured
out his confessions of sins, his gratitude for re-
deeming love, his earnest petitions for perishing
souls, blindly, wickedly hating without a cause
this matchless, this loving, compassionate
Saviour. And for Christ's own people, that
their faith might be strengthened, their love
increased, that they might be very zealous for
the Master, abounding in gifts and prayers and
labors for the upbuilding of his cause and king-
dom.
"The very man we should have here, if he
can be induced to come," Mr. Dinsmore said in
a quiet aside to his daughter as the congrega-
tion began to disperse, going out silently or
conversing in subdued tones ; for the earnest,
solemn discourse had made a deep impression.
"Yes, papa. Oh, I should rejoice to hear
such preaching every Sabbath!" was Elsie's an-
swer.
"And I," Mr. Embury said, overhearing her
remark. " But Mr. Keith gave us expressly to
understand that he did not come as a candidate;
he is here for his health or recreation, being
worn out with study and pastoral work, as I un-
derstand."
"Keith?" exclaimed Mr. Dinsmore. "I
ELSIE' & WIDOWHOOD. 143
thought there was something familiar in his
face. Elsie, I think he must belong to our
Keiths."
"We must find out, papa," she said. " Oh,
I shall be glad if he does !"
"Shall I bring him up and introduce him?"
Mr. Embury asked. "Ah, here he is !' ; as,
turning about, he perceived the young minister
close at hand.
" Dinsmore! Travilla! those are family names
with us !" the latter said, with an earnest, in-
terested look from one to the other as the intro-
ductions were made.
"As Keith is with us," Mr. Dinsmore an-
swered, grasping his hand. " I opine tnat I am
speaking to a grandson of my cousin Marcia
Keith and her husband, Stuart Keith, of Pleas-
ant Plains, Indiana?"
" Yes, sir; I am the son of Cyril, their second
son, and bear the same name. And you, sir, are
the Cousin Horace of whom I have so often
heard my grandmother and Aunt Mildred
speak?"
"The same."
"And Mrs. Travilla is Cousin Elsie?" turn-
ing to her with a look of great interest and
pleasure mingled with admiration; but which
quickly changed to one of intense, sorrowful
avoip9.thy as he noticed her widow's weeds. He
Had often heard of the strong attachment be
144 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
ween herself and husband, and this was the
first intimation he had had of her bereave-
ment.
She read his look and gave him her hand si-
lently, her heart too full for speech.
"You will go home with us, of course," said
Mr. Dinsmore, after introducing his wife and
the other ladies of the family.
" And stay as long as you possibly can," add
d Elsie, finding her voice. " Papa and I shall
have a great many questions to ask about our
cousins."
"I shall be most happj to accept your kind
invitation, if Mr. Embury will excuse me from
a prior engagement to dine and lodge with him,"
replied Mr. Keith, turning with a smile to the
proprietor of Magnolia Hall, who was still stand-
ing near in a waiting attitude.
" I am loath to do so." he said, pleasantly, " but
relatives have the first claim. I will waive mine
for the present, in your favor, Mrs. Travilla, if
you will indemnify me by permission to call fre-
quently at Viamede while Mr. Keith stays; and
afterward, if you don't find me a bore. I might
as well make large demands while I am about it."
"Being in a gracious mood, I grant them,
large as they are," she responded, in the same
playful tone that he had used. " Come when-
ever it suits your convenience and pleasure, Mt
February. **
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. Uf
" Viamede !" said Mr. Keitli, meditatively, as
they drove homeward. "I remember hearing
Aunt Mildred talk of a visit she paid there many
years ago, when she was quite a young girl, and
you, Cousin Elsie, were a mere baby."
"Yes," said old Mr. Dinsmore. "It was I
who brought her. Horace was away in Europe
at the time, and the death of Cameron, Elsie's
guardian, made it necessar" for me to come on
and attend to matters. Mildred was visiting us
at Eoselands that winter, and I was very glad
to secure her as travelling companion. Do
you remember anything about it, Elsie?"
"Not very much, grandpa," she said: "a
little of Cousin Mildred's kindness and affection;
something of the pain of parting from my dear
home and the old servants. But I have a very
vivid recollection of a visit paid to Pleasant
Plains with papa," and she turned to him with
a deeply affectionate look, " shortly before his
marriage. I then saw Aunt Marcia, as both she
and papa bade me call her, and Cousin Mildred
and all the others, not forgetting Uncle Stewart.
We had a delightful visit, had we not, papa?"
"Yes, I remember we enjoyed it greatly."
" I was just then very happy m the prospect
of a new mamma," Elsie went on, with a smiling
glance at her loved stepmother, " and papa was
so very good as to allow me to tell of my happi-
ness to the cousins. Your father was quite a
146 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
tall lad at that time, Cousin Cyril, and very kind
to his little ceusin, who considered him a very
fine young gentleman."
" He is an elderly man now," remarked his
eon. " You have seen Aunt Mildred and some
others of the family since then?"
"Yes, several times; she and a good many
-of the others were with us at different times
during the Centennial. But why did you not
let us know of your coming, Cousin Cyril? why
not come directly to us ? "
" It was a sudden move on my part," he said,
" and indeed I was not aware that I was coming
into the neighborhood of Viamede, or that you
were there. But I am delighted that it is so
that I have the opportunity to become acquaint-
ed with you and to see the place, which Aunt
Mildred described as a paradise upon earth."
" We think it almost that, but you shall judge
for yourself," she said, with a pleased smile.
"Beautiful! enchanting! the half had not
been told me!" he exclaimed in delight, as, a
few moments later, he stood upon the veranda
gazing out over the emerald velvet of the lawn,
bespangled with its many hued and lovely flow-
ers, and dotted here and there with giant oaks,
graceful magnolias, and clusters of orange trees
laden with their delicate, sweet-scented blos-
soms and golden fruit, to the lakelet whose
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 14?
waters glittered in the sunlight, and the fields,
the groves and hills beyond.
**Ah, if earthly scenes are so lovely, what
must heaven be !" he added, turning to Elsie a
face full of joyful anticipation.
" Yes," she responded in low, moved tones,
" how great is their blessedness who walk the
streets of the Celestial City! How their eyes
must feast upon its beauties! And yet ah, me-
thinks it must be long ere they can see them,
for gazing upon the lovely face of Him whose
blood has purchased their right to enter there."
"Even so," he said. "Oh, for one glimpse
of His face ! Dear cousin," and he took her hand
in his, "let the thought of the 'exceeding and
eternal weight of glory ' your loved one is now
enjoying, and which you will one day share with
him, comfort you in your loneliness and sorrow."
" It does, it does F* she said tremulously,
" that and the sweet sense of His abiding love,
and presence who can never die and never
change. I am far from unhappy, Cousin Cyril.
I have found truth in those beautiful words,
"Then sorrow touched by Thee, grows bright
With more than rapture's ray,
As darkness shows us worlds of light
We never saw by day. 1 "
They had been comparatively alone for the
moment, no one near enough to overhear the
low-toned talk between them.
148 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
The voting minister was greatly pleased with
Viamede the more so the more he saw of it
and with his new-found relatives, the more and
better he became acquainted with them ; while
they found him all his earnest, scriptural preach-
ing had led them to expect.
His religion was not a mask, or a garment
to !>e worn only in the pulpit or on the Sabbath,
but permeated his whole life and conversation ;
as was the case with most if not all of those
with whom he now sojourned ; and like them,
he was a happy Christian ; content with the al-
lotments of God's providence, walking joyously
in the light of his countenance, making it the
one purpose and effort of his life to live to God's
glory and bring others to share in the blessed
service.
He was strongly urged to spend the Winter at
Viamede as his cousin's guest, and preacher to
the two churches.
He took a day or two to consider the matter,
then, to the great satisfaction of all concerned,
consented to remain, thanking his cousins
warmly for their kindness in giving him so
sweet a home ; for they made him feel that he
was entirely one of themselves, always welcome
in their midst, yet at perfect liberty to withdraw
into the seclusion of his own apartments when-
ever duty or inclination called him to do so.
The well-stocked library supplied him with
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 149
all needed books, there were servants to wait
upon him, horses at his disposal, in short, noth-
ing wanting for purposes of work or of recreation.
Again and again he said to himself, or in his
letters to those in the home he had left, that
" the lines had fallen to him in pleasant places."
In the meantime Elsie found the truth as ex-
pounded by him from Sabbath to Sabbath, and
in the week-day evening service and the family
worship, most comforting and sustaining ; while
his intelligent, agreeable conversation and cheer-
ful companionship were most enjoyable at other
times.
" Cousin Cyril " soon became a great favorite
with those who claimed the right to call him so,
and very much liked and looked up to by Isa-
dore, Molly, and the rest to whom he was simply
Mr. Keith.
In common with all others who knew them,
he admired his young cousins, Elsie and Violet,
extremely, and found their society delightful.
Molly's sad affliction called forth, from the
first, his deepest commiseration ; her brave en-
durance of it, her uniform cheerfulness under
it, his strong admiration and respecv.
Yet he presently discovered that Isadore Conly
had stronger attractions for him than any other
woman he had ever met. It was not her beaut* 1
alone, her refinement, her many accomplish
ments, but principally her noble qualities of
mind and heart, gradually opening themselves
150 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
to his view as day after day they met in the un-
restrained familiar intercourse of the home circle,
or walked or rode out together, sometimes in
the company of others, sometimes alone.
t Mr. Embury made good use of the permission
Mrs. Travilla had granted him, and occasionally
forestalling Cyril's attentions, led the latter to
look upon him as a rival.
Molly watched it all, and though now one and
now the other devoted an hour to her, sitting by
her side in the house doing his best to entertain 1
her with conversation, or pushing her wheeled
chair about the walks in the beautiful grounds,
or taking her out for a drive, thought both were
in pursuit of Isa.
It was their pleasure to wait upon Isa, Elsie
and Vi, while pity and benevolence alone led
them to bestow some time and effort upon her-
self a poor cripple whom no one could really
enjoy taking about.
She had but a modest opinion of her own at-
tractions, and would have been surprised to learn
ihow greatly she was really admired by both gen-
tlemen, for her good sense, her talent, energy
and perseverance in her chosen line of work, and
her constant cheerfulness ; how brilliant and
entertaining they often found her talk, pro-
nouncing it "bright, sparkling, witty ;" how at-
tractive her intellectual countanence, and her
bright, dark, expressive eyes.
CHAPTER XIV.
Something the heart must have to cherish,
Most love and joy, and sorrow learn ;
Something with passion clasp or perish,
And in itself to ashes burn." Longfellow.
' MOLLY, how you do work ! a great deal too
hard, I am sure," said the younger Elsie, coming
into her cousin's room, to find her at her writing
desk, pen in hand, as usual, an unfinished manu-
script before her, and books and papers scattered
about.
Molly looked up with a forced smile : she was
not in mirthful mood.
" It is because I am so slow that I must keep
at it or I get nothing done."
'""Well, there's no need," said Elsie, "and
really, Molly dear, I do believe you would gain
time by resting more and oftener than you do.
Who can work fast and well when brain and
body are both weary ? I have come to ask if
you will take a drive with our two grandpas,
grandma and Mrs. Carrington ?"
"Thank you kindly, but I can't spare the
time to-day."
"But don't you think you ought? Your
health is cf more importance than that manu-
script. I am sure, Molly, you need the rest. J
152 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
have noticed that you are growing thin and pale
of late, and look tired almost all the time."
"I was out for an hour thislhorning."
" An hour ! and the weather is so delightful,
everything out of doors looking so lovely, that the
rest of us find it next to impossible to content
ourselves within doors for an hour. Some of us
are going to play croquet. If you will not
drive, won't you let one of the servants wheel
you out there near enough to enable you to
watch the game ?"
"Ploase don't think me ungracious," Molly
answered, coloring, "but I really should prefer
to stay here and work."
" I think Aunt Enna is going with us, and
you will be left quite alone, unless you will let
me stay, or send a servant to sit with you," Elsie
But Molly insisted that she would rather be
alone. " And you know," she added, pointing
to a silver hand bell on the table before her, "I
can ring if I need anything."
So Elsie went rather sadly away, more than
half suspecting that Molly was grieving over her
inability to move about as others did, and take
part in the active sports they found so enjoyable
and healthful.
And indeed she had hardly closed the door
between them when the tears began to roll down
Molly's cheeks. She wiped them away and tried
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 153
to go on with her work ; but they came faster
and faster, till throwing down her pen she hid
her face in her hands, and burst into passionate
weeping, sobs shaking her whole frame.
A longing so intense had come over her to
leave that chair, to walk, to run, to leap and
dance, as she had delighted to do in the old
days before that terrible fall. She wanted to
wander over the velvety lawn beneath her win-
dows, to pluck for herself the many-hued, sweet-
scented flowers, growing here and there in the
grass. Kind hands were always ready to gather
and bring them to her, but it was not like walk-
ing about among them, stooping down and
plucking them with her own fingers.
Oh to feel her feet under her and wander at
her own sweet will about the beautiful grounds,
over the hills and through the woods ! Oh to
feel that she was a fit mate for some one who
might some day love and cherish her as Mr.
Travilla had loved and cherished her whom he
so fondly called his "little wife !"
She pitied her cousin for her sad bereavement;
her heart had often, often bled for her because
of her loss ; but ah ! it were "better to have
loved and lost, than never to have loved at all."
Never to love, never to be loved, that was the
hardest part of it all.
There was Dick, to be sure, the dear fellow !
how she did love him ! and she believed he
154 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
loved her almost as well ; but the time would
come when another would have the first place in
his heart ; perhaps it had already come.
Her mother's affection was something, but it
was the love of a stronger nature than her own
that she craved, a staff to lean upon, a guiding,
protecting love, a support such as is the strong,
stately oak to the delicate, clinging vine.
There were times when she keenly enjoyed
her independence, perfect liberty to control her
own actions and choose her own work ; her
ability to earn a livelihood for herself ; but at
this moment all that was as nothing.
Usually she was submissive under her afflic-
tion ; now her heart rebelled fiercely against it.
She called it a hard and cruel fate, to which she
could not, would not be resigned.
She was frightened at herself as she felt that
she was so rebellious, and that she was envying
the happiness of the cousins who had for years
treated her with unvarying kindness ; that her
lot seemed the harder by contrast with theirs.
And yet how well she knew that theirs was
not perfect happiness that the death of the
husband and father had been a sore trial to them
all.
Through the open window she saw the hand-
some, easy-rolling family carriage drive away
and disappear among the trees on the farther
side of the lawn ; then the croquet party setting
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 155
out for the scene of their proposed game, which
was at some little distance from the mansion,
though within the grounds.
She noticed that Isa and Mr. Keith walked
first very close together, and looking very like
a pair of lovers, she thought then Mr. Embury
with Violet's graceful, girlish figure by his side,
she walking with a free, springing step that
once poor Molly might have emulated, as she
called to mind with a bitter groan and an almost
frantic effort to rise from her chair.
Ah, what was it that so sharpened the sting
brought by the thought of her own impotence,
as she saw Vi's bright, beautiful face uplifted to
that of her companion ? A sudden glimpse into
her own heart sent a crimson tide all over the
poor girl's face.
" Molly Percival, what a fool you are !" she
exclaimed half aloud, then burst into hysterical
weeping ; but calming herself almost instantly.
"No, I will not, will not be so weak !" she said,
turning resolutely from the window. " I have
been happy in my work, happy and content, and
so will I be again. No foolish impossible dreams
for you, Molly Percival ! no dog in the manger
feelings either ; you shall not indulge them."
But the thread of thought was broken and
lost, and she tried in vain to recover it ; a dis-
tant hum of blithe voices came now and again
to her ear with disturbing influence.
156 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
She could not rise and go away from it.
Again the pen was laid aside, and lying back
in her chair with her head against its cushions,
she closed her eyes with a weary sigh, a tear
trickling slowly down her cheek.
" I cannot work," she murmured. " Ah, if I
could only stop thinking these miserable, wicked
thoughts !"
Mrs. Travilla, returning from a visit to the
quarter, stopped a moment to watch the croquet
players.
"Where is Molly?" she asked of her eldest
daughter ; " did she go with your grandpa and
the others?"
" No, mamma, she is in her room, hard at
work as usual, poor thing !"
" She is altogether too devoted to her work;
she ought to be out enjoying this delicious
weather. Surely you did not neglect to invite
her to join you here, Elsie ?"
" No, mamma, I did my best to persuade her.
I can hardly bear to think she is shut up there
alone, while all the rest of us are having so
pleasant an afternoon."
" It is too bad," Mr. Embury remarked, " and
I was strongly tempted to venture into her
sanctum and try my powers of persuasion ; but
refrained lest I should but disturb the flow of
thought and get myself into disgrace without
accomplishing my end. Have you the courage
to attempt the thing, Mrs. Travilla?"
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 157
"I think I must try," she answered, with a
smile, as she turned away in the direction of
the house.
She found Molly at work, busied over a trans-
lation for which she had laid aside the unfinished
story interrupted by the younger Elsie's visit.
She welcomed her cousin with a smile, but
aot a very bright or mirthful one, and traces of
tears about her eyes were very evident.
" My dear child," Elsie said, in tones as ten-
der and compassionate as she would have used
to one of her own darlings, and laying her hand
affectionately on the young girl's shoulder, " I
do not like to see you so hard at work while
every one else is out enjoying this delightful
weather. How can you resist the call of all the
bloom and beauty you can see from your win-
dow there ?"
" It is attractive, cousin," Molly answered ;
" I could not resist it if if I could run about
as others do," she added, with a tremble in her
voice.
" My poor, poor child !" Elsie said with emo-
tion, bending down to press a kiss on the girl's
forehead.
Molly threw her arms about her, and burst
into tears and sobs.
" Oh it is so hard, so hard ! so cruel that I
must sit here a helpless cripple all my days ! How
can I bear it, for years and years, it may be !"
153 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
"Dear child, ' sufficient unto the day is the
evil thereof.' Let us live one day at a time,
leaving the future with our heavenly Father,
trusting in His promise that as our day our
strength shall be. Rutherford says, ' These many
days I have had no morrow at all.' If it were
so with all of us, how the burdens would be
lightened ! for a very large part of them is ap-
prehension for the future. Is it not ?"
" Yes, and I am ashamed of my weakness and
cowardice."
"Dear child, I have often admired your
strength and courage under a trial I fear I
should not bear half so well."
Molly lifted to her cousin's a face full of won-
der, surprise and gratitude ; then it clouded
again and tears trembled in her eyes and in her
Toice, as she said, " But, Cousin Elsie, you must
let me work ; it is my life, my happiness ; the
only kind I can ever hope for, ever have. Others
may busy themselves with household cares, may
fill their hearts with the sweet loves of kind hus-
bands and dear little children ; but these things
are not for me. cousin, forgive me !" she
cried, as she saw the pained look in Elsie's face.
" I did not mean I did not intend "
"To remind me of the past," Elsie whis-
pered, struggling with her tears. " It is full of
sweet memories, that I would not be without
for anything. Oh true indeed is. i
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD 15
Tis better to have loved and lost.
Than never to have loved at all."
" Cousin Elsie, your faith and patience are
beautiful !" cried Molly, impulsively. " You
never murmur at your cross, you are satisfied
with all God sends. I wish it were so with me,
but cousin, cousin, my very worst trouble is
that I am afraid I am not a Christian ! that I
have been deceiving myself all these years !" she
ended with a burst of bitter weeping.
" Molly dear." Elsie said, folding her in her
arms and striving to soothe her with caresses,
"you surprise me very much, for I have long
seen the lonely fruit of the Spirit in your life
and conversation. Do you not love Jesus and
trust in him alone for salvation ?"
" I thought I did, and oh I cannot bear to think
of not belonging to him ! it breaks my heart !"
" Then why should you think so ?"
" Because I find so much of evil in myself.
If you knew the rebellious thoughts and feel-
ings I have had this very day you would not
think me a Christian. I have hated myself be-
cause of them."
" You have struggled to cast them out, you
have not encouraged or loved them. Is that
what they do who have no love to Christ ? no de-
sire after conformity to his will ? It is the child
of God who hates sin and struggles against it.
But it is not necessary to decide whether
160 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
you have or have not been mistaken in your
past experience, since you may come to Jesus now
just as if you had never come before : give your-
self to him and accept his offered salvation with-
out stopping to ask whether it is for the first or
the ten thousandth time. Oh that is always my
comfort when assailed by doubts and fears I
' Behold, now is the accepted time ; behold,
now is the day of salvation.' Jesus says, to-day
and every day, ' Come unto me, all ye that labor
and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.'
* Him that cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast
out.'"
Glad tears glistened in Molly's eyes. "And
he will pardon my iniquity though it is so great."
she murmured, with trembling lip and half
averted face : "he will forgive all my trans-
gressions and my sins, cleanse me from them
and love me freely."
< " Yes, dear child, he will. And now put away
your work for the rest of this day and come out
into the pure, sweet air. If we weary our poor,
weak bodies too much, Satan is but too ready to
take advantage of our physical condition to as-
sault us with temptations, doubts and fears."
" I will do as you think best, cousin," was the
submissive reply.
Elsie at once summoned a servant, and in a
few moments Molly's chair was rolling along the
gravelled walks, underneath the grand old trees,
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 161
a gentle breeze from the lakelet, laden with the
scent of magnolias and orange blossoms, gath-
ered in its passage across the lawn, softly fan-
ning her cheek, her cousin walking by her side
and entertaining her with pleasant chat.
Kosie and Walter came running to meet them.
They were glad to see Molly out : they filled her
lap with flowers and her ears with their sweet in-
nocent prattle, her heart growing lighter as she
listened and drank in beside all the sweet sights
and scents and sounds of nature in her most
bountiful mood.
They made a partial circuit of the grounds
that at last brought them to the croquet players,
who, one and all, greeted Molly's arrival with
expressions of satisfaction or delight.
Each brought an offering of bud or blossom,
the loveliest and sweetest of flowers were scattered
so profusely on every hand.
Mr. Embury's was a half blown rose, and
Elsie, furtively watching her charge, noted the
quick blush with which it was received, the care
with which it was stealthily treasured afterward.
A suspicion stirred in her breast, a fear that
made her heart tremble and ache for the poor
girl.
Mr. Embury spent the evening at Viamede.
Molly was in the parlor with the rest, and the
greater part of the time he was close at her side.
Both talked more than usual, often addressing
162 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
each other, and seemed to outdo themselves in
sparkling wit and brilliant repartee.
Molly's cheeks glowed and her eyes shone:
she had never been so handsome or fascinating
before, and Mr. Embury hung upon her words.
Elsie's heart sank as she saw it all. "My
poor child !" she sighed to herself. ' ' I must warn
him that her affections are not to be trifled with.
He may think her sad affliction is her shield
raising a barrier that she herself must know to
be impassable but when was heart controlled
by reason ?"
The next morning Enna, putting her head
in at the door of the dressing-room where her
niece was busy with her little ones, said : " Elsie,
I wish you'd come and speak a word to Molly.
She'll hear reason from you, maybe, though she
thinks I haven't sense enough to give her any
advice."
"What is it?" Elsie asked, obeying the sum-
mons at once, leaving Rosie and Walter in Aunt
Chloe's charge.
" Just come to her room, won't you ?" Enna
said, leading the way. " I don't see what pos-
sesses the child to act so. He's handsome and
rich and everything a reasonable woman could
ask. I want you to But there ! he's gone, and
it's too late P
Elsie following her glance through a window
ihey were passing, saw Mr. Embury's carriage
driving away.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 164
" Did he ask Molly to go with him ?" she in-
quired.
'' Yes, and she wouldn't do it ; though I did
all I could to make her. Come and speak to her
though, so she'll know better next time."
Molly sat in an attitude of dejection, her face
hidden in her hands, and did not seem conscious
of their entrance until Elsie's hand was softly
laid on her shoulder, while the pitying voice
asked, '-'What is the matter, Molly dear?"
Then the bowed head was lifted, and Elsie saw
that her eyes were full of tears, her cheeks wet
with them.
"Oh, Cousin Elsie," she sobbed, " don't ask
me to go with him. I must not. I must try to
keep away from him. Oh, why did we ever
meet ? Shall I ever be rid of this weary pain in
my heart?"
"Yes, dear child, it will pass away in timt>"
her cousin whispered, putting kind arms about
her. " He must stay away, and you will learn
to be happy again in your work, and, better still,
in the one love that can never fail you in this
world or the next."
" He is a good man, don't blame him," mur-
mured the poor girl, hiding her blushing face on
her cousin's shoulder.
" I will try not ; but such selfish thoughtless-
ness is almost unpardonable. He must not
come here any more."
" No. no : don't tell him that I don't let him
164 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
suspect that I care whether he does or not.
And he enjoys it so much, he is so lonely in his
own house."
"Do not fear that I will betray you, poor,
dear, unselfish child," Elsie said ; " but I must
protect you somehow. And, Molly dear, though
I believe married life is the happiest, where
there is deep, true love, founded on respect and
perfect confidence, I am quite sure that it is
possible for a woman to be very happy though
sha live single all her days. There is my dear
old Aunt Wealthy, for example ; she must be
now nearly ninety. I have knoAvn her for more
than twenty years, and always as one of the
cheeriest and happiest people I ever saw."
"Did she ever meet any one she cared for ?"
Molly asked, still hiding her face.
" Yes : she had a sore disappointment in her
young days, as she told me herself ; but the
wound healed in time."
Enna had seated herself in a low rocking-
chair by a window, and with hands folded in her
lap was keenly eying her daughter and niece.
" What are you two saying to each other ?"
she demanded. " You talk so low I can only
catch a word now and then ; but I don't believe,
Elsie, that you are coaxing Molly to behave as
I want her to."
"Poor mother!" sighed Molly; "she can't
understand it."
CHAPTER XV.
" Man's leve is of man's life a thing apart,
'Tis woman's whole existence." Byron:
FINDING her own thoughts full of Molly and
her troubles to the exclusion of everything else,
Elsie presently dismissed her little ones to their
play, spent a few moments in consulting her
best Friend, then went in search of her father.
She would not betray Molly even to him, but
it would be safe, helpful, comforting to confide
her own doubts, fears and anxieties.
She found him in the library, and alone. He
was standing before a window with his back to-
ward her as she entered, and did not seem to
hear her light footsteps till she was close at his
side ; then turning hastily, he caught her in his
arms, strained her to his breast, and kissed her
again and again with passionate fondness.
"What is it, papa?" she asked in surprise, look-
ing up into his face and seeing it full of emotion
that seemed a strange blending of pain and
pleasure.
" My darling, my darling !" he said in low,
tremulous tones, holding her close, and repeat-
ing his caresses, " how shall I ever make up to
you for the sorrows of your infancy ? the culpa-
166 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
We, heartless neglect with which your lather
treated you then ? I see I surprise you by re-
ferring to it now, but I have been talking with
one of the old servants who retains a vivid re-
membrance of your babyhood here, and your
heart-rending grief when forced away from your
home and almost all you had learned to love.
Such a picture of it has she given me that I
fairly long to go back to that time and take my
baby girl to my heart and comfort her."
"Dear papa, I hardly remember it now," she
said, laying her head down on his breast ; " and
oh I have the sweetest memories of years and
years of the tenderest fatherly love and care '.
love and care that surround me still and form
one of my best and dearest earthly blessings. If
the Lord will, may we long be spared to each
other, my dear, dear father !"
His response was a fervent "Amen," and sit-
ting down upon a sofa, he drew her to a seat by
his side.
" I have come to you for help and advice in a
new difficulty, papa," she said. " I fear I have
made a sad mistake in allowing Mr. Embury's
visits here ; and yet I cannot exclude from my
house gentlemen visitors of unexceptionable
character."
" No ; and he appears to be all that, and
more a sincere, earnest Christian. But what
ia it that you regret or fear ? Elsie is engaged,
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 16?
Violet very young, and for Isa supposing there
were any such prospect it would be a most
suitable match."
" But Molly ?"
" Molly I" he exclaimed with a start. " Poor
child ! she could never think of marriage !"
"No, papa, but hearts don't reason and love
comes unbidden."
" And you think she cares for him ?"
" It would not be strange if she should ; he is a
very agreeable man, and Did you notice them
last night ? I thought his actions decidedly
loverlike, and there was something in her face
that made me tremble for the poor child's fu-
ture peace of mind."
" Poor child !" he echoed ; " poor, poor child I
I am glad you called my attention to it. I must
give Embury a hint : he cannot, of course, be
thinking what he is about : for I am sure he is
not the heartless wretch he would be if he could
wreck her happiness intentionally."
" Thank you, dear papa. You will know ex-
actly how to do it without the least compromise
of the dear girl's womanly pride and delicacy of
feeling, or offending or hurting him.
"You spoke just now of Isa," she went on
presently. " I should be glad if she and Mr.
Embury fancied each other ; such a match would
be very pleasing to Aunt Louise on account of
his wealth and social position, little as she would
like his piety, but "
168 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
" Well, daughter ?"
"Have you noticed how constantly Cyril
geeks her companionship ? how naturally the
others leave those two to pair off together?
They sit and read or chat together by the hour
out yonder under the trees ; scarce a day passes
without its long, lonely ramble or ride. He
talks to her of his work too, in which his whole
heart is engaged ; listens attentively to all she
says turning in the most interested way to her
for an opinion, no matter what subject is broach-
ed ; listens with delight to her music too, and
sometimes reads his sermons to her for the bene-
fit of her criticism, or consults her in regard to
his choice of a text."
Mr. Dinsmore's countenance expressed ex-
treme satisfaction. " I am glad of it," he said ;
"they seem made for each other."
" But Aunt Louise, papa ?"
" Will not fancy a poor clergyman for a son-
in-law, yet will consider even that better than
not seeing her daughter married at all. And if
the two most intimately concerned are happy
and content, what matter for the rest ?"
" Oh papa !" Elsie returned with a smile that
had something of old-time archness in it, "have
not your opinions in regard to the rights of
parents and the duties' of children changed
somewhat since my early girlhood ?"
" Circumstances alter cases," he answered with
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 169
a playful caress. " I should never have object-
ed to so wise a choice as Isa's always suppos-
ing that she has made the one we are talking
of."
"And you will not mind if Aunt Louise
blames you ? or me ?"
" I shall take all the blame and not mind it
in the least."
Yes, Cyril Keith and Isadore Conly were made
for each other, and had become conscious of the
fact, though no word of love had yet been
spoken.
To him she was the sweetest and loveliest of
her sex, in whom he found a stronger union
of beauty, grace, accomplishments, sound sense
and earnest piety than in any other young lady
of his acquaintance ; while to her he was the
impersonation of all that was truly noble, manly
and Christian.
They were dreaming love's young dream, and
found intense enjoyment each in the other's so-
ciety, especially amid all the loveliness of nature
that surrounded them.
Cyril's was a whole-hearted consecration to his
divine Master and that loved Master's work, but
this human love interfered not in any way with
that, for it is of God's appointment.
" ' And the Lord God said, It is not good that
the man should be alone ; I will make him an
help meet for him.' 'Whoso findeth a wife
170 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
findeth a good thing, and obtainetli favour of
the Lord.'"
" How like you that is, papa dear," Elsie
said ; " but it would be easier to me to bear
blame myself than to have it heaped upon
you. I suppose, though, that it would be use-
less to attempt any interference with the course
of true love ?"
"Yes; we will simply let them alone."
Mr. Dinsmore rode over to Magnolia Hall
that afternoon to seek an interview with its
owner ; but learned that he was not at home,
and might not be for a day or two. No one
knew just when he would return. So the
only course now left seemed to be to wait till
he should call again at Viarnede.
He had been an almost daily visitor of late,
and often sent some token of remembrance by
a servant fruit, flowers, game or fish, or it
might be a book from his library which was
not found in theirs.
But now one, two, three days passed and
nothing was seen or heard of him.
Sad, wearisome days they were to Molly : men-
tal labor was next to impossible ; she could not
even read with any enjoyment ; her heart was
heavy with grief and unsatisfied longing, inten-
sified by her mothers constant reiteration,
" You've offended him, and he'll never come
again ; you've thrown away the best chance a
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 171
girl ever had ; and you'll never see another like
it."
Then it was unusually long since she had
heard from Dick ; and she had waited for news
from a manuscript which had cost her months
of hard work, and on which great expectations
were based, till her heart was sick with hope de-
ferred.
It was on the morning of the fourth day that
Molly, having persuaded her mother to go for a
walk with her grandfather and Mrs. Carrington,
summoned a servant and desired to be taken out
into the grounds.
She sat motionless in her chair gazing in
mournful silence on all the luxuriant beauty that
surrounded her, while the man wheeled her up
one walk and down another.
At length, " That will do, Joe," she said;
" you may stop the chair under that magnolia
yonder, and leave me there for an hour."
"Fse 'fraid you git tired, Miss Molly, and no-
body roun' for to wait on you," he remarked
when he had placed her in the desired spot.
"No ; I have the bell here, and it can be heard
at the house. I have a book, too, to amuse my-
self with : and the gardener yonder is within
eight. You need not fear to leave me."
He walked away and she opened her book.
But she scarcely looked at it. Her thoughts
were busying themselves with something else,
and her eyes were full of tears.
172 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
A quick, manly step on the gravel walk be-
hind her startled her and sent a vivid color over
face and neck.
" Good morning, Miss Percival ; I am fortu-
nate indeed in finding you here alone," a voice
said, close at her side.
" Good morning,' Mr. Embury," she returned,
with a vain effort to steady her tones, and with-
out looking up.
He took possession of a rustic seat close to
which her chair was standing. "Molly, my
dear Miss Molly," he said, in some agitation,
"I fear I have unwittingly offended."
"No, no, no!" she answered, bursting into
tears in spite of herself. " There, what a baby
lam!" dashing them angrily away. "I wish
you wouldn't come here and set me to crying."
" Let me tell you something, let me ask you
one question ; and then if you bid me, I will go
away and never come near you again," he said,
taking her hand and holding it fast. "Molly, I
love you. I want you to be my wife. Will
you?"
" Oh you don't mean it ! you can't mean it I
no man in his senses would want to marry me
a poor helpless cripple !" she cried, trying to pull
the hand away, " and it's a cruel, cruel jest !
Oh how can you !" and covering her face with
the free hand, she sobbed as if her heart would
break.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 173
" Don't, don't, dear Molly," he entreated.
*' I am not jesting, nor am I rushing into this
thing hastily or thoughtlessly. Your very help-
lessness draws me to you and makes you doubly
dear. I want to take care of you, my poor
child. I want to make up your loss to you as
far as my love and sympathy can ; to make your
life bright and happy in spite of your terrible
trial."
" You are the noblest, most unselfish man I
ever heard of," she said, wiping away her tears
to give him a look of amazement and admira-
tion ; " but I cannot be so selfish as to take all
when I can give nothing in return."
" Do you call yourself with your sweet face,
cheery disposition, brilliant talents, and conver-
sational powers that render you the most enter-
taining and charming of companions nothing ?
I think you a greater prize than half the women
who have the free use of all their limbs."
"You are very kind to say it."
"No, I am not, for it is the simple, unvar-
nished truth. Molly, if you can love me, I
should rather have you than any other woman
on earth. How your presence would brighten
my home ! I give all indeed ! you will be
worth more to me than all I have to give in re-
turn. Molly, have you no love to bestow upon
poor me ?"
She had ceased the struggle to free her hand
174 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
from the strong yet tender clasp in which it
was held, but her face was averted and tears
were falling fast. His words had sent a thrill
of exquisite joy to her heart, but instantly it
changed to bitter sorrow.
" You cannot have counted the cost/' she
said. " I am poor ; I have nothing at all but
the pittance I earn by my pen. And think : I
can never walk by your side : I cannot go
about your house and see that your comfort is
not neglected, or your substance wasted. I can-
not nurse you in sickness or wait upon you in
health as another woman might. Oh cannot
you see that I have nothing to give you in return
for all you in your wonderful generosity are
offering to me ?"
" Your love, dear girl, and the blessed priv-
ilege of taking care of you, are all I ask, all I
want can you not give me these ?"
" Oh, why do you tempt me so ?" she cried.
" Tempt you ? would it be a sin to love me ?
to give yourself to me when I want you so much,
so very much ?"
" It seems to me it would be taking advantage
of the most unheard-of generosity. What wo-
man's heart could stand out against it ?"
" Ah, then you do love me !" he exclaime I. in
accents of joy, and lifting her hand to his ' lips.
" You will be mine ? my own dear wife ? a
sweet mother to my darlings. I have brought
ELSIE 8 WIDO WHOOD. 175
them with me, that their beauty and sweetness,
their pretty innocent ways, may plead my cause
with you, for I know that you love little chil-
dren." He was gone before she could reply,
and the next moment was at her side again,
bearing in his arms two lovely little creatures of
three and five.
" These are my babies," he said, sitting down
with one upon each knee. " Corinna," to the
eldest, " don't you want this sweet lady to come
and live with us and be your dear mamma? "
The child took a long, searching look into
Molly's face before she answered ; then, with a
bright, glad smile breaking like sunlight over
her own, " Yes, papa, I do ! she said, emphati-
cally. " Won't you come, pretty lady ? Madie
and I will be good children, and love you ever
so much. " And she held up her rosebud mouth
for a kiss.
Molly gave it very heartily.
" Me, too you mustn't fordet to tiss Madie,"
the little one said.
Molly motioned the father to set the child in
her lap, and, putting an arm about Corinna,
petted and fondled them both for a little, the
mother instinct stirring strongly within her the
while.
" There, that will do, my pets ; we must not
tire the dear lady," Mr. Embury said presently,
lifting his youngest and setting her on her feet
176 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
beside her sister. " Go back now to your
mammy. See, yonder she is, waiting for you."
"What darlings they are." Molly said, follow-
ing them with wistful, longing eyes.
"Yes. Ah, can your heart resist their
appeal ?"
"How could I, chained to my chair,, do a
mother's part by them ?" she asked mournfully,
and with a heavy sigh.
" Their physical needs are well attended to,"
he said, again taking her hand, while his eyes
sought hers with wistful, pleading tenderness ;
"it is motherly counsels, sympathy, love they
want. Is it not in your power to give them all
these ? I would throw no burdens on you, love ;
I only aim to show you that the giving need not
necessarily be all on my side, the receiving all
on yours."
"How kind, how noble you are," she said, in
moved tones. " But your relatives ? your other
children ? how would they feel to see you joined
for life to a "
"Don't say it," he interrupted, in tones oi
tenderest compassion. " My boys will be drawn
te you by your helplessness, while they will be
Tery proud of your talents and your sweetness.
I have no other near relatives but two brothers,
who have no right to concern themselves in the
matter, nor will be likely to care to do so. But,
O, dearest girl, what shall I, what can I say to
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 17?
convince you that you are my heart's desire ?
that I want you, your love, your dear compan-
ionship, more than tongue can tell ? Will you
refuse them to me ?"
She answered only with a look, but it said all
he wished.
"Bless you, darling !" he whispered, putting
his arm about her, while her head dropped upon
his shoulder, "you have made me very happy."
Molly was silent, was weeping, but for very
gladness ; her heart sang for joy ; not that a
beautiful home, wealth, and all the luxury and
ease it could purchase, would now be hers, but
that she was loved by one so noble and generous,
so altogether worthy of her highest respect, her
warmest affection, the devotion of her whole-
life, which she inwardly vowed should be his. She
would strive to be to him such a wife as Elsie
had been to her husband, such a mother to his
children as her sweet cousin was to hers.
CHAPTER XVI.
" j saw her, and I loved her
I sought her, and I won."
" Across the threshold led.
And every t-ear kiss'd off as soon as shed.
His house she enters, there to be a light
Shining within, when all without is night ;
A guardian angel, o'er his life presiding,
Doubling his pleasure, and his cares dividing."
Roger.
" You declined a drive with me the last time
I asked you," Mr. Embury remarked, breaking
a momentary silence that had fallen between
them, " but will you not be more gracious to-
day ? My carriage is near at hand, and I have
a great desire to take you for an airing you and
the babies."
Blushing deeply, Molly said, "Yes, if you
wish it, and will bring me back before I am
missed."
" I shall take good care of you, as who would
not of his own ?" be said, bending down to look
into her face with a proud, fond smile ; " yes,
you are mine now, dearest, and I shall never re-
sign my claim. Ah," as he lifted his head again,
" here comes your uncle, and I fancy he eyes me
with distrust. Mr. Dinsmore," and he stepped
forward with outstretched hand, "how do you
do, sir ? What do you say to receiving me into
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 179
the family ? I trust you will not object, for
this dear girl intends to give me the right to
call you uncle."
Mr. Dinsmore grasped the hand, looking in
silent astonishment from one to the other. He
read the story of their love in both faces Molly's
downcast and blushing, yet happy ; Mr. Em-
bury's overflowing with unfeigned delight.
" I assure you, sir," he went on, " I am fully
aware that she is a prize any man might be proud
to win. Your niece is no ordinary woman : her
gifts and graces are many and great."
" She is all that you have said, and even
more," her uncle returned, finding his voice.
"And yet you are quite sure that this is not a
sudden impulse for which you may some day be
sorry >"
He had stepped to Molly's other side and
taken her hand in his, in a protecting, fatherly
way. "It would wreck her happiness," he
added, in moved tones, "and that is very dear
to me."
" It cannot be dearer to you, sir, than it is to
me," the lover answered; "and rest assured
your fears are groundless. It is no sudden im-
pulse on my part, but deliberate action taken
after weeks of careful and prayerful considera-
tion. You seem to stand in the place of a father
to her ; will you give her to me ?"
" Mr. Embury, you arc i\ i .e noblest of men,
180 ELSI& b WIDOWHOOD.
and must forgive me that I had some suspicion
that you were thoughtlessly trifling with the
child's affections. I see you hare won her
heart, and may you be very happy together."
Mr. Dinsmore was turning away, but Mr.
Embury stopped him.
" Let me thank you, sir," he said, again hold-
ing out his hand. "We are going for a little
drive," he added, " and please let no one be
anxious about Miss Percival. I am responsible
for her safe return."
Molly's chair rolled on with rapid, steady
movement to the entrance to the grounds, where
Mr. Embury's carriage stood ; then she felt
herself carefully, tenderly lifted from one to the
other and comfortably established on a softly
cushioned seat.
How like a delightful dream it all seemed
the swift, pleasant motion through the pure,
sweet, fragrant air ; beautiful scenery on every
hand; the prattle of infant voices and the
whispers of love in her ear. Should she not
awake presently to its unreality ? awake to find
herself still the lonely, unloved woman she was
in her own esteem but an hour ago, and who by
reason of her sad infirmity could look forward
to nothing else through life ?
They turned in at an open gateway, and
Molly, suddenly rousing herself, said, in sur-
prise, " "We are entering some one's private
grounds, are we not ?"
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 181
" Yes," was the quiet reply, " but there is no
objection. The owner and I are on the most
intimate terms. I admire the place very much,
and want you to see it, so we will drive all
around the grounds." And he gave the order
to the coachman.
Molly looked and admired. "Charming!
almost if not quite equal to Viamedo."
His eyes shone. "Your taste agrees with
mine," he said. " Look this way. "We have a
good view of the house from here. What do
you think of it ?"
" That it is just suited to its surroundings,
and must be a delightful residence."
" So it is ; and I want to show you the inside
too. There's no objection," as he read hesita-
tion and disapproval in her face ; "the master
and mistress are not there, and in fact I have
charge of the place just now, and am quite at
liberty to show it to strangers."
The next moment they drew up before the
front entrance. Mr. Embury hastily alighted
and lifted out the little ones, saying in a low
tone something which Molly did not hear as he
set them down.
They ran in at the open door, and turning to
her agaip he took her in his strong arms and
bore her into a lordly entrance hall ; then on
through one spacious, elegantly furnished room
after another parlors, library, dining and
182 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
drawing-rooms moving slowly that she might
have time so gaze and admire, and now and then
setting her down for a few moments in an easy
chair or on a luxurious sofa, usually before a
rare painting or some other beautiful work of
art which he thought she would particularly en-
joy-
The children had disappeared, and they were
quite alone.
He had reserved a charming boudoir for the
last. Open doors gave tempting glimpses of
dressing and bedrooms beyond.
" These," he said, placing her in a delight-
fully easy, velvet cushioned chair, and standing
by her side, " are the apartments of the mis-
tress of the mansion, as you have doubtless al-
ready conjectured. What do you think of
them?"
" That they are very beautiful, very luxuri-
ous. And oh what a lovely view from yonder
window !"
" And from this, is it not ?" he said, stepping
aside and turning her chair a little that she
might see, through a vista of grand old trees,
the lagoon beyond sparkling in the sunlight.
"Oh that is finer still!" she cried. "I
should think one might almost be content to
live a close prisoner here."
" Then I may hope my dear wife will not be
nnhappy here ? will not regret leaving the
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 183
beauties of Viamede and the charming society
there for this place and the companionship of
its owner ? Molly, dearest, this is Magnolia
Hall ; you are its mistress, and these are your
own rooms," he said, kneeling by her side to
fold her to his heart with tenderest caresses.
" It is too much, oh you are too good to me !"
she sobbed, as her head dropped upon his
shoulder.
On leaving Mr. Embury and Molly, Mr. Bins
more hastened to join his wife and daughter,
who were sitting together on the lawn. The in-
terview between the lovers having taken place in
a part of the grounds not visible from where
they sat, they had seen nothing of it.
" You look like the bearer of glad tidings,
my dear," Rose remarked, glancing inquiringly
at her husband as he seated himself at her side.
''And so I am, wife," he answered joyously.
* Elsio, you may spare yourself any further re-
grets because of your kindness to Mr. Embury.
He is a noble, generous-hearted fellow, and very
much in love with our poor, dear Molly. They
are en gaged."
"Engaged?" echoed both ladies simultane-
ously, as much surprised and pleased as he had
hoped to see them.
"Yes," he said, and went on to repeat what
had passed between himself and the newly-
affianced pair.
184 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
" Dear Molly/' Elsie said with tears trembling
in her eyes, " I trust there are many very happy
days in store for her. And how pleased Aunt
Enna will be, she was so desirous to bring
about the match."
"Molly herself should have the pleasure of
telling her."
"Yes, indeed, papa."
"There is something else," Mr. Dinsmore
said. " At Mr. Embury's suggestion I wrote to
Dick two or three weeks ago, telling him that
there was a good opening for a physician here,
and asking if he would not like to come and
settle if pleased with the country. His answer
came this morning, and he will be with ns in a
few days."
"How glad I am !" was Elsie's exclamation.
" Molly's cup of happiness will be full to over-
flowing."
Rose, too, was rejoiced ; but she had heard
before of the invitation to Dick, and was less
surprised at this news than Elsie was.
The ladies had their work, Mr. Dinsmore the
morning paper, and the three were still sitting
there when Mr. Embury's carriage returned.
Molly's face was radiant with happiness ; Mr.
Embury's also ; and the faces of the friends who
gathered about them in the library, whither he
carried her, seemed to reflect the glad light IB
theirs.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 185
Everybody was rejoiced at Molly's good for-
tune, and pleased to receive Mr. Embury into
the family, for they all respected and liked
him.
Enna's delight on hearing the news was un-
bounded; she half smothered her daughter with
kisses, and exclaimed over and over again, "I
knew he wanted you! And didn't I tell you
there'd be somebody better worth having than
Elsie's lover coming after you some day? And
I'm as glad as can be that my girl's going to be
married the first of all before Louise's girls,
or Elsie's either!"
"I can't see that that makes the least differ-
ence, mother," Molly said, laughing for very
gladness. " But oh what a good and kind man
he is! and what a lovely home we are to have!
for, mother, he says you are to live with us al-,
ways if you like."
" Now that is nice!" Enna said, much gratL
fied. " And is it as pretty as Viamede?"
" It is almost if not quite as beautiful as Via-
mede, though not quite so large; both house
and grounds are, I believe, a little smaller."
" How soon are you going to be married?"
" I don't know just when, mother; the day
has not been set."
" I hope it will be soon, just as soon as we
can get you ready."
This was a little private chat in Molly's room
186 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
after Mr. Embury had gone away. She had
asked to have her chair wheeled in there, and
to be left alone with her mother while she told
her the news of her engagement.
" I must consult with uncle and aunt and
Cousin Elsie about that," she said in answer to
her mother's last remark. ""Will you please
open the door now and ask them to come ill?
I don't care if the rest come too."
" Well, Molly, when, where, and by whom is
the knot to be tied?" asked Mr. Dinsmore
playfully, as he stood by her side looking down
with a kindly smile at her blushing, happy
face.
tf uncle, so many questions at once!"
" Well, one at a time then: When?"
"That foolishly impatient man wanted me
to say to-night," she answered, laughing, and
when I told him how absurd an idea that
was, he insisted that a week was quite long
enough for him to go on living alone."
"A week!" exclaimed her aunt. "You
surely did not consent to that?"
" No," Aunt Hose, " but I believe I half con-
sented to try to make my preparations in two
weeks. I doubt if we can quite settle that
question now."
" There must be time allowed for furnishing
you with a handsome trousseau, my dear child/'
Elsie said, " but possibly it can be accomplished
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 187
in a fortnight. As to the next question where?
you surely will let it be here, in my house?"
" Gladly, cousin, if pleasing to you," Molly
answered with a grateful, loving look. "And
Mr. Keith shall officiate, if he will. Of course
it must be a very quiet affair; I should prefer
that under any circumstances."
"You will invite Dick, will you not?" her
uncle asked with a twinkle in his eye.
"Dick! oh the dear fellow! I ought to have
him. I wonder if I could persuade him to
leave his practice long enough to come. Two
weeks would give him time to get here if I
write at once."
" No need," her uncle replied. " Providence
permitting, he will be here in less than half
that time."
Then the whole story came out in answer to
Molly's look of astonished inquiry, and her cup
of happiness was indeed full to overflowing.
"Where did you drive, Molly?" asked Isa.
" But I suppose you hardly know; you could
see nothing but your companion?"
" Ah, Isa, do you judge of me by yourself?"
queried Molly gleefully. " By the way, though,
I had three companions. But don't I know
where I went?"
Then smiling, laughing, blushing, rosy and
happy as they had never seen her before, she
described the darling baby girls and the beauti'
ful home.
138 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOODS
But the sweet words of love that had been as
music to her ear were too sacred for any other.
She had quite a large and certainly very at-
tentive and interested audience, the whole family
having gathered in the room. Enna and the
young girls were especially delighted with tne
tale she had to tell.
" It's just like a story the very nicest kind
of a story!" cried Vi, clapping her hands in an
ecstasy of delight when Molly came to that
part of her narrative where she learned that she
herself was to be the mistress of the lordly
mansion she had entered as a stranger visitor,
with all its wealth of luxury and beauty.
The next two or three weeks were full of
pleasant bustle and excitement, preparations
for the wedding being pushed forward with all
possible dispatch, Mr. Embury pleading his
loneliness and that he wanted Molly's relatives
and friends to see her fairly settled in her new
home before they left Viamede for the North.
Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore, with Enna, Isa, the
younger Elsie and Violet, took a trip to New
Orleans and spent several days in shopping
there, laying in great store of rich, costly and
beautiful things for Molly's adornment.
Mr. Embury, too, paid a flying visit to the
city, which resulted in an elegant set of jewels
for his bride and some new articles of furniture
for her apartments.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 189
Dick arrived at about the expected time and
was joyfully welcomed. His surprise and de-
light in view of Molly's prospects were quite
sufficient 4o satisfy her, and so greatly was he
pleased with the country that in a few days he
announced his purpose to remain.
Cyril had received a unanimous call from the
two churches, and after mature deliberation ac-
cepted it, upon which Elsie doubled the salary
she had formerly paid, and told him playfully
and in private that if he would get a wife whom
she could approve she would repair, enlarge,
and refurnish the cottage.
" You are extremely kind and generous
cousin," he stammered, coloring deeply, " and
I I would be only too glad to follow out your
suggestion. "
"Well," she returned in the same playful
tone, "what is there to hinder?"
" The only woman I could fancy, could love,
is so beautiful, fascinating, accomplished, so al-
together attractive in every way, that I fear she
could hardly be expected to content herself with
a poor minister."
" I cannot say how that is," Elsie answered
with a smile, "but judging by myself I should
think she would give her hand wherever her
heart has gone ; and if I were a man I should
not despair until I had asked and been refused.
And, Cyril, though not rich in this world's
190 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
goods, I consider you a fit match for the highest
you who are a son of the King."
" That sonship is more to me than all the
world has to give," he said, looking at her with
glistening eyes, " but to others it may seem of
little worth."
"Not to any one who is of the right spirit to
he truly an helpmeet to you. I think I know
where your affections are set, my dear cousin,
and that by her the true riches are esteemed as
by you and me."
He thanked her warmly by word and look for
her kind sympathy and encouragement, and
there the interview ended.
But that night, when Elsie was about retiring,
Isa came to her, all smiles, tears and blushes, to
tell the story of love given and returned. She
and Cyril had spent the evening wandering
about the grounds alone together in the moon-
light, and he had wooed and won his heart's
choice.
"Dear Isa, I am very, very glad for you and
for Cyril," Elsie whispered, clasping her cousin
close, and kissing again vnd again the blushing
cheek. " I cannot wish anything better for
you than that you may be as happy in your wed-
ded life as my dear husband and I were."
"Nor could I ask a better wish," Isa returned
with emotion; "but ah! I fear I can never be
the perfect wife you were! And, cousin, I can
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 191
hardly hope for mamma's approval of my
choice."
" Do not trouble about that now; I think we
shall find means to win her consent."
" I think grandpa and uncle are sure to ap-
prove. "
" Yes; and they will be powerful advocates
with Aunt Louise; so I think you need not hesi-
tate to be as happy as you can," Elsie answered
with a smile. " Do you wish the matter kept
secret?"
" Mr. Keith is with grandpa and uncle now,"
Isa said, blushing, "and I don't care how soon
Aunt Rose and the girls and Dick know it; but
if you please, the rest may wait until mamma is
heard from."
Molly was delighted, though not greatly as-
tonished, when Isa told her the next morn-
ing.
" How nice that we shall be near neighbors,"
she exclaimed. " I wish you would just decide
to make it a double wedding."
"Thank you," laughed Isa; "do you forget
that it is now just one week from your appoint-
ed day? or do you think my trousseau could be
gotten up in a week, though it takes three for
yours?"
"I really didn't stop to think," Molly ac-
knowledged with a happy laugh; " but, Isa, you
are so beautiful that you need no finery to add
192 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
to your attractions, while my plainness requires
a good deal."
"Molly," Isa said, standing before her and
gazing fixedly and admiringly into the glad,
blooming face, "I think you have neglected
your mirror of late or you wouldn't talk so."
A great surprise came to Molly on the morn-
ing of her wedding day. Her cousin Elsie gave
her ten thousand dollars, and Mr. Embury set-
tled fifty thousand upon her, beside presenting
her with the jewels he had purchased a set of
diamonds and pearls.
Also she received many handsome presents
from uncle, aunt, brother and cousins, and from
Mr. Embury's children.
He had sent for his two boys, fine manly fellows
of ten and twelve, to be present at the marriage,
which was to take place in the evening, and had
brought them that morning for a short call
upon his chosen bride.
She and they seemed mutually pleased, and
Molly, who had been somewhat apprehensive
lest they should dislike the match, felt as if the
last stone were removed from her path.
She gratified Mr. Embury greatly by a re-
quest that the baby girls and all the servants from
Magnolia Hall might be present, and that he
would let Louis, his eldest son. stand up with
them as third groomsman, Dick and Harold
Travilla being first and second.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 193
Isa, the younger Elsie and Violet were the
bridesmaids, all wearing white for the occasion.
It was a very quiet wedding indeed, no one at
all present but the members of the two families,
servants included these last grouping them-
selves about the open door into the hall.
Molly sat in her chair looking very sweet and
pretty in white silk, point lace, and abundance
of orange blossoms freshly gathered from the
trees on the lawn.
The bridesmaids looked very lovely also;
groom and groomsmen handsome and happy.
Mr. Keith made the ceremony short but sol-
emn and impressive. The usual greetings and
congratulations followed ; Elsie's to the bride a
whispered hope, accompanied with tears and
smiles, that every year might find herself and
husband nearer and dearer to each other.
An elegant banquet succeeded, and shortly
after the happy bridegroom bore his new-made
wife away to her future home.
CHAPTER XVH.
" But happy they ! the happiest of their kind!
Whom gentler stars unite, and in one fate
Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend
. . , . . for naught but love
Can answer love, and render bliss secure."
Thomson's Seasons.
As no invitations to the wedding were to be
sent to relatives at a distance, it was thought
quite as well not to inform them of Molly's en-
gagement until after the marriage had taken
place; beside, as the preparations were so hur-
ried, no one had much time for correspondence.
Isadore Conly did not once during the three
weeks write to Eoselands, excusing herself on
the double plea that her last letter remained un-
answered, and that she was particularly busy
about the trousseau.
She found little time to spare from that
which was not taken up in walking or riding
with Cyril.
He proposed writing to her mother immedi-
ately after declaring his love; but she begged
him to delay a little till her grandfather and un-
cle should have time to consider how to bring
their influence to bear upon Mrs. Conly in the
way most likely to win her approval of his suit.
The day after the wedding saw a number of
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 195
letters directed to Roselands, dropped into the
Viamede mail-bag, and a few days later they
reached their destination.
The family consisting of Mrs. Conly, Cal-
houn, Arthur, Virginia, Walter (who was at
home for a few days on a furlough, being now
a lieutenant in the U. S. Army), and several
younger ones were at breakfast when Pomp
came in with the mail-bag.
Calhoun opened it and distributed the con-
tents.
" Letters from Viamede at last," he remarked;
"three for you, mother, from grandpa, uncle
and somebody else ; one for Walter (Diok's
handwriting ! I didn't know he was there) and
one for Virginia."
"From Isa," Virginia said as she glanced at
the superscription ; then tearing open the en-
velope, and glancing down the first page, " Molly
is married ! to a rich planter, too 1 Will won-
ders never cease !"
A simultaneous exclamation of surprise from
all present.
"Nonsense, Isa's hoaxing you," said Walter,
stirring his coffee. ' * Here, let me see the letter."
"No. Open your own."
" That's not in Isa's line," remarked Arthur,
" but really it is very astonishing news. What
does Dick say, Wai ? He went down there to
attend the wedding, I presume ?"
196 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
" Xo ; didn't know a word about it till he
got there," Walter said, giving a hasry perusal
to the not very lengthy epistle; " went to settle;
good opening for a doctor ; splendid country,
everything lovely, likes brother-in-law immense-
ly, is overjoyed at Molly's good luck, says she's
as happy as a queen."
" Which may mean much or little," remarked
Conly.
His mother cleared her throat emphatically,
and all eyes turned to her. She held an open
letter in her hand, and her face looked flushed
and angry.
" Isa, too, it seems, has lost her heart," she
said in a bitter, sarcastic tone ; " and with her
usual good sense, has bestowed it upon a poor
clergyman. Doubtless* he has heard of her
Aunt Delaford's intentions Elsie perhaps has
given him the hint, he being a relative of hers
and thinks he is securing a fortune. But if
Isa throws herself away in such fashion, Sister
Delaford may change her mind."
Calhoun and Arthur both repelled with
warmth the insinuation against Elsie ; the latter
adding that he thought Isa's personal charms
we^e quite sufficient of themselves to captivate
a man who was not in pursuit of wealth.
"And Isa," remarked Calhoun, "is so un-
worldly that wealth would be a matter of small
consideration to her where her heart was con-
cerned."
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 197
"A fact that should make her friends the
more careful how they encourage her in taking
a poor man," said the mother ; " but my father
and brother are both strongly in favor of this
adventurer's suit."
" Adventurer, mother ! I thought you said
he was a clergyman !"
" Well, Calhoun, I don't see any contradiction
there. But his name is Keith, and that ex-
plains it all, for my father was always very
partial to those relatives of his first wife.
Horace, too, of course."
" But as Isa is a good deal more nearly re-
lated to them, they are very fond of her, and,
men not easily deceived or taken in, I think we
may safely trust to their judgment. You won't
oppose what they so higiily approve, mother ?"
"I don't know ; must take time to think it
over. Do you and Arthur come with me to the
library," she said, rising with the letter in her
hand. "I see you have both finished your
breakfast,"
They rose instantly, and followed her from,
the room, Walter looking after them and mutter-
ing discontentedly, " I think mother might
take me into her counsels, too." j
"You are too young and foolish," said
Virginia.
" The first objection doesn't lie against you,
though the second may," he retorted. " You'd
198 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
better look to your laurels. Isa and Molly are
both well ahead of you."
" What of that ?" she said, reddening with
vexation. "Isa's two years older than I, and
taking a poor minister whom. I wouldn't look
at."
" Sour grapes," suggested her brother, teas-
ingly. " And Molly's not a year older than you,
and has married rich."
" A second-hand husband !" sneered Virginia;
at which Walter laughed uproariously.
" Virgie, Virgie, those grapes are terribly
sour !" he said. " But do let us hear what
Isa has to say about it."
"I haven't finished the letter; but there, take
it ; what do I care about her fine dresses and
presents, and the splendors of Magnolia Hall?"
"Well," he cried presently, "Cousin Elsie
did the thing handsomely ! and he's a splendid
fellow, if he is second-hand. No wonder Dick's
pleased. I only wish my sisters might all do
as well."
In the library Calhoun was saying, as he laid
down his uncle's letter, which he had just
read aloud, " Cousin Elsie is certainly the most
generous of women ! Mother, you could not
have read this when you uttered that insinu-
ation against her a few moments since ?"
Mrs. Conly colored violently under her son's
searching gaze.
ELSIE'S WIVOWHOOD. 199
"Twenty-five thousand is a mere trifle to
her," she said, bridling, "and you perceive she
promises Isa that dower in the event of her
marrying that poor relation of her own."
"It is extremely generous, nevertheless !" ex-
claimed both her sons in a breath.
" And I do not think it by any means a bad
match for Isa," Arthur went on " a good
man, of fine talent, receiving a very comfort-
able salary, a lovely home rent free, very little
-expense except for clothing, seeing they are
as uncle says to have all the fruit, vegetables,
nearly their whole living, in fact, from the
Viamede fields and orchards ; use of carriages
and horses too, whenever they like."
" No, it isn't so bad," their mother acknowl-
edged, "and if she gets her Aunt Delaford's
money, she will really be very far from poor.
But I dislike the thought of having her, with
her beauty and talents, buried, as one may say,
in that out-of-the-way corner of the world."
" But she chooses for herself, and ought to be
the best judge of what is for her own happiness,"
Calhoun said. " So you will consent, mother?"
" Oh yes, yes, of course ! But I'll take no
blame from your Aunt Delaford ; nor from Isa
either, if ever she sees cause to repent."
So a letter was sent that made glad the hearts
of the lovers, spite of some ungraciousness of
tone.
200 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
Isa's letter, giving, as it did, a minute de-
scription of the trousseau, the wedding, Magno-
lia Hall, Mr. Embury and his children, and
telling of the generous settlements upon the
bride made by him and her cousin Elsie, was
read and re-read by Mrs. Conly and Virginia
with great interest, which was yet not altogether
pleasurable.
They were glad that Molly had now a good
home of her own, and particularly that her
mother was to share it a home so far away from
Eoselands that Enna was not likely to trouble
them any more, for her feebleness of intellect
made her something of a mortification to them
of late years yet the good fortune of the poor
crippled niece and cousin was too great, too
strongly in contrast with their own rather strait-
ened circumstances, not to arouse some feelings
of envy and jealousy in persons of their haughty
and overbearing disposition. .
"Dear me, I wonder why some people have
all the good fortune and others none !" exclaimed
Virginia angrily. " I should say fifty thousand,
was quite enough fo^ Molly especially in addi>
tion to the rich husband and loads of handsome
presents and that ten thousand would have
been much better bestowed upon you or me,
mamma."
" You've only to get married, sis, and probably
she'll do the same handsome thing by you," re-
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 201
marked Walter, who happened to be within
hearing.
"Not she! I never had the good fortune to
be one of her favorites."
" Well, Isa can't say that, for she's certainly
doing the handsome thing by her."
"What?"
" So mother hasn't told you? She's promised
that the day Isa marries her cousin, Cyril Keith,
she'll hand over twenty-five thousand dollars to
them."
" That was to get mamma's consent. Mamma,
I wouldn't be bought if I were you," Virginia
said scornfully.
"You wouldn't?" laughed Walter. "I tell
you you'd sell yourself to-day to any man worth
half a million, or even something less."
" Walter, you are perfectly insulting," cried
Virginia, her eyes flashing and her cheek flush-
ing hotly. " I wish your furlough ended to-
day."
" Thank you, my very affectionate sister," he
said, bowing low as he stood before her. " Why
don't you wish I'd get shot in the next fight
with the Indians? Well, I'll tell you what it is,"
he went on presently, "if I were one of Cousin
Elsie's children Ed, for instance I'd enter a
pretty strong protest against these wholesale
acts of benevolence toward poor relations."
"She can afford it," said his mother loftily.
302 ELSIE' 8 WIDOWHOOD.
"and I must say I should have a much higher
appreciation of her generosity if she had given
Isa the money without any conditions attached."
"But Isa wouldn't, or I greatly mistake."
"Do you mean to say you think there has
been a conspiracy between them?" demanded
his mother, growing very red and angry.
" No, no, mother, nothing of the kind! but
Cousin Elsie is a woman of keen observation,
delicate tact and great discernment; and she
had Isa's happiness much at heart."
" Eeally," she sneered, " I have but just made
the delightful discovery that I have a Solomon
among my sons!"
" I think it was mean not to invite us to the
wedding," said Virginia.
" No; that was right enough," corrected her
mother; " being in deep mourning for her hus-
band, she could not, of course, give Molly any-
thing but the quietest sort of wedding."
" Well, Isa will come home to be married?"
" Of course; and I shall insist upon time to
have everything done properly and without any
one being hurried to death."
Immediately upon the reception of Mrs.
Conly's letter giving consent to the match be-
tween her daughter and Cyril Keith, the work
of adding to, repairing and improving the cot-
tage destined to be the future home of the young
couple was begun.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 203
It was a matter of great interest, not to Cyril
and Isa alone, but to the whole family of Dins-
mores and Tra villas; and their departure from
Viamede was delayed some weeks that Elsie and
frer father and grandfather might oversee and
direct the workmen.
It was going to be a really commodious and
beautiful residence when completed. Elsie de-
termined that it should be prettily furnished,
too, and found great pleasure in planning for
the comfort and enjoyment of these cousins.
And Molly's happiness was a constant delight
to her. There was daily intercourse between
Viamede and Magnolia Hall, Mr. Embury driv-
ing Molly over almost every day to see her rela-
tives, and Dick bringing his mother, usually on.
horseback.
Dick was making his home with his sister for
the present, at Mr. Embury's urgent request,
and was showing himself a good and affectionate
son to Enna.
The visits were returned, too, even Elsie go-
ing over frequently for a short call, because she
saw that Molly very keenly enjoyed being in a
position to extend hospitality to all her friends,
and especially herself, as one to whom she had
long been indebted for a happy home.
" Oh, cousin," Molly said to her one day
when they were alone together in her beautiful
boudoir, " I am so happy! my husband is so
204 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
kind, so affectionate! I cannot understand how
it is that he is BO fond and even proud of me
helpless cripple that I am. But I have learned
, to be thankful even for that," she added, tears
springing to her eyes, "because he says it was
that that first drew his attention to me; and,
strangely enough, his pity soon turned to admi-
ration and love. Oh he has such a big, gener-
ous heart!"
" He has indeed!" Elsie said. " But, Molly
dear, you underrate yourself. I do not wonder
that he admires and is proud of your brave,
cheerful courage under your hard trial, and of
your talents and the name you are making for
yourself as both a translator and original writer;
I hope you will not give up your work entirely
now that there is no pecuniary necessity for it,
for I think it is bringing a blessing to yourself
and to others."
" No, oh no; I shall not give it up while I can
believe it is doing something for the Master's
cause. Louis does not wish me to while I enjoy
it, and I find he is just the critic I need to help
me to improve. I had a letter from Virgie
yesterday," she went on with a happy laugh,
" congratulating me on being no longer com-
pelled to work, yet pitying me because I am a
stepmother."
" That does not trouble you?" Elsie said, in
quiringly.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 205
"Oh no! The hoys, Louis and Fred, are so
much like their father seeming to love me all
the better for my helplessness (by the way,
Louis, my husband, says it is a positive delight
to him to take me in his arms and lift me about)
and the baby girls are as lovely and dear as they
can be. I wouldn't for anything part with one
of the whole four."
"Dear child!" Elsie said, embracing her with
full heart and eyes, " I am so glad, so happy for
you that it is so! And how your mother and
brother seem to enjoy your good fortunes!"
" Yes; Dick is such a dear fellow ! and mother
really it is just a pleasure to see how she de-
lights in it all. And I think she couldn't be
fonder of the children if she were their own
grandmother."
" How glad, how thankful I am that we came
to Viamede this winter," Elsie said, after a mo-
ment's silent musing; " grandpa has so entirely
recovered his health in consequence, a favorable
opening has been found for Dick, and four other
people are made happy in mutual love who
might, perhaps, never have met otherwise all
this, beside dear Mrs. Carrington having the
melancholy pleasure of nursing her poor nephew
through his last illness. How true is the prom-
ise, ' In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he
shall direct thy paths.'"
" You take a very unselfish delight in other
206 ESIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
people's happiness, cousin," Molly remarked.
" And Isa is very happy."
" Yes, and Cyril too," Elsie answered with a
smile. "I sometimes think my Elsie half en-
vies them thinking of Lester so far away. But
her turn will come too, I trust, poor, dear child I"
May was well advanced, the weather already
very warm in the Teche country when at last
our friends set out upon their return to their
more northern homes.
Everything there was looking very lovely on
their arrival. Friends, kindred and servants
rejoiced over their return, all in good health.
Elsie and her children took up again the old,
quiet life at Ion, missing Molly not a little, and
feeling afresh, for a time, the absence of one far
nearer and dearer.
Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore spent some weeks
with their other children, then again made their
home at Ion, at Elsie's urgent solicitation. In
the loneliness of her widowhood she knew not
how to do without her father.
In order to secure her cousin Elsie's presence
at her wedding, Isa insisted upon a very quiet
one, only relatives and very intimate friends to
be invited to witness the ceremony; but to please
her mother and Virginia, there was afterward a
brilliant reception. The marriage took place
the last of June, and the next two months were
spent principally among Cyril's relatives at the
North,
CHAPTER XVIII.
** TLe sea : the sea ' the open sea I
TLe blue, the fresh, the ever free 1"
Proctor.
THE summer vacation brought Edward Tra-
villa home just in time for his cousin Isa's wed-
ding. He had grown so manly and so like his
father in appearance that at sight of him his
mother was much overcome.
His first, his warmest, tenderest greeting was
for her. He held her to his heart, his own too
full for speech, while she wept upon his shoul-
der.
But only for a moment; lifting her head, she
gazed long and searchingly into his face, then,
with a sigh of relief, " Thank God," she whis-
pered, " that I can believe my boy has come
back to me as pure and innocent as he went !"
" I hope so, mother; your love, your teachings
and my father's have been my safeguard in many
an hour of temptation," he answered with emo-
tion.
" Did you not seek help from above, my son?"
she asked gently.
" Yes, mother; you had taught me to do so,
and I knew that you, too, were daily seeking it
for me."
208 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
"Yes, my dear boy; I think there was scarce
a waking hour in which I did not ask a blessing
on my absent son."
The mother dried her tears; grandparents,
brothers and sisters drew near and embraced the
lad, servants shook him by the hand, and Ion
was filled with rejoicing as never before since
the removal of its master and head.
Tongues ran nimbly as they sat about the tea-
table and on the veranda afterward; so much
had happened to the young collegian, so many
changes had taken place in the family connec-
tion since he went away, that there was a great
deal to tell and to hear on both sides.
The voices were blithe, and there was many a
silvery peal of laughter mingled with the pleas-
ant, cheery talk.
Isa's and Molly's matches were discussed in a
most kindly way, for Edward was quite curious
to hear all about them and the preparations for
the approaching wedding.
Cyril had arrived earlier in the day, was tak-
ing tea at Koselands, but would pass the night
at Ion, which Edward was glad to hear, as he
wished to make his acquaintance.
A summer at the sea-shore had been decided
upon some weeks ago, and Edward, to his great
gratification, had been empowered to select a
cottage for the family to occupy during the sea-
son, his Aunt Adelaide and her husband assist-
ing him with their advice.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 209
He announced with much satisfaction that he
had secured one that he thought would accom-
modate them well several guests in addition, if
mamma cared to invite any of her friends and
please every one.
"It is large, convenient, well even hand-
somely furnished and but a few yards from the
shore," he said. " The country is pretty about
there, too pleasant walks and drives through
green lanes, fields and woods."
"But where is it, Edward?" asked Violet.
"Not far from Long Branch; and there are
some half-dozen other sea-side places within easy
driving distance."
There were exclamations of delight and impa-
tience to be there from the younger ones, while
the mother covered up with a smile and a few
words of commendation to Edward the pain in
her heart at the thought that her best beloved
would not be with his wife and children beside
the sea this summer, as in former years.
Her father and Eose were thinking of that,
too, with deep sympathy for her.
In a moment the same thought presented it-
self to Edward and Violet, and they drew closer
to their mother with loving, caressing looks and
words. But memories of Lester, and their
walks and talks together when last she was at
the sea-shore, were filling the mind of the
younger Elsie with emotions, half of pleasure,
210 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
half of pain. When should they meet again?
Then the sudden silence that had fallen upon
the group about her mother, and a glance at
that loved mother's face, reminded her also of
the father who would return no more, and whose
companionship had been so dear a delight to her
and to them all.
It was Kosie who broke the silence at length
" Mamma, can we not go pretty soon ?"
"Yes, daughter, in about a week."
The journey was made without accident, th*
cottage and its vicinity found to be all that Ed-
ward had represented.
They had brought some of their own servants
with them, and had nothing to do with hotel cv
boarding-house life. Elsie had always loved the
quiet and seclusion of home, and clung to it now,
more than ever ; yet for her children's sake she
would not shut out society entirely ; both Ed-
ward and his sisters were free to invite theit
young friends to partake of the hospitalities o (
their mother's house, but without noise or rev-
elry, for which indeed, they themselves had no
heart.
For a while the society of his mother and sis
ters was quite sufficient for Edward and his fof
them they were all so strongly attached to eacl
other and he had been so long away from honu?
that it was very delightful to be together once
more.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 2H
Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore were at that time visit-
ing relatives in Philadelphia and its vicinity, and
his grandfather's absence gave Edward the long
coveted opportunity to try how nearly he could
fill his father's place as his mother's earthly
prop. It was a dear delight to have her lean
upon his arm, rely upon his strength, consult
him about business or family matters.
He was very proud and fond of his lovely sifr-
ters ; prouder and fonder still of his sweet and
beautiful mother. He quite longed to show her
to all his college friends, yet would not for the
world have her grief intruded upon by them,
with their thoughtless gayety.
During these weeks that they were entirely
alone she gave herself up wholly to her children,-
seeking to secure to them the greatest possible
amount of innocent enjoyment. No tasks were
set, there was no attempt at regular employ-
ment, and almost the whole day was spent in
the open air ; together they sported in the surf,
strolled on the beach, or sat in the sand revelling
in the delicious sea breeze and the sight of the
ever restless, ever changing, beautiful ocean, with
its rolling, tumbling, dashing waves. They
were there early in the morning, sometimes in
season to watch the sun rise out of the water; and
often again when the silvery moonlight lent its
witchery to the scene.
But there came a day when the rain poured
212 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
down so continuously and heavily that they
were glad to take refuge from it in the house.
They gathered in a room overlooking the sea,
the ladies with their fancy work, Eosie with her
doll, while Harold and Herbert helped little
Walter to build block houses, and Edward rea<*
aloud a story selected by the mother, as enter-
taining and at the same time pure and whole-
some.
She was careful in choosing their mental food;
she would no sooner have suffered her children's
minds to be poisoned than their bodies.
As Edward closed the book upon the comple-
tion of the story, "Mamma, "said the younger
Elsie, " do you quite approve of all the teachings
the author has given there? or perhaps I should
rather say the sentiments she has expressed."
" Not quite, but what is it you do not ap-
prove ?" the mother answered with an affec-
tionate and pleased look at the earnest face of
the questioner. "lam glad to see that you are
not ready to be carried about with every wind
of doctrine."
" It is her comment upon her heroine's effort
to escape from her trouble by asking help from
God. She speaks as if, had the girl been older
and wiser, she would have known that God had
the welfare and happiness of other people to
consult as well as hers, and couldn't be expected
to sacrifice them for her sake."
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 213
"Well, daughter?"
"It seems to me to show a very low estimate
of God's power and wisdom. Since he is infinite
in both, can he not so order events as to secure
the best good to all his creatures?"
" Yes, my child, I am sure he can, and we need
never fear that he is not able and willing to help
his people in every time of trouble. * The name of
the Lord is as trong tower: the righteous runneth
into it, and is safe.' "The righteous cry, and
the Lord heareth, and delivereth them out of all
their troubles.' He does not always answer just
as we desire, it is true, but often in a better
way. for we, in our folly and short-sightedness,
sometimes ask what would prove in the end a
curse instead of a blessing."
"Mamma, how happy we should be if we
had perfect faith and trust," said Violet.
" Yes ; if we fully believed the inspired assur-
ance, We know that all things work together
for good to them that love God,' we should not
fret or grieve over losses, crosses or disappoint-
ments. Strive after such faith, my children,
and pray constantly for it, for it is the gift of
God."
There was a little pause, broken only by Wal-
ter's prattle, the plash of the rain and the mur-
mur of the sea.
Edward seemed in deep thought. Taking a
low seat at his mother's knee, "Mamma," he
214 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
said, " I want to have a talk with you, and per*
haps this is as good a time as any."
"Well, my dear boy, what is it ?"
" Do you think, mamma, that I ought to go
into the ministry ?"
"My son," she said, looking at him in some
surprise, "that is not a question to be decided
in a moment, or without asking God's guidance."
"You would be willing, mother ?"
" More than willing glad and thankful if I
saw reason to believe that you were called of God
to that work. To be truly an embassador of Christ
is, in my esteem, to stand higher than any of
earth's potentates, yet if your talents do not lie
in that direction I would not have you there.
It is every man's duty to serve God to the utmost
of his ability, but all are not called to the min-
istry; some can do far better service in other
walks of life, and I should prefer to have a eon
of mine a good carpenter, mason or shoemaker,
rather than a poor preacher."
" You do not mean poor in purse, mamma ?"
queried Harold, joining the little group.
"No; a poor sermonizer one lacking the
requisite talents, diligence or piety to proclaim
God's truth with faithfulness and power."
" How can one tell to what work he is called,
mamma ?" Edward asked, with an anxious, per-
plexed look.
" By watching the leadings of God's proyi-
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 315
dence and by earnest prayer for his direction. Al-
so I think if a lad has a decided bias for any one
profession or employment it is a pretty sure in-
dication that that is what he is called to; for we
can almost always do best what we most enjoy
doing."
" Then I think I should study medicine," said
Harold, "for I should very greatly prefer that
to anything else. And don't you think, mamma,
that a doctor may do really as much good as a
minister?"
"Quite as much if he be a devoted, earnest
Christian, ready to do good as he has opportu-
nity: therefore I entirely approve your choice."
" Thank you, mamma. So I consider it quite
settled," Harold returned with a look of great
satisfaction. "Now, Ed and Herbie, what will
you be?"
"As Herbert never likes to be separated from
you, I presume he too will choose medicine,"
the mother remarked, with a smiling glance at
her third son, as he too came and stood at her
side.
"I don't know, mamma; it seems to me doc-
tors have a dreadfully hard life."
" Ah! I fancy a life of elegant leisure would
suit you best, my laddie," laughed his eldest
brother.
But the mother's look was grave and a little
Anxious.
216 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
Herbert saw it. " Don't be troubled about
me, mamma dear," he said, putting his arms
round her neck and gazing lovingly into her
eyes. "I do mean to fight against my natural
laziness. But do you think I ought to choose
so very hard a life as Harold means to?"
"Not if you have talent for something useful
which would better suit your inclinations. Can
you think of any such thing?"
" Couldn't I be a lawyer?"
" You could never rise to eminence in that
profession without a great deal of hard work."
"An author then?"
"The same answer will fit again, "his mother
returned with a slight smile. " Has not your
Cousin Molly worked very hard for a number of
years?"
Herbert drew a long, deep sigh, then bright-
ening, "I might be a publisher," he said. "I
don't suppose they work very hard, and they
can have all the new books to read."
" Oh, Herbie," said Violet, " think of the
great number of letters they must have to write,
and manuscripts to read, beside many other
things."
" No, my boy, you cannot do or be anything
worth while without work, and a good deal of
it," said his mother. " So I hope you will make
it your earnest, constant prayer that you may
have grace to overcome your besetting sin of in-
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 217
dolence, and to ( be not slothful in business ;
fervent in spirit; serving the Lord. The Bible
bids us, ' Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do,
do it with thy might. Whatsoever ye do, do
it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto
men."'
"Edward, you have not told us yet what you
wish to be," said his sister Elsie.
" My inclination," he answered in grave, ear-
nest tones, " is to take my father's place in every
way possible, first in the care of my darling,
precious mother," taking her hand and lifting
it to his lips, "after that in cultivating the Ion
plantation and making myself a good, upright,
useful church-member and citizen."
"A worthy ambition, my boy," the mother
said with emotion; " my strong desire is that
you may follow as closely as possible in the foot-
steps of your honored father. I never knew a
better man, in the pulpit or out of it. His was
a truly Christian manhood, and, like his Master,
he went about doing good."
"Then, mother, with your approval my choice
is made; and with your permission I shall spend
some time in an agricultural college, after fin-
ishing the course where I am."
"You shall do as you wish; you shall have
every advantage I can give you. My other boys
also, if they will improve them."
" Your girls, too, mamma?" asked Rosie.
218 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
" Yes, indeed," mamma answered, bestowing
a smile and a kiss upon the young questioner.
At that moment the tea-bell summoned them
to their evening meal. Edward took his father's
seat at the table, his father's place in asking a
blessing upon the food.
As they left the. table they perceived that the
rain had ceased; the clouds had broken away
from the setting sun, and its red light streamed
over the dark waters like a pathway of fire.
They were all gathered on the porch, watch-
ing, as usual, the changing beauty of the sea
and the clouds, when a young man, in the un-
dress uniform of a lieutenant in the army, open-
ed their gate, and came with a brisk, manly
step up the walk leading to the house.
As he drew near, he lifted his military cap,
bowed low to the ladies, then, stepping upon
the porch, handed a card to Mrs. Travilla.
"Donald Keith," she read aloud, and holding
out her hand with a sweet, welcoming smile,
"How do you do, cousin?" she said; "I am
very glad to see you. But to which branch do
you belong?"
"lam a younger brother of the Eeverend
Cyril Keith, lately married to a Miss Conly,"
the young officer answered, as he took the offer-
ed hand. " He wrote me of your great kind-
ness to him, and when I learned, a few hours
since, who were the occupants of this cottage, I
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 219
felt that I must come and thank you. I hope I
do not intrude, cousin?"
" No, indeed; we are always ready to welcome
relatives. Now let me introduce these other
cousins my boys and girls."
The young man spent the whole evening in
the company of these new-found relatives, and
went away highly delighted with them all.
He had several weeks' furlough, was staying
at a hotel near by, and promised himself great
enjoyment in the society of the dwellers in the
cottage.
And they were pleased with hiir.
" He seems a very nice, clever fellow, moth-
er," Edward remarked.
"Yes," she said, "he has very agreeable
manners and talks well; and knowing that he
comes of a godly race, I hope we shall find him
in all respects a suitable companion for you and
your sisters. I am glad of his coming for your
sakes, for I fear you may have felt the want of
young society."
"Oh, no, mamma," they all protested, "we
could not have enjoyed ourselves better. It has
been so nice to have you quite to ourselves. *
CHAPTER XIX.
" A mother is a mother still,
The holiest thing alive,"
Coleridge.
THE next morning's mail brought a letter
from Mr. Dinsmore, announcing his speedy
coming with his wife, father, Mr. and Mrs.
Edward Allison, and several of their children.
" There's an end to our good times !" sighed
Violet.
" Shall you be so Yery sorry to see your
grandpa ?" her mother asked with a slight
Bmile, knowing that her father was dearly loved
by all her children, and by none more than by
Violet herself.
" Oh no, mamma; nor grandma, nor any of
them," was the quick reply ; " only it was so
nice to have you so entirely to ourselves."
" Haven't you enjoyed it too, mamma ?"
asked several voices, while every face turned
eagerly and inquiringly to hers.
( "'Yes, indeed, my darlings," she said; " and
yet so dearly do I love my father that my heart
bounds at the very thought that he will ba with
me again in a few hours,"
"Then, mamma, we are all glad for you,"
Elsie said : Violet adding, "and for ourselves,
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 221
too ; for it is nice to have grandpa and grandma
with us ; and Aunt Adelaide also : she is always
so kind."
** Very different from Aunt Louise," remark
ed Edward. ' Who would ever think they were
sisters ! Isa and Virginia are quite as unlike,
too, though they are sisters. I hope Aunt Louise
and her old-maid daughter won't visit us this
summer !"
" Edward I" his mother said in a tone of re-
proof.
" Excuse me, mother," he said; " but if I dis-
like them, it is because they have always treated
you so badly."
" They have never done me any injury, my
son," she answered, with gentle gravity, ' and I
would not have you feel unkindly toward them;
much less am I willing to hear you speak of
them as you did just now. Virginia is not an
old maid, and if she were I should be sorry to
have you apply that epithet to her."
"She is several years older than I am,
mother," he said, blushing.
"About three ; and you are only a boy."
Edward felt this as the most cutting rebuke
his gentle mother had ever administered to
him, for he had begun to think of himself as
a man, old enough and strong enough to be his
mother's stay and support, and a guide to his
younger brothers and sisters.
g23 ELSIE' 3 WIDOWHOOD,
But sensible that he had deserved the reproof,
he bore it in silence ; yet could not rest until,
seizing an opportunity to speak to her without
being overheard by others, "Dear mamma,"
he whispered, looking beseechingly into her
eyes, "will you not forgive my thoughtless, un-
charitable speech of this morning ?"
" Certainly, my dear boy," she answered with
one of her sweetest smiles, " and I trust you will
try to cultivate more kindly feelings toward
your grandpa's sister and niece, for his sake, and
because it is a Christian duty."
Mr. Dinsniore and his party arrived that after-
noon, and the next day were followed by Mrs.
Conly and Virginia.
" We thought we would give you a surprise/
was the greeting of the former; " the heat and
threats of yellow fever drove us North ^ scat-
tered the younger children pbout among other
relatives, leaving several at your house, Adelaide,
then came on here with Virgie, knowing that
Elsie would of course have room enough for us
two."
" "We will find room for you, Aunt Louise,"
Elsie said with pleasant cordiality, and trying
hard to feel rejoiced at their coming.
A very difficult task, as they never were at
the slightest pains to make themselves agreeable,
and the house was already comfortably filled.
Edward waited only to shake hands hastily
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 223
with his aunt and cousin, then slipped away for
a solitary stroll on the beach while he should
fight down his feelings of disgust and irritation
at this unwelcome and unwarrantable invasion
of his mother's dwelling.
He had asked that morning if he might invite
his college chum, Charlie Perrine, to spend a
week or two with him, and had received a
prompt and kind permission to do so. It seem-
ed hard enough to have to entertain, instead,
these relatives, between whom and himself there
had always been a cordial dislike ; for from
early childhood he had perceived and strongly
resented the envy, jealousy and ill-will indulged
in by them toward his mother.
He paced hurriedly to and fro for some min-
utes, striving, with but indifferent success, to
recover his equanimity, then stood still, gazing
out to sea, half inclined to wish himself on
board an outward-bound vessel in the offing.
Presently a hand took quiet possession of his
arm, and turning his head he found his mother
standing by his side.
" I am grieved to see my boy's face so cloud-
ed," she said in her sweet and gentle tones.
" Then, mother, it shall not be so any longer,"
he answered, resolutely forcing a smile. "I
have been really trying to feel good-natured, but
it is not easy under the circumstances. Not to
me, I mean. I wish I had inherited your sweet
disposition."
224 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
"Ah, you can judge only from outside ap-
pearances," she said with a sigh and a smile;
" no one knows what a battle his neighbor may
be fighting in his own heart, while outwardly
calm and serene. " I know you are disappoint-
ed because you fear you must give up inviting
your friend for the present, but that will not
be necessary, my dear boy. We can still manage
to make room for him by a little crowding which
will hurt no one. My room is so large that I
can easily take Walter and all your sisters in
with me, and if necessary we will pitch a tent
for the servants."
"Or for Charlie and me, mother," he ex-
claimed in delight; "we should not mind it in
the least; indeed it would be good fun to live so
for a while."
At this moment they were joined by Elsie and
Violet, both full of sympathy for Edward, and
anxious to consult mamma as to the possibility
of still making room for the comfortable ac-
commodation of his friend.
They listened with delight to her proposed
arrangement: it would be a great pleasure to
them to share her room, if it would not incon-
venience her, and she assured them it would not.
"I was afraid," said Elsie, " that Aunt Ade-
laide might hurry away to make room for the
others, but now I hope she will not, for we all
enjoy having her with us."
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 225
"No," Mrs. Travilla said, "we will keep her
as long as we can. Ah, here come my father
and grandfather. I think we shall astonish
them with the news of the arrival."
" Cousin Donald is with them too," remarked
Elsie. "Mamma, I think Virginia will be
rather pleased to see so fine looking a gentleman
haunting the house."
' ' Her sister's brother-in -law, " said Vi. " Per-
haps she will claim him as more nearly related to
her than to us."
The young man had found favor with both
Mr. Dinsmores, and the three were just return-
ing from a pretty long tramp together which
had caused them to miss seeing the arrival of
Mrs. and Miss Conly.
The news seemed to give more surprise than
pleasure.
" It was very thoughtless in Louise," the old
gentleman said with some vexation, "but it is
just like her. I think we must find Tooms for
them at one of the hotels, Elsie ; for I don't see
how your house is to accommodate us all."
" I do, grandpa," was her smiling' rejoinder,
" so make yourself perfectly easy on that score."
" I hope our excursion is not to be interfered
with, cousin ?" Donald said inquiringly : for
arrangements had been made for a long drive
that afternoon, taking in several of the neigh-
boring sea-side resorts, and as his three lady
226 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
cousins had promised to be of the party, he was
loath to give it up.
"No," she said, "Aunt Adelaide and Aunt
Louise will doubtless be well pleased to be left
alone together for a few hours, after a separa
tion of several years."
" Besides, both my aunt and cousin will need
a long nap to refresh them after the fatigue of
their journey," remarked Edward.
The young people exchanged congratulatory
glances. They were all eager for the drive. It
was just the day for it, they had all decided
the roads in excellent condition after the late
rain, a delicious sea-breeze blowing, and light
fleecy clouds tempering the heat of the July sun.
They set off directly after an early dinner
all the Dinsmores and Travillas, Mr. Allison
and his children and Mr. Keith in two covered
carriages, and well provided with waterproofs for
protection against a possible shower.
They were a pleasant, congenial party, the
older people cheerful and companionable, the
children full of life and spirits.
They had visited Seagirt, Spring Lake and
Asbury Park, and were passing through Ocean
Beach, when Edward, catching sight of a young
couple sauntering leisurely along on the side-
walk:, uttered an exclamation, " Why, there's
Charlie Perrine !" then calling to the driver to
stop, he sprang out and hurried toward them.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 227
" His college chum and how glad they are to
meet," Violet said as the two were seen shaking
hands in the most cordial manner.
Then Perrine introduced Edward to his com-
panion, and the lad's sisters noticed that his face
lighted up with pleased surprise as he grasped
her hand.
' < Why, I know her !" cried Donald. " Excuse
me one moment, ladies;" and he too sprang out
and hastened to join the little group on the side-
walk.
He and the lady met like very intimate friends,
greeting each other as " Donald " and " Mary:"
then he led her to the side of the carriage and
introduced her. " My cousin Mary Keith,
Uncle Donald's daughter ; our cousins, Misi
Elsie and Miss Violet Travilla."
The girls shook hands and exchanged glances
of mutual interest and admiration. Mary had
a very bright, pleasant face, dark eyes and hair,
plenty of color, lady-like manners, and a stylish
figure well set off by inexpensive but tasteful
attire.
The other carriage, containing the older peo-
ple, had now come up and halted beside the
first.
There were more introductions, then Mary
was persuaded to take Edward's place in the
carriage with her young cousins, and drive with
them to the Colorado House, where she waa
228 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
staying, while he and his friend followed on
foot.
Here the whole party alighted, seated them-
selves on the porch and chatted together for a
half hour.
"How long do you stay here, Cousin Mary?"
Mrs. Travilla asked.
" Another week, Cousin Elsie ; I have en-
gaged my room for that length of time: and I
wish you would let one of your girls stay with
me, or both if they will, though I'm afraid that
would crowd them. I should be so glad if yon
would. I want to become acquainted with
them : and besides I have just lost my room-
mate, and don't like to be left alone."
After a little consultation between the elders
of the party, it was decided that Violet should
accept the invitation, her mother promising to
send her a trunk in the morning, and Mary
agreeing to return the visit later in the season,
when her cousin's cottage would have parted
with some of its present occupants.
Edward, too, would remain and room with
Charlie Perrine, on the same floor with the girls,
BO that Violet would feel that she had a pro-
tector.
" I hope it will be a pleasant change for you,
dear ohild," the mother whispered in parting
from Violet, "and if you grow tired of it, you
know you can come home at any time. And Ed-
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 229
ward," she added, turning to him, " I trust your
sister to your care, particularly in bathing : don't
let her go in without you, and don't either of you
venture far out or into any dangerous spot."
" We will be very careful, mamma," they
both replied, "so do not feel in the least
uneasy. 5 '
" I shall owe you a grudge for this." Donald
was saying in a rueful aside to Mary.
" Why, you needn't," she returned; "you can
come too, if you wish, unless you object to my
society."
" That wouldn't mend matters," he answered,
with a glance at the younger Elsie.
" Nonsense ! I've found out already that she's
engaged. Didn't you know it ?"
" Not I. Well, it takes a woman to find out
the secrets of her sex !"
"Then you own that a woman can keep a
secret ?" was her laughing rejoinder. " But do
tell me," in a still lower tone, "has cousin lost
her husband lately ?"
" Within a year, and they were devotedly at-
tached."
" Oh poor thing! But isn't she sweet ?"
" Yes, indeed ! it didn't take even me long
to find that out."
The carriages rolled away amid much waving
of handkerchiefs by the travellers and the little
party left behind; then Mary carried Vio-
230 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
let off to her room for a long talk before it
should be time to dress for tea, while the lads
strolled away together along the beach, their
tongues quite as busy as the other two : for
there were various college matters to discuss,
beside plans for fishing, boating, riding, and
driving.
And Edward must sound his mother's praises
and learn whether Charlie did not think fyer the
yery loveliest woman he ever saw.
"Yes," Charlie said with a sigh, "you are
a lucky fellow, Ned. I hardly remember my
mother was only five years old when she died."
" Then I pity you with all my heart !" Ed-
ward exclaimed; "for there's nothing like a
mother to love you and stand by you through
thick and thin."
He turned his head away to hide the tears
that sprang unbidden to his eyes, for along with
his pity for his friend came a sudden recollec-
tion of that dreadful event in his childhood
when by an act of disobedience he had come
very near killing his dearly loved father. Ah,
he should never forget his agony of terror and
remorse, his fear that his mother could never
love him again, or the tenderness with which
she had embraced him, assuring him of her for-
giveness and continued affection.
Meantime Donald was speaking in glowing
terms, of Cousin Mary. " One of the best girls
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 331
in the world," he pronounced her " so kind-
hearted, so helpful and industrious. Uncle's
circumstances are moderate," he said ; "Aunt's
health has been delicate for years, and Mary, as
the eldest of eight or nine children, has had her
hands full. I am very glad she is taking a rest
now, for she needs it. A maiden sister of her
mother's is filling her place for a few weeks, she
told me : else she could not have been spared
from home."
" You make me glad that I left Violet with
her," Mrs. Travilla said, with a look of pleased
content.
Edward and his chum returned from their
walk, made themselves neat, and were waiting
on the piazza before the open door, as Mary
and Violet came down at the call to tea.
The dining-room was furnished with small
tables each accommodating eight persons. Our
four young friends found seats together. The
other four places at their table were occupied by
two couples a tall, gaunt, sour-visaged elderly
man in green spectacles, and his meek little
wife, and a small, thin, invalid old gentleman,
who wore a look of patient resignation, and his
wife, taller than himself by half a head.
A fine head of beautiful grey hair was the only
attractive thing about her, her features were
coarse and her countenance was fretful. She
occupied herself in filling and emptying her
232 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
plate with, astonishing rapidity, and paid little
or no attention to her husband, who was so crip-
pled by rheumatism as to be almost helpless,
having entirely lost the use of one hand, and so
nearly that of his lower limbs that he could not
walk without assistance.
He had a nurse, a young German, who was
with him constantly day and night, helped him
about and waited upon him, but in a very awk-
ward fashion. The man's clumsiness was, how-
ever, borne with patience by the sufferer, and
did not seem to trouble the wife.
She eyed Violet curiously between her im-
mense mouthf uls, and whispered to her husband,
loud enough for the child to hear, " Isn't that
a pretty girl, William ? such a handsome com-
plexion ! I reckon she paints."
The sudden crimsoning of Yi's cheek contra-
dicted that suspicion instantly, and the woman
corrected herself. " No, she don't, I see. I
wonder who she is ?"
" Hush, hush, Maria !" whispered her hus-
band, "don't you see she hears you ?" and he
gave the young girl such a fatherly look, gentle
and tender, that quick tears sprang to her eyes:
it was so strong a reminder of one whose look
of parental love she should never meet again on
earth.
People at other tables were noticing her too^
remarking upon her beauty and grace, and ask
ing each other who she was.
XXJBEFB WIDOWHOOD. 233
" We'll soon find out, mamma; don't you see
tfhe is with Miss Keith ? and she will be sure to
introduce her to us," said a nice looking girl
about Vi's age, addressing a sweet faced lady
by whose side she sat.
They all met in the parlor shortly afterward,
and Vi, Mrs. Perkins, her daughter Susie, and
her son Fred, a lad of nineteen or twenty, were
formally presented to each other.
" I don't want to get into a crowd; I don't
care to make acquaintances," Vi had said, half
tearfully.
Mary understood and respected the feeling,
but answered, "Yes, dear cousin, I know:
but do let me introduce Mrs. Perkins and her
children. She is so sweet and lovely, a real
Christian lady; and her son and daughter are
very nice. We have been together a great deal,
and I feel as if they were old friends."
Vi did not wonder at it after talking a little
with Mrs. Perkins, who had made room for her
on the sofa by her side; her thought was,
"She is a little like mamma ; not quite so sweet
nor half so beautiful: though she is very
pretty."
Several other ladies had come in by this time,
the invalid gentlemen's wife among the rest.
" Mrs. Moses," Vi heard some one call her.
" How do you do, Miss ?" she said, drawing
forward an arm chair and seating herself di-
234 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
rectly in front of Violet. " You're a new-comer,
aint you ?"
"I came this afternoon," Vi answered, and
turned to Mrs. Perkins with a remark about the
changing beauty of the sea and clouds ; for they
were near an open window that gave them a
view of old ocean.
"Where are you from ?" asked Mrs. Moses.
"The South, Madame."
" Ah ! I should hardly have suspected it :
you've such a lovely complexion, and how beau-
tiful your hair is ! like spun gold.
The German servant-man appeared in the
doorway.
"Mrs. Moshes, Herr wants to see you."
" Yes, I hear." Turning to Vi again, "Well,
you must have had a long, tiresome journey; and
I suppose you didn't come all alone?"
Vi let the inquiry pass unnoticed, but the
Ionian went on, "I've never been South, but
I'd like to go; perhaps I shall next winter. It
might help William's rheumatism."
" Your husband wants you, Mrs. Moses," re-
marked Mary Keith.
"Oh yes; he's always wanting me. I'll go
presently."
" Cousin," said Mary, " shall we take a stroll
on the beach?"
Violet caught at the suggestion with alacrity,
and they went at once % the rest of their party.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 235
and Mrs. Perkins and hers, accompanying
them.
" That poor man !" sighed Mary. " I thought
if we all left her, perhaps she would go to him."
"Isn't it strange?" said Susie, "he seems to
love her dearly, and she to care nothing about
him. And he is so nice and good and patient,
and she so disagreeable."
" A very poor sort of wife, I think," pursued
Mary. " She will not even sleep on the same
floor with him, for fear of being disturbed when
pain keeps him awake. Day and night he is
left to the care of that awkward, blundering
German. But there ! I ought to be ashamed of
myself for talking about an absent neighbor."
" I don't think you are doing any harm, Cousin
Mary," said Charlie, "for we can all see how
utterly selfish the woman is."
"What ! are you two cousins?" asked Edward
in surprise.
"First cousins, sir," returned Charlie, laugh-
ing, " sisters' children. Can't you and I claim
kin, seeing she's cousin to both of us?"
A sudden dash of rain prevented Edward's
/reply, and sent them all scurrying into the
house.
CHAPTER XX.
'A little more than kin and a little less than kind.'
OUR little party had scarcely seated themselves
in the parlor, where a number of the guests of
the house were already gathered, when the in-
valid gentleman was assisted in by his servant
and took possession of an easy chair which Mrs.
Perkins hastened to offer him.
He thanked her courteously as he sank back
in it with a slight sigh as of one in pain.
Violet, close at his side, regarded him with
pitying eyes. "I fear you suffer a great deal,
sir," she said, low and feelingly, when Mary,
her next neighbor, had introduced them.
"Yes, a good deal, but less than when I
came."
" Then the sea air is doing you good, I hope. "
" I'm thankful to say I think it is. There's
an increase of pain to-night, but that is always
to be expected in rainy weather."
" You are very patient, Mr. Moses," Mary re-
marked.
" And why shouldn't I be patient?" he return-
ed; "didn't Christ suffer far more than I do?"
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 237
"And he comforts you in the midst of it all,
does he not?" asked Mrs. Perkins.
" He does, indeed, ma'am."
" I have always found him faithful to his
promises," she said.
" And I," remarked another lady sitting near;
"strength has always been given me according
to my day, in the past, and I am glad to leave
the future with him."
" Humph ! it's plain to be seen that you two
don't know what trouble is, "put in Mrs. Moses,
glancing fretfully at her crippled spouse; whereat
the poor man burst into tears.
Vi's tender heart ached for him, and the coun-
tenances of all within hearing of the remark ex-
pressed sincere pity and sympathy.
A child began drumming on the piano, and
Mr. Moses sent a helpless, half despairing glance
in that direction that spoke of tortured nerves.
Vi saw it, and, as he turned to her with,
"Don't you play and sing, my dear? You look
like it, and I should be much gratified to hear
you," she rose and went at once to the instru-
ment, thinking of nothing but trying to bring
help and comfort to the poor sufferer.
"Will you let me play a little?" she said to
the child, with look and tone of winning sweet-
ness, and the piano-stool was promptly vacated.
Seating herself, she touched a few chords, and
instantly a hush fell upon the room.
238 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
She played a short prelude; then, in a voice
full, rich and sweet, sang
" ' O Jesus! Friend unfailing,
How dear art thou to me!
And cares or fears assailing,
I find my rest in thee !
Why should my feet grow weary
Of this my pilgrim way.
Rough though the path and dreary
It ends in perfect day.
" ' Naught, naught I count as treasure,
Compared, O Christ, with thee;
Thy sorrow without measure
Earned peace and joy for me.
I love to own, Lord Jesus,
Thy claims o'er me and mine,
Bought with thy blood most precious,
"Whose can I be but thine 1
" ' For every tribulation,
For every sore distresa
In Christ I've full salvation,
Sure help and quiet rest.
No fear of foes prevailing,
I triumph, Lord, in thee.
O Jesus, Friend unfailing!
How dear art thou to me !' " *
Edward had made his way to her side as soon
as he perceived her purpose.
"You have left out half," he whispered,
leaning over her, "and the words are all so
sweet."
* I know not who is the author of these beautiful lines.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 23r
ee Yes, I know, but I feared it was too long/'
There were murmurs of admiration as lie led
her back to her seat. "How well she plays!
such an exquisite touch!" "What a sweet
voice! highly cultivated, and every word dis-
tinct." "Yes, and what a beauty she is!"
Some of these remarks reached Violet's ears
and deepened the color on her cheek, but she
forgot them all in the delight of having given
pleasure to the invalid. He thanked her with
tears in his eyes.
The words are very sweet and comforting,"
he said. " Are they your own?"
"Oh no, sir!" she answered. "I do not
know whose they are, but I have found comfort
in them, and hoped that you might also."
Edward and Mary were conversing in low,
earnest tones.
"I am delighted!" Mary said.
"With what?"
"Words, music, voice, everything."
"The music is her own, composed expressly
for the words, which she found in a religious
newspaper."
" Indeed! she is a genius then! the tune is
lovely."
" Yes, she is thought to have a decided genius
for both music and painting; I must show you
gome of her pictures when you pay us that
promised visit."
240 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
Mr. Moses presently found himself in too
much pain to remain where he was, and sum-
moning his servant, retired to his own room.
His wife, paying no regard to a wistful, long-
ing look he gave her as he moved painfully
away, remained where she was and entertained
the other ladies with an account of the family
pedigree.
"We are lineal descendants of Moses, the
Hebrew Lawgiver," she announced. " But
don't suppose we are Jews, for we are not at
all.
" Belong to the lost ten tribes, I suppose,"
remarked Charles Perrine dryly.
The morning's sun shone brightly in a clear
sky, and on leaving the breakfast table our lit-
tle party went down to the beach and sat in the
sand, watching the incoming tide, before which
they were now and then obliged to retreat,
sometimes in scrambling haste that gave occa-
sion for much mirth and laughter.
Mrs. Moses came down presently and joined
them, an uninvited and not over-welcome com-
panion, but of course the beach was as free to
her as to them.
"How is your husband this morning?" in-
quired Mrs. Perkins.
" Oh about as usual."
" I do believe it would do him good to sit here
awhile with us, sunning himself."
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 241
" Too damp.
"No; the dampness here is from the salt
water, and will harm nobody."
" Where is he?" asked Fred, getting on his
feet.
"On the porch yonder," the wife answered,
in a tone of indifference.
"Come, boys, let's go and bring him!" said
Fred, and at the word the other two rose with
alacrity, and all three hurried to the house.
They found the poor old gentleman sitting
alone, save for the presence of the uncouth ser-
vant standing in silence at the back of his chair,
and watching with wistful, longing eyes the
merry groups moving hither and thither, to and
fro, between the houses and the ocean, some
going down to bathe, others coming dripping
from the water, some sporting among the waves,
and others still, like our own party, sunning
themselves on the beach.
" We have come to ask you to join us, sir,"
Fred said in respectful but hearty tones. ' ' Won't
you let us help you down to the beach? the
ladies are anxious to have you there."
The poor man's face lighted up with pleased
surprise, then clouded slightly. " I should like
to go indeed," he said, "if I could do so with-
out troubling others; but that is impossible."
"We should not feel it any trouble, sir." the
lads returned, " but a pleasure rather, if you
will let us help you there. '!_-
24fc ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
" I ought not to ask it of you : Jacob here
can give me an arm."
"No," said Edward, "let Jacob take thig
opportunity for a bath., and we will fill his place
in waiting upon you."
The invalid yielded, and found himself moved
with far more ease and comfort than he had be
lieved possible.
The ladies his wife, perhaps, excepted,
greeted him with smiles and pleasant words of
welcome. They had arranged a couch with
their waterproofs and shawls, far enough from
the water's edge to be secure from the waves,
and here the lads laid him down with gentle
carefulness.
Mrs. Perkins seated herself at his head and
shaded his face from the siin with her umbrella,
while the others grouped themselves about, near
enough to carry on a somewhat disjointed con-
versation in spite of the noise of the waters.
"I think a sunbath will really be good for
you, Mr. Moses," said Miss Keith.
"It's worth trying anyhow," he answered,
with a patient smile. " And it's a real treat to
do so in such pleasant company. But don't any
of you lose your bath for me. I've seen a num-
ber go in, and I suppose this is about the best
time."
"Just as the ladies say," vas the gallant re-
joinder of the young men.
BLSIB & WIDOWHOOD. 24^
1 do not care tc bathe to-day," Violet said
with decision. " ' he rest of you may go, and I
will stay and take are of M:. Moses."
"Well, I'll go then. He'll not be wanting
anything." said his wife. "Ain't the rest oi
you coming, ladies and gentlemen?"
After some discussion, all went but Mrs. Per-
kins and Violet, and they were left alone with
the invalid.
Vi had conceived a great pity for him, great
disgust for the selfish, unsympathizing wife.
" How different from mamma!" she said to
herself. "She never would have wearied of
waiting upon papa if he had been so afflicted;
she would have wanted to be beside him, com-
forting him every moment. And how sweetly
it would have been done."
t Little lady," the old man said, with a long-
ing look into the sweet girlish face, "will you
sing me that song again? It was the most de-
lightful, consoling thing I've heard for many a
day."
"Yes, indeed, sir; I would do anything in
my power to help you to forget your pain," she
said, coloring with pleasure.
She sang the whole of the one he had asked
for, then perceiving how greatly he enjoyed it,
several others of like character.
He listened intently, sometimes with tears in
his eyes, and thanking her warmly again and
again.
344 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
Finding that the old gentleman felt brighter and
more free from pain during the rest of the day,
ana thought he had received -enefit from his visit
to tne beach, the lads helped him there again
the next day.
They set him down, then wandered away,
.caving him in the care of the same group of
Jadies who had gathered round him the day
before.
Each one was anxious to do something for his
relief or entertainment, and he seemed both
pleased with their society and grateful for their
attentions.
Mrs. Perkins suggested that the lame hand
might be benefited by burying it in the sand
while he sat there.
"No harm in trying it, anyhow," he said.
"Just turn me round a little, Maria, if you
please."
His wife complied promptly with the request,
but in a way which the other ladies thought
rough and unfeeling, seizing him by the collar
of his coat and jerking him round to the desired
position.
But he made no complaint.
" I think it does ease the pain," he said after
a little. " I'm only sorry I can't try it every day
for a while."
"What is there to hinder f" asked Mrs.
Perkins.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD, 345
" Why, we're going to-morrow," replied Mrs*
Moses, shortly.
"Oh, why not stay longer? You have been
here but a week, and Mr. Moses has improved
quite a good deal in that time."
" Well, he can stay as long as he chooses, but
Pm going to New York to-morrow to visit my
sister."
The ladies urged her to stay for her poor hus-
band's sake, but she was not to be persuaded,
and he was unwilling to remain without her.
" Take some sand with you, then, to bury his
hand in, won't you ?" said Mrs. Perkins.
"I haven't anything to carry it in," was the
ungracious reply.
" Those newspapers."
" I want to read them."
" Well, if we find something to put it in, and
get it all ready for you, will you take it in your
trunk ?"
"Yes, I'll do that."
41 1 have a good sized paper box which will
answer the purpose, I think," said Mary Keith.
"I'll get it."
She hastened to the house, returned again
in a few moments with the box, and they pro-
ceeded to fill it, sifting the sand carefully
through their fingers to remove every pebble.
"You are taking a great deal of trouble for
me, ladies." the old gentleman remarked.
246 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
No trouble at all, sir," said Mary , " it's a
real pleasnre to do anything we can for you:
especially remembering the Master's words, ' In-
asmuch as you have done it unto one of the
least of these my brethren, you haye done it
CHAPTER XXI.
" How happy they
Who, from the toil and tumult of their lives,
Steal to look down where nought but ocean strives."
Byron*
VIOLET was alone, lying on the bed, resting
after her bath, not asleep, but thinking dreamily
of home and mother.
Only one more day and my week here will be
up," she was saying to herself. "I've had a
delightful time, but oh I want to see mamma
and the rest !"
Just then the door opened and Mary came in
with a face all smiles. " Vi, I'm so glad !"
she exclaimed, seating herself on the side of the
bed.
" What about, cousin ?" Violet asked, rous-
ing herself, and with a keen look of interest.
" I have just had the offer of a furnished cot-
tage for two or three weeks to keep house in,
you understand and I can invite several friends
to stay with me, and it won't cost half so much
as boarding here, beside being great fun,"
Mary answered, talking very fast in her excite-
ment and delight. " Charlie will stay with me,
I think, and I hope you and Edward will, and I
have two girl friends at home whom I shall in-
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
vite. One is an invalid, and needs the change,
'vh so badly; but though they are not exactly
poor people, not the kind one would dare offer
charity to, her father couldn't afford to give her
even a week at any of these hotels or boarding-
houses: and she did look so wistful and sad when
I bade her good-bye. ' I can hardly help envying
you, Mary,' she said, * though I am ever so glad
you are going. But I have such a longing to
get away from home for a while to go some-
where, anywhere, for a change. I'm so weak and
miserable, and it seems to me that if I could
only go away I should get well. I haven't been
outside of this town for years.' "
Violet's eyes filled with tears. " Poor thing !"
she said. " I have always travelled about
so much, and enjoyed it greatly. I wonder
why it is I have so many more pleasures and
blessings than other people."
" I hope they may never be fewer," Mary
said, caressing her. " But isn't it nice that now I
can give poor Amy Fletcher for that is her
name two or three weeks here at the sea-
ehore ?"
" Yes, indeed ! But you haven't told me
how it happens."
In reply to this Mary went on to say that a
married friend who had rented the cottage she
had spoken of for the year, now found that he
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 349
must take his family away for a short time,
mountain air being recommended for his wife,
who was in poor health, and as it would cost no
more to have the cottage occupied in their ab-
sence than to leave it empty, he had offered her
the use of it rent free.
"He saw father and mother last week," she
added in conclusion, " and talked it over with
them, and they have written me to accept
his offer by all mean^, and stay as long at the
shore as I can."
"But you are to visit us, you know."
" Yes, afterward, if that will do. I don't in-
tend to miss that pleasure if I can help it,"
Mary answered gleefully. " Now about my
other friend, Ella Neff. She is not an invalid,
but she teaches for her support, and I know
such a change would do her a world of good.
She wanted to come with me, but couldn't afford
it ; yet I'm sure she can in this way: for beside
the difference of board there will not be the
same necessity for fine dress."
"I should never have thought of that," said
Vi.
"No, of course not, you fortunate little
lassie ; you have never known anything about
the pinchings of poverty or the pleasures of
economy," she added merrily, "for I do assure
you there is often real enjoyment in finding how
250 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
nicely you can contrive to make one dollar do
the work of two or ' auld claes look amaist as
weel's the new.' But oh, don't you think it will-
he fun to keep house, do our own cooking and
all ?"
"Yes," Violet said ; "yes, indeed."
',' And you'll stay, won't you ? Don't you
think you'd enjoy it ?"
" Oh, ever so much ! but I don't believe I can
wait any longer than till to-morrow to see
mamma. Besides, I don't know whether she
would approve."
" "Well, if you should spend a day at home and
get her consent to come back ; how would that
do?"
Vi thought that plan might answer, if Ed-
ward were willing to make one of the party at
the cottage.
"We must consult the lads at once," said
Mary. " Let me help you dress, and we'll go in
search of them."
Vi sprang up, and with her cousin's assistance
made a rapid toilet.
They found Edward and Charlie in the sum-
mer-house, just across the road, waiting for the
call to dinner. Fortunately no one was with-
in hearing, and Mary quickly unfolded her
plan.
It was heard with delight. " Splendid !
Capital ! Of course we'll be glad to accept your
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 251
invitation," they said : Edward, however, put-
ting in the provision, " If mamma sees no objec-
tion."
" Or grandpa," added Violet.
" All the same," said Edward; " mamma never
approves of anything that he does not."
" Where is the cottage ? Can we look at it ?"
asked Charles.
" Yes ; the family left this morning, and I
have the key," Mary answered. " We could take
possession to-night if we chose ; but I must lay
in some provisions first."
"Let's walk up (or down, whichever it is)
after dinner and look at it."
"Yes, Charlie, if Edward and Vi are agreed.
It is up, on this street, about two blocks from
here."
" Directly in front of the ocean ? That's all
right."
" Or the ocean directly in front of it," Mary
returned laughingly.
" All the same ; don't be too critical, Miss
Keith," said Charlie.
They did not linger long over dinner or des-
sert, but made haste to the cottage, eager to see
what accommodations it afforded.
It was small, the rooms few in number, and
mere boxes compared to those Edward and
Violet had been accustomed to at Ion and Via-
mede; and very much more contracted than
252 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
those of the cottage their mother was occupy-
ing , yet all four were quite satisfied to take up
their residence in it for a season.
" Four bedrooms," remarked Mary reflect^
ively : " two will do for the lads and two for
the lasses. Parlor and dining-room are not
very spacious, but will hold us all when neces-
sary ; I don't suppose we'll spend much of the
daytime within doors. By the way, I think we
must add Don Keith to our party if he'll
come."
The boys said " By all means," and Vi raised
no objection.
" When do you expect Ella and Amy ?" asked
Charles, who was well acquainted with both.
"I telegraphed to mother at once to invite
them, and shall expect to see them about day
after to-morrow."
" What sort of provisions do you propose to
lay in, Miss Keith ?" inquired Charlie. " I am
personally interested in that."
" I djo not doubt that in the least, Mr. Per-
rine," she answered demurely. "1 intend to
buy some of the best flour and groceries that I
ean find."
" Flour ? can't you buy bread here ?"
" Yes, but perhaps I may choose to exhibit
my skill in its manufacture; also in that of
cake and pastry."
"Ah! Well, no objection to that except that
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 353
we don't want you shut up in the kitchen when
the rest of us are off pleasuring. "What about
other supplies ?"
"I see you have some idea of what is neces-
sary in housekeeping, Charlie, and I'll give you
a good recommendation to the first nice girl
who asks me if you'll make a good husband,"
Mary returned, looking at her cousin with
laughing eyes.
''Am I to have an answer to my question,
Miss Keith ?" he inquired with dignity
" Yes, when I see fit to give it. The Mar-
stons were, of course, served with butter, eggs,
milk and cream, fish, flesh, and fowl, and Mr.
Marston told me he had spoken to the persons
thus serving him and his to do likewise by me
and mine : does this explanation relieve your
mind, Mr. Perrine ?"
" Entirely. I am satisfied that we are not
invited to share starving rations, which I am
morally certain would give me the dyspepsia."
" I think we are very fortunate," Mary re-
marked, resuming her ordinary tone ; " they
have left us bedding, table and kitchen furni-
ture, and we have nothing whatever to provide
except our food, drink and clothing."
" I shall order a carriage for an early hour to-
morrow morning," said Edward, "and drive
over to see my mother. Vi will, of course, go
along, and I wish, Cousin Mary, that you and
Charlie would go top."...
254: ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD
"Thank you very much," Mary said. "I
should enjoy it extremely, but there are some
few arrangements to be made here. The girls
may come to-morrow evening, and I must be
here and ready to receive them."
Then Charlie decided that he must stay and
take care of Mary ; so it was finally arranged
that Edward and Violet should go alone, and the
former attend to the ordering of the groceries,
and anything else he could think of that was
desirable and did not require to be fresh.
When the carriage containing Edward and
Violet drove up to their mother's door, nearly
all the family and their guests were out upon
the beach.
There was instantly a glad shout from Harold,
Herbert and Walter, "There they are!" and
they, their sisters and grandfather started at
once for the house, while Mrs. Dinsmore and
Mrs. Travilla, who were within, hastened to the
door.
Mrs. Conly and Virginia, slowly sauntering
along within sight of the cottage, looked after
those who were hurrying towards it, with smiles
of contempt.
" Such a hugging and kissing as there will be
now!" sneered Virginia; "they will make as
much fuss as if they hadn't seen each other for
five years."
"Yes," returned her mother, "and I don't
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 255
wish to be a spectator of the sickening scene.
Thank fortune I'm not of the overly affectionate
kind."
"Mamma, mamma!" cried Violet, springing
into the dear arms so joyfully opened to receive
her, " oh, I am so glad, so glad to see you again!"
"Not more glad than mamma is, darling,'*
Elsie said, clasping her close with tender caresses.
" And you've come home a day sooner than
you were expected! how good in you!" the
younger Elsie exclaimed, taking her turn.
" Yes, but not to stay ; that is, I mean if
mamma consents to "
Bat the sentence remained unfinished for
awhile, there were so many claiming a hug and
kiss from both herself and Edward ; indeed I am
afraid Virginia was so far correct in her predic-
tion that there was as much embracing and re-
joicing, perhaps even more, than there would
have been in the Conly family in receiving a
brother and sister who had been absent for
years.
But when all that had been attended to, and
the pleasant little excitement began to subside,
it did not take many minutes for mamma and
grandpa and grandma to learn all about the
proposed essay in housekeeping on the part of
the young folks.
" What! does my Vi want to leave her mother
so soon?" Mrs. Travilla said with hall
256 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
reproachful tenderness, putting an arm about
the slender, girlish waist, and pressing another
kiss on the softly rounded, blooming cheek.
" No, mamma dearest," Yi said, blushing and
laying her head down on her mother's shoulder,
" but the house here is as full as ever, isn't it?"
"Yes, but that makes no difference; there is
plenty of room."
"Well, mamma, I don't like to be away from
you, or any of the dear ones, but I do think it
would be great fun for a little while. Don't
you? wouldn't you have liked it when you were
my age?"
" Yes, I daresay I should, and I see no great
objection, if you and Edward wish to try it.
What do you say, papa?"
" That I think their mother is the right per-
son to decide the question, and that I do not
suppose they can come to any harm," Mr. Dins-
more answered, with a kindly look and smile di-
rected to Edward and Violet. " I doubt if I
should have allowed you to do such a thing at
Vi's age, Elsie," he added, " but I believe I grow
more indulgent with advancing years perhaps
more foolish."
"No, papa, I cannot think that," she said,
lifting her soft eyes to his with a world of filial
tenderness and reverence in their brown depths ;
" I lean very much upon the wisdom of your
decisions. Well, dears, since grandpa does not
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 257
disapprove, you have my full consent to do as
you please in this matter."
They thanked her warmly.
"Cousin Mary would be delighted if Elsie
would come too," said Violet, looking wishfully
at her sister, " and so would I. I don't sup-
pose, mamma, you could spare us both at once,
but if Elsie would like to go, I will stay, and
not feel it the least bit of a hardship either,"
she added, turning to her mother with a bright,
affectionate smile.
"I should be lonely with both my older
daughters away," the mother said, " but I will
not be selfish in my love. Elsie may go, too, if
she wishes."
" Dear, kind mamma, selfishness is no part
of your nature," her namesake daughter re-
sponded promptly, " but Elsie has not the slight-
est desire to go. Yet I thank my sweet sister
ail the same for her very kind and unselfish
offer," she added, giving Violet a look of strong
affection.
"But what is grandpa to do without his
merry little cricket?" asked Mr. Dinsmore,
drawing Vi down upon his knee. " For how
long is it? one, two, or three weeks?"
" I don't know, grandpa ; perhaps I shall grow
tired and homesick, and want to come back
directly."
" Well, no one will be sorry to see you, come
when you may."
258 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
"You will always be joyfully welcomed,"
added mamma ; " nor Edward less so. Now let
us consider what you will need, and how best to
provide it. I claim the privilege of furnishing
all the groceries and everything else for the lar-
der that need not be procured upon the spot."
"Oh, thank you, mamma!" said Edward;
"but I knew you would."
Violet asked and obtained permission to sleep
with her mother that night, and all day long
was scarcely absent from her side. Evidently
the child had a divided heart, and was at times
more than half inclined to stay at home.
But Edward urged that he would not half
enjoy himself without her, that she had promised
to go if mamma did not withhold consent, and
that Mary would be sadly disappointed if she
failed to return with him. Donald Keith, too,
who was still there, and had accepted Mary's
invitation, added his persuasions. "He was
sure they would have a very pleasant time, and
if she grew homesick she could drive home any
day in a couple of hours; he would be glad to
bring her over himself if she would let him,
or she could come in less time by the cars."
Then her mother came to her help. "I
think it will be best for you to go, dear, even
if you should stay but a day or two," she said.
" And if your grandpa likes, he and I will drive
over with you, and see your snug little cottage,
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 259
and whether there is anything we can do to add
to the comfort or enjoyment of those who are
to occupy it for a season."
"A very good idea, daughter," Mr. Dins-
more said, and Vi's rather troubled face grew
bright.
" Oh how nice, mamma !" she exclaimed. " I
will go without any more foolish hesitation,
although I do not think Edward is quite cor-
rect in saying I promised."
" Foolish enough !" sneered Virginia, who
prided herself on her audacity in making disa-
greeable remarks. " I should be very much
ashamed of myself if I were half the mother*
baby you are."
"And I," remarked Mr. Dinsmore severely,
irritated out of all patience by the pained look
in Yi's face, " should be more ashamed of my
sweet little granddaughter if she were as heart-
less and ready to wound the feelings of others
as a certain niece of mine se- ms to be."
" Will you come to my house-warming, Mrs.
Perkins, you and Fred and Susie ?" asked
Mary Keith as they left the breakfast-table of
the Colorado House the next morning. "I ex-
pect my cousins the Travillas about dinner-
time, and the morning train may bring the
other guests. I mean to be all ready for them
at any rate. The dinner is to be prepared with
my own hands, and though it will be on a small
260 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
scale compared with those served here, you shall
at least have a hearty welcome."
''Thank you, we would he delighted, but
are already engaged for the picnic," Mrs. Per-
kins said.
So they parted with mutual good wishes, each
hoping the other would have an enjoyable day.
Charles and Mary made themselves busy in
seeing to the removal to the cottage of their
own and cousin's luggage, making some pur-
chases at the provision stores, and some rear-
rangements of furniture ; then about the din-
ner, Mary pressing Charlie into her service as
sheller of peas, husker of corn, and beater of
They had a very merry time over their work,
though Charlie protested vigorously against be-
ing set at such menial tasks, and declared that
"Ed" should be made to do a fair share of
them in future.
Mary sent him t the train to meet the girls,
while she stayed behind to watch ever the din-
ner.
He had scarcely gone when a carnage drew
up at the door, and Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore,
Mrs. Travilla, Edward and Violet, and Donald
Keith alighted therefrom and came trooping in,
most of them laden with parcels, while the driver
brought up the rear, carrying a large hamper
that seemed to be well filled and heavy.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 261
Mary's first emotion on seeing the arrival was
delight, the second a sudden fear that her din-
ner would not suffice for so many.
But that fear was relieved at sight of the
hamper and a whisper from Vi, who headed the
procession, that it contained such store of pro-
vision as would obviate the necessity of much
cooking for several days to come.
" Oh how good and kind in your mother!"
Mary exclaimed in a like low tone, then has-
tened to welcome her guests with unmixed
pleasure.
"0 Cousin Elsie, how nice in you to come
and to bring Edward and Violet ! You are
going to let them stay, I am sure, and I am so
glad. So glad to see you, too, Cousin Rose and
Cousin Horace: it seems as if I ought to call you
aunt and uncle, though."
" Then suppose you do," Mr. Dinsmore said,
shaking hands with her, and kissing her rosy
cheek. " You have my permission."
" I shall, then, and thank you," she returned
in her bright merry tones. " Don," turning
to Mr. Keith with outstretched hands, " so here
you are ! that's a good boy."
" Yes, and so good a boy must not be put off
with less than others get," he said, following
Mr. Dinsmore's example.
"Well, as you are only a cousin it doesn't
matter," she remarked indifferently. " Please
262 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD,
all make yourselves at home. Oh there's the
stage stopping at the gate ! the girls have come!"
and she flew out to welcome them.
The little parlor was quite inconveniently
crowded, but that afforded subject for mirth, as
Mary introduced her friends and bustled about
trying to find seats for them all.
" "We shall have to take dinner in relays or
else set a table in here, besides the one in the
dining-room/' she said, laughing.
" Let Amy and me go to our room and dress
while your first set eat, and give us our dinner
afterwards," suggested Ella Xeff.
" Yes, I should much prefer it," Miss
Fletcher said, "for we are really too dusty and
dirty to sit down to your table now."
"And I shall act as waiter to the first table
and eat with these ladies at the second," said
Charlie.
"Very well, I can manage to seat the rest,"
Mary said ; and so it was arranged.
The dinner proved very nice and very abun-
dant with the help of the contents of the ham-
per. Mary's cooking received many praises, in
which Charlie claimed a share, because, as he
said, he had assisted largely.
CHAPTER XXII.
W O spirits gay, and kindly heart!
Precious the blessings ye impart!"
Joanna BaUlie.
WELL, cricket, are we to carry you back with
us ?" Mr. Dinsmore asked, with a smiling look
at Violet. " If so, 'tis time to be tying on your
hat, for the carriage is at the door."
"No, grandpa, I am going to stay," she
answered, holding up her face for a parting
kiss.
" I am well satisfied with your decision, dear
child," her mother said when bidding her good-
bye, as they and Edward stood alone together
for a moment on the little porch. "I think
these young people are all safe associates for you
and your brother," turning to him and taking a
hand of each, "and that you will enjoy your-
selves very much with them. But, my darlings,
never forget in the midst of your mirth and
gayety or in trouble, if that should come
that God's eye is upon you, and that you have a
Christian character to maintain before men. Let
me give you a parting text, * Whether therefore
ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to
the glory of God. ' And yet another for your joy
and comfort, ' The Lord God is a sun and shield. 1
264 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
the Lord will give grace and glory : no good
thing will he withhold from them that walk
uprightly.' "
"Was there ever such another dear, good
mother as ours ?" Violet said to her brother, al
together they watched the carriage out of sight.
"I wish there were thousands like her," he
answered. " Ever since I can remember it has
been plain to me that what she most desired for
all her children was that they might be real,
true, earnest Christians. Vi, if we are not
all that, we can never lay the blame at our
mother's door."
"Nor papa's either," Violet said with a sigh
and a tear to his memory, " for he was just as
careful as she is to train us up for God and
heaven."
" Yes," Edward assented with emotion. " O
Vi, if I could but be the man he was I"
They went into the house. In the little par-
lor Amy Fletcher reclined on a sofa gazing out
through the open door upon the sea.
" I have had my first sight of old ocean to-
day," she said, glancing up at them as they
came in, " and oh how beautiful it is ! how de-
licious this breeze coming from it ! it surely
must bring health and strength to any one who
is not very ill indeed !"
" I hope it will to you," Violet said, sitting
down by her side.
ELSIE'S WIDOWmOD.
265
*I hope so," she returned with a cheerful
iook and smile, "for the doctors tell me I have no
organic disease, and that nothing is more likely
to build me up than sea air and sea-bathing."
Amy was small and fragile in appearance, but
not painfully thin ; she had large dark grey
eyes, brown hair, a sweet patient expression, a
clear complexion, and though usually rather too
pale and quiet, when excited or greatly in-
terested the color would come and go on her
cheek, her eyes shine, and her whole face light
up in a way that made her decidedly pretty.
She was weary now with her journey and a
visit to the beach, though she had only walked
to a summer house near by and sat there while
the rest strolled about.
Merry sounds of jest and laughter were com-
ing from the kitchen.
" The girls are washing the dishes," Amy said
with a smile, " and the lads helping or hinder-
ing, I don't know which.*
" The dinner dishes ?" asked Violet.
"Yes, Mary set them aside for the time, that
she might enjoy the company of yonr friends
while they stayed."
" Do you think I could be of any assistance
out there ?" queried Edward, with gravity.
" I have an idea that the place is quite full
now," Amy said, with a merry glance up into
fais face. " I wish there was room for us all, for
263 jfLSSE'S WIDOWHOOD.
they seem to be haying a great deal of sport.
Just hark how they are laughing ! Well, our
turn Trill come. Don't you think we are going
to have a jolly time here ?"
The door opened and the two young men
came in.
"You don't know what you've missed, Ed,"
said Charlie helping himself to a chair near
Amy's couch; " housework's jolly good fun."
" When you don't have too much of it," re-
marked Amy.
"And do it in pleasant company," added
Donald.
"And under a capable and kind instructress,"
supplemented Mary, speaking from the kitchen.
"What are your terms for tuition, Miss
Keith ?" inquired Edward, as she and Ella Xeff
joined the circle in the parlor.
" Beginners get their board, which is some-
times more than they earn."
" Is that all ?" said Donald. " Then I think
I shall retire from the service."
" I advise you to do no such thing," said Ella,
" the knowledge you gain may prove invaluable
in some future emergency : some time when
you find yourself out on the plains or buried in
the forests of the Far West, with no gentle,
loving woman at hand to prepare your meals."
" In that case there would doubtless be an
ingentle and obedient orderly to do so," re-
joined Donald with gravity.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 267
" Well, women are often lectured by news-
paper writers and others on the paramount
duty of making themselves acquainted with the
culinary art, as well as everything else pertain-
ing to housewifery, in order that they may he
fully capable of directing the labors of their ser-
vants, and I see no reason why the rule shouldn't
hold good for men," remarked Ella.
" There, sir, you're cornered, Donald !"
laughed Charlie.
"Now that we are all here together, suppose
we make such arrangements as are necessary
to constitute ourselves a tolerably orderly
household," said Mary.
"I understood that you were commanding
officer, and the rest of us had nothing to do but
obey orders," said Donald.
" Quite a mistake. This is not an army, but
a democracy, in which the majority rules. All
important questions, therefore "
" Such as the bill of fare for dinner," sug-
gested Charlie. "Excuse the hint, ma'am."
" Are to be put to vote," Mary went on, not
deigning to notice the interruption. " Mr. Keith,
I propose that you, as the eldest of the party,
take the chair."
" Which ?" he asked with serious air.
" That large, easy one, which each of us is
politely leaving for somebody else."
Donald promptly took possession. "Is the
meeting ready for busme-es ?" he asked.
268 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
" Eeady 1" responded Charles and Edward.
" Somebody make a motion, then."
" I move that Miss Mary Keith be elected
housekeeper extraordinar) and cook plenipoten-
tiary/' said Ella.
" I second the motion," said Edward.
" You have all heard the motion, and to save
useless repetition I put it to vote. All in
favor"
A simultaneous " Aye !" from all present,
Mary excepted.
" Who are to be my assistants ?" she asked.
" All of us, I suppose/' said Charles. " Ko,
not Amy : she's the invalid, and must be taken
care of by the heartiest and strongest, which is
probably your humble servant, ladies and gentle-
men."
" Doubtful that !" said Edward, with a down-
ward glance at his own stout limbs.
"I think we should all help in that and
with the housework," remarked Yi modestly.
" Cousin Mary, I can make beds, sweep and
dust very nicely, mamma says. It was her wish
that I should learn, and I did."
" So can I," said Ella, " and we'll undertake
that part of the work together, if you like,
Miss"
" Call me Violet or Vi."
"Yes," said Charlie. "I move that every-
body be called by the Christian name or some
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 269
abbreviation thereof as a saving of trouble,
and showing a friendly disposition toward each
other."
" Agreed," said Donald, " but let it be under-
stood that there's no objection to the prefix of
cousin."
" At what hours shall we take our meals ?"
a^ked Mary."
"Make a motion," said Donald.
" Breakfast at eight, dinner at one, tea at
six ; will these hours suit all ? If not, let us
hare objections."
" Speak now, or forever hold your peace,"
said Charlie. " They suit me well enough if
the rule be not too rigidly enforced, so as to
interfere with pleasuring."
" I didn't mean they should do that," said
Mary; "they are only to be a general guide."
" And if anybody happens to indulge in an
extra morning nap, what's to be the penalty ?"
"A cold and lonely breakfast, I suppose.
Perhaps to wash his own dishes besides."
" All in favor of the hours named for meals
please signify it by saying aye," said Donald.
" Aye !" from every tongue.
" Anything else, Miss Keith ?" he asked.
" Just one thing more," she answered, speak-
ing with a sudden seriousness, and in a low,
almost tremulous tone that sobered them all
instantly.
270 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
She went on with an effort. " We all pro*
fess to be Christians: shall we live together, even
for the short space of two or three weeks, like
heathen or mere worldings ?"
A moment's silence, then Donald said with
quiet gravity, " Surely not, Mary."
" We will not partake of the food God pro-
vides for our nourishment and enjoyment with-
out asking his blessing upon it, or begin or end
the day without prayer and praise, will we ?"
she asked.
" Oh no !" came softly from the lips of Amy
and Violet, and was echoed by the other voices.
"Then which of you, my three cousins, Don,
Edward, and Charlie, will take the lead in these
acts of worship ?"
A longer silence than before ; then Vi turned
a wistful, pleading look upon her brother.
There was no mistaking its meaning ; and his
mother's parting words were ringing in his
ears.
" If no one else is willing," he said, " I will
do it."
"Thank you, Edward," said Charlie, rising
and grasping his hand ; " but it would be too
selfish to leave you to do it alone ; so I will take
my turn."
'' I too," said Donald. " It should never be
said of a soldier that he refused to stand by his
colors."
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 271
"Or of a follower of Christ that he was
shamed of his Master's service," added Ed-
ward.
So it was arranged that they should take
turns, day about, according to their age.
"Five o'clock just an hour to tea-time,"
Charlie said, consulting his watch: "what shall
we do with it ? Amy, do you feel equal to a
stroll on the beach, with the support of my
arm ?"
" Thank you, it would be very nice, but I am
tired enough to think it still nicer just to lie
here and look at the sea," she said. "I shall
not mind being left alone, though ; so, please,
all the rest of you go. And to-morrow I shall
be able to join you, I hope."
" Ah no, we won't leave you here all alone,"
said several voices.
"No," said Mary, "for I am going to stay
with her. I am weary enough just now to pre-
fer resting in this easy chair to a ramble on the
beach or anywhere else ; and beside, I want a
chat with Amy."
" Secrets to tell, eh ?" said Charlie, picking
up his hat. " Good-bye, then. Don't forget to
speak well of the absent."
" Oh I am so glad to be alone with you for
a little while, Mary," Amy said, when the others
had all gone. " I want to thank you for your
kindness in asking me to come here ; such a
272 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
blessed relief as it was ! for it seemed to me the
very monotony of my life was killing me."
"The thanks hardly belong to me," Mary
said, between a smile and a tear, as she leaned
over Amy, gently smoothing back ike iiair from
her forehead. " I think they should be given
first to our heavenly Father, and second to Mr.
Marston."
"Yes, and third to you, Mary. I used to
wonder over that text in Isaiah ' He that be-
lieveth shall not make haste.' I didn't know
what it meant, but I believe I do now."
"Well, dear, what is your explanation?"
" I think it means he that is strong in faith
will patiently and calmly wait God's time for the
fulfilment of his promises, and for relief from
trouble and trial. Oh if I could but do it always !''
" And I," sighed Mary; " but oh how oiten I
am guilty of making haste for myself or for
others my dear ones especially. There is poor
mother so often sick, and it is so hard to see
her suffer, when she is so good, too, so patient
and cheerful and resigned."
"Yes, I know that must be far harder than
suffering yourself "
"Amy," Mary said after a pause, "you must
not forget that ; t is a very great pleasure to me
to have you here, and that if you and the others
had refused to come and stay with me I could
not have accepted Mr. Marston's offer."
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 273
" It is very generous in you to set it in that
light," Amy answered, with a grateful look and
smile.
They found so much to talk about that time
flew very fast, and they were greatly surprised
on seeing Ella and Violet coming up the path
from the gate to the house.
" Surely it is not six yet !" Mary exclaimed.
"No, only half -past five," Vi said, taking out
her watch ; " but you are tired, and Ella and I
want you to let us get the tea."
" Good girls !" returned Mary gayly. "I feel
quite rested now, but you may help if you like.
I'm not going to cook much, though only to
make tea and stew a few oysters."
Tea and the clearing up after it well over,
they all gathered on the porch, where they had
the full benefit of the breeze and could get a
glimpse of the sea by the light of the stars, and
listen to its ceaseless murmur, while amusing
themselves with cheerful chat and in making
arrangements for various pleasure excursions
about the vicinity.
It was unanimously decided to reserve the
long walks until Amy should grow stronger, in
order that she might share the enjoyment.
In the meanwhile they would fill up the time
with bathing, lounging, short strolls, driving,
and boating.
They finished the evening with the singing of
374: ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
hymns, a chapter of the Bible read aloud by
Donald, and a short, earnest prayer, well suited
to their needs, offered by him.
The next day their plans were interfered with
by a constant, steady rainfall, but no one fretted
or looked dull. Most of them took their bath
in spite of it, and there were books and games
with which to while away the time within doors.
The second day was bright and clear. Amy
felt herself already so greatly improved that she
was eager for a proposed boating excursion on
Shark River. Breakfast was prepared, eaten,
and cleared away in good season. Mary was an
excellent manager, working rapidly and well
herself and skilfully directing the labors of
others.
They took the stage down to the river, hired
a boat large enough to carry the whole party,
gpent a couple of hours in rowing back and
forth, up and down, then returned home as
they had come, reaching there in season for
their bath and the preparation of a good
though not very elaborate dinner, Mary press-
ing Ella and the lads into her service, while
Amy and Violet were ordered to lie down and
rest after their bath.
"What's the programme for this afternoon?'*
asked Charlie, finishing his dessert and pushing
his plate aside.
"Dish-washing, a long lounge on beds and
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 375
couches, then tea and a second chapter of cleans-
ing of utensils, followed by an evening stroll on
the beach," answered Mary.
" And what for to-morrow?" queried Donald.
"Ah, that reminds me," said Edward, "that
Mrs. Perkins told me she expects her husband
by the evening train, and wants us to join them
to-morrow in getting up a fishing party. The
plan is to drive over to Manasquan, hire a boat
there and go out on the ocean. What do you
all say about it?"
The young men were highly in favor of the
trip ; Amy would see how she felt in the morn-
ing ; Violet demurred, lest there might be dan-
ger in going upon the ocean, and " because she
could not see any pleasure in catching fish ; it
seemed so cruel."
" But you eat them," reasoned her brother.
" Yes, I know, and I suppose it is very incon-
sistent to object to catching them, but I do. I
could not enjoy seeing them suffer."
" You can go with us without feeling obliged
to share in that, can you not?" asked Donald.
"Needn't even go out in the boat unless you
choose," put in Charlie. "We'll find a shady
spot under the trees near the shore where you
can sit and watch us."
Violet thought that plan would do very well;
she could take a book along, and the time would
not seem tedious.
276 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
"But Mary has not spoken," said Donald,
turning to her.
"I see no objection to your going, any or all
of you," she answered brightly, " but I must be
excused."
" But why?" they all asked in various tones
of disappointment and inquiry.
"Because to-morrow is Saturday, and the
cook and housekeeper must make ready for the
Sabbath rest by doing two days' work in one."
" Can't we manage that somehow?" asked
Donald.
Mary shook her head. "No; but I shan't
mind it at all. Go and enjoy yourselves, my
children, and leave me to attend to my duties
at home."
''The rest can go if they choose, but if you
stay at home, cousin, I shall stay with you."
announced Violet with decision.
They rose from the table.
"Mary," said Charlie, "let the dishes stand
a bit. I'm going to the post-office," and seizing
his hat he disappeared, followed by the laughter
of the others."
" Quick, now, lads and lasses, let's have them
all out of the way before he gets back," said
Ella, beginning to clear the table in hot
haste.
The heat of the sun was too great to allow of
very fast walking, and Charlie was gone a full
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 377
ialf hour ; when he returned he found them all
sitting at their ease in the parlor.
"I think we'll leave those dishes till the cool
of the evening, Mary," he said, wiping the
perspiration from his forehead.
"No, I can't consent to that not on ordi-
nary occasions," she answered demurely.
"Then back to the post-office goes this let-
ter!" he cried threateningly, holding aloft on&
with her address upon it."
" Silly boy, the dishes are done without your
help ; give it to me!" she cried, springing up
and catching it out of his hand.
" A fortunate day; nobody neglected by Un-
cle Sam's messengers," he said, pulling several
more from his pocket and distributing them.
The tongues were silent for a moment; then
Vi uttered a joyous exclamation. " Mary,
you needn't stay at home to-morrow ! mamma
says she will send a hamper by the evening train
to-morrow, with provision to last us over Sun-
day, so that you need not be troubled with Sat-
urday cooking."
Everybody was glad, everybody thankful.
" But to-morrow's dinner," said Mary, pres-
ently; " shall we get back in time for me to
cook it?"
"I don't know," said Edward; "but there
are hotels where we can dine, and I invite you
all to be my guests at whichever one the party
278 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
may select. Now, Cousin Mary," as he read
hesitation in her face, " I shall be hurt if any-
body refuses my invitation."
So no one ventured an objection.
The day proved auspicious. Amy was unu-
sually well, everybody else in good health and
spirits, no excuse for staying at home: so all went
and spent the entire day, taking an early start
and not returning till late in the afternoon.
CHAPTER XXIII.
" Macbeth. If we should fail
"LadyM. We fall!
But screw yonr courage to the sticking place,
And we'll not fail."
Shakespeare.
SUNDAY morning came and our young friends
met at the breakfast table, not in their usual
jesting, mirthful mood, but with cheerful grav-
ity of demeanor, suited to the sacredness of the
day.
f< There is no preaching, no sort of religious
service within our reach to-day," Edward re-
marked.
" Then shall we not have one of our own?"
asked Mary. " I have a book of sermons: one
might be read aloud; then we can have three
prayers and as many hymns as we please; we all
sing."
"And we might have a Bible reading also,"
suggested Ella. ' 'And suppose we take up the In-
ternational Sunday-school Lesson and study it.'*
All these propositions were received with fa-
vor and eventually carried out.
They did not think it wrong to stroll quietly
along the shore, or to sit there watching the ,
play of the billows, and thus they ended their
afternoon.
280 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
The evening was pleasantly spent in serious
talk and the singing of hymns on the front
porch, where they could feel the breeze and see
the foam-crested waves by the light of a young
moon.
They retired early, feeling that they had had
an enjoyable, restful day, and rose betimes, full
of life and vigor except Amy; and even she
felt equal to a longer stroll than she had yet
taken.
The days flew by on swift wings, each bring-
ing its duties and enjoyments with it, and so
pleasant was the gay, free life they led that at
times they half regretted that it must come to
an end.
Yet there were other times when some, if not
all of them, anticipated, with real satisfaction,
the return to the more serious business of life.
There was a very frequent exchange of visits
between their party and the one to which Ed-
ward and Violet more properly belonged; some-
times by way of the cars, at others by riding or
driving; so that Violet was never many days
without sight and speech of her mother and some
of the other dear ones at home; and that recon-
ciled her to a longer absence from it.
At length the younger Elsie was persuaded to
come and spend a few days with Mary and her
party, the mother consenting to spare both
daughters for that length of time. The sweet
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. <J81
girl's presence added much to the enjoyment of
all, especially her sister, for their mutual attach-
ment had always been very strong.
One day there was a large fishing party, com-
posed principally of guests from other houses,
which both Elsie and Violet declined to attend;
but Vi, fired with a laudable ambition to emu-
late her cousin Mary's skill in the culinary art,
volunteered to get dinner, and have it ready by
the time the others returned.
Each one of them offered to stay and assist,
but she would not hear of it; laughingly assert-
ing that "she wanted all the honor and glory,
and wouldn't have anybody with her but Elsie,
who knew nothing about cooking, but would
keep her from being Mone and lorn,' and per-
haps help a little in those things which were so
easy that even the lads could do them," she con-
cluded, with a merry glance from one to the
other.
Edward was not there, some errand having
taken him home by the morning train.
" Can you stand that insinuation, Donald?"
asked Charlie. " I vote that you and I stay at
home to-morrow and get dinner, just to prove
our skill in that line."
"Agreed," said Donald; "but what's to be
done with the lasses in the meantime? We can't
let them go off pleasuring alone."
" Oh, Edward can take care of them all for
232 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
once; he's to be back by dinner- time to-day, you
know, so will be on hand here to-morrow."
" Thank you," said Ella, laughing, and with
a mock courtesy, " but we are entirely capable
of taking care of ourselves, as perhaps we may
prove to you one of these days. But here's the
carriage at the gate. Come, Amy, I'll help you
in. Let us show these lords of creation that
they are of not quite so great importance as they
are pleased to imagine."
She ran gayly out, -Amy following a little
inore slowly, with a regretful good-bye to the two
who were to remain at home.
The lads hurried after, in season to forestall
Eila in assisting Amy into the vehicle, which
the former had hastily entered unaided, before
they could reach it.
Mary lingered behind a moment to say to Elsie
and Violet that she did not in the least care to
go, indeed would prefer to stay with them.
"No, no, cousin Mary," they both said, "we
would not have you miss the sport, or deprive
the rest of the pleasure of your society."
" Besides," added Violet, with a merry look
and smile, " if you were here I know very well
I should miss the opportunity to distinguish
myself as a capable and accomplished cook. So
away with you, fair lady ! See, the lads are
waiting to hand you into the carriage. "
" Good-bye then, but don't attempt an clabo
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 053
rate dinner," Mary returned, as she hastened
away.
The sisters stood on the little poroh watching
the departure till the carriage was out of sight.
Just then a boy carrying a large basket open-
ed the gate and came in.
" That's right, you are just in good time,"
was Vi's greeting. "Please carry them into
the kitchen. Have you brought all I ordered?"
" Yes'm; potatoes, corn, beans, tomats, cab-
bage, lettuce, and young beets. All right fresh
and nice."
Violet paid him and he left.
" There, I shall have a sufficient variety of
vegetables," she remarked, viewing her purchase
with satisfaction.
" Vi," sighed Elsie, with a look of appre-
hension. " do you in the least know what you
are about ?"
"Why of course, you dear old goosie! haven't
I watched Cousin Mary's cooking operations for
over two weeks ? Oh I assure you I'm going to
have a fine dinner ! There's a chicken all ready
for the oven cousin showed me how to make
the stuffing and all that. I've engaged fresh fish
and oysters they'll be coming in directly. I
shall make an oyster pie and broil the fish. I
mean to make a boiled pudding and sauce for
dessert, and have bought nuts, raisins and al-
monds, oranges, bananas and candies besides,
and engaged ice cream and cake."
284 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
" Your bill of fair sounds very good, but what
if you should fail in the cooking ?"
" Oh, no such word as fail for me !" laughed
Vi. " IVe screwed my courage to the sticking
place, and don't intend to fail. Now we must
don our big aprons and to work ; you'll help me
with the vegetables, I know."
" Willingly, if you'll show me how."
Violet felt very wise and important as she
gave her older sister the requested instruction,
then went bustling about making her pudding
and pastry : for she decided to add tarts to her
bill of fare, and the oyster pie must have a very
nice crust.
But as she proceeded with her preparations
she discovered that her knowledge was deficient
in regard to many of the details of the business
in hand; she did not know exactly how much
time to allow for the cooking of each dish ,
how long it would take the chicken to roast,
pie and tarts to bake, pudding and vegetables
to boil.
She grew anxious and nervous in her per-
plexity; there was no one to give her the needed
information, the cookery books did not supply
it, and in sheer desperation she filled her oven,
her pots and kettles as fast as possible, saying
to Elsie it would surely be better to have food
a little overdone than not sufficiently cooked.
It proved an unfortunate decision, especially
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 285
as the fishing party were an hour later in re-
turning than had been expected.
Poor Violet was too much mortified to eat
when she discovered that there was no sweet-
ness left in the corn, that her potatoes were
water-soaked, her oysters tough as leather, the
chicken scorched and very much overdone, the
fish burnt almost to a cinder, and oh worst
of all ! cooked with the scales on. She had for-
gotten they had any.
Her friends all comforted her, however, tak-
ing the blame on themselves. " If they had not
been so late, things would not have been so
overdone ; it was their fault. And the lettuce,
the cold-slaw, and bread and butter were all
very nice. The tarts too."
But as soon as she tasted them Violet knew
she had forgotten the salt in her crust and that
it was tough compared to her Cousin Mary's.
And then the pudding ! oh why did it turn
out so heavy ? Ah, she had made it with sour
milk and put in no soda.
" Oh what shall I do ?" she said despairingly
to Mary, who was helping her to dish it up.
"There's hardly anything fit to eat, and I
know you are all very hungry."
" Indeed, dear little coz, there is a great deal
that's fit to eat," Mary said, glancing toward
the table on which the last course was set out
- except the ice cream, which had not yet been
286 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
" Yes, those are nice, but the substantiate of
the meal just what are most needed are all
spoiled. Oh what's that?" with a sudden
change of tone as a man bearing a large hamper
appeared at the open door ; " something from
mamma, I do believe."
"Yes," said Edward, stepping in after the
man as the latter set the hamper down ; " and
as its more than an hour past dinner time, I
suppose its very well I didn't come empty
handed."
" Ned, Ned, you dear, good fellow !"
cried Violet, springing to his side and throwing
her arms around his neck.
"Yes, you may well say that !" he returned,
laughing, as he gave her a kiss, then put her
aside and stooped to open the basket, " for I
told mother what you were attempting to-day,
and she said ' The poor, dear child ! she will
surely fail, so I'll send some provisions with you
when you go.' And here they are, all of the
best, of course, for mamma never does anything
by halves," he added, beginning to hand out
the viands a pair of cold roast fowls, a boiled
tongue, pickles, jellies, pies and cakes in variety,
Mary and Vi receiving them with exclamations
of satisfaction, delight and thankfulness which
quickly brought the others upon the scene, just
as the bearer of the hamper, who had gone out
on setting it down, re-entered with a basket of
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 33?
of beautiful, luscious looking peaches and
grapes.
" Hello !" exclaimed Charlie, in high glee,
"what's all this ? a second dinner ?"
"Yes," returned Violet, "my dear, good
mother's atonement for her conceited daugh-
ter's failure."
" No, no, we don't call it a failure, nor the
cook conceited," cried a chorus of voices ; " some
things are very nice, and others were spoiled by
our fault in coming home so late."
" Well, please come back to the table and
we'll begin again," said Violet, carrying the
fowls into the dining-room, Mary following
with the tongue, Elsie and Ella with other edi-
bles.
"Please, some of you, help me carry away
dinner number one, to make room for dinner
number two," said Vi, replacing the dish con-
taining her unfortunate chicken with the one on
which she had put the new arrivals.
Upon that everybody seized one or more of
the dishes and hurried back to the kitchen; and
so with a great rushing to and fro and amid
much laughter and many merry jests they re-
spread the board.
Violet's spirits and appetite had returned, and
she joined the others in making a hearty meal.
The next morning was cloudy and cool for
the season. All agreed it was just the day for
288 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD
a long stroll inland, and shortly after breakfast
they set out in a body Mary, Ella and Edward
leading the van, Donald and Edward's two sis-
ters coming next, Charlie and Amy bringing up
the rear.
There seemed to be a tacit understanding
that those two were always to be together and no
remark was ever made about it, but Charlie al-
ways quietly took possession of the fragile little
lady, just as if he had entered into bonds to be
her care-taker and entertainer, accommodating
his pace to hers, which was so much slower than
that most natural to the others that they often
unintentionally left her far behind.
They presently met Mrs. Perkins, Fred and
Susie, who were also starting out for a walk, and
the two parties joined their forces.
They passed through the village, and sat down
JOT a little while on some rustic benches under
the trees on the river bank, to rest and enjoy
the pleasing prospect.
The village lay behind them; before, green
slopes dotted here and there with trees stand-
ing singly or in groups; then the sparkling
river, to the left, beyond the bridge, widening
into a lake-like expanse, to the right pouring its
waters into the great ocean, on whose broad
bosom many ships, steamers and smaller craft
could be seen, some near, others far away in
the distance.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 289
The surface of the river too was enlivened by
a number of small sail-boats slowly moving
before the wind, and skiffs that darted hither
and thither. On the further bank the scene
was diversified by woods and fields, with here
and there a farm-house, then the sandy beach
bordering the wide blue sea.
"Are you quite tired out, Amy?" Charlie
asked after a little.
"Oh no, I'm quite rested," she answered
gayly, " and feel able to walk a good deal farther.
I am really surprised to find how strong and
well I am."
" The sea-shore's the place for you evidently,"
he said; then as she sprang up nimbly to join
the others as they rose and moved on again,
" But I don't know that it would be best to
keep you here too long; you might grow so
strong as to feel capable of dispensing with any
help from other folks."
"Which would be very delightful indeed,'*
she returned with an arch look and smile as she
accepted his offered arm.
They hastened on after the rest of their party,
over a bridge and along the roadside for some
distance, then they all struck into a narrow
footpath on the farther side of the fence, the
young men letting down the bars to give the
ladies easy ingress, and followed that through a
bit of woods, crossing a little stream by a bro-
290 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
ken bridge, where again the lads had the pleas-
ure of giving assistance to their companions of
the weaker sex ; then across some cornfields ;
making a circuit that brought them back to the
river.
The path now ran along its bank, and still
pursuing it they came at length to a little inlet
where was neither bridge nor boat.
Therfr"they stopped and held a consultation.
No one wanted to go back by the way they had
come, it was too long and roundabout ; if they
could but cross this inlet they could soon reach
one of the life-saving stations on the other side,
and there probably find some one who would
carry them across the river in a boat, when a
short walk along the beach would take them to
their temporary homes.
" The water is not deep, I think," said Don-
ald. " I propose that we lads strip off boots and
stockings, wade through and carry the ladies
over. I will wade across first and try its depth."
He did so, spite of some protests from the
more timid of the ladies, and found it hardly
knee-deep. All then agreed to his proposition.
" Edward and I will make a chair by clasping
hands," he said gayly, " and Fred and Charlie
can do likewise if they will, and we will divide
the honor of carrying the ladies over dryshod."
Donald had a purpose in selecting Edward
as his companion and helper in the undertaking;
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. %Q\
feeling pretty certain that Elsie and Violet
would choose to be carried by their brother,
which they did.
"I see through you, young man," Charlie
said to Donald in a laughing aside while mak-
ing ready for the trip, "but I don't care very
much, if you leave Miss Fletcher for me."
"All right," returned Donald, "I intended
to, for I see which way the wind blows. She's
light too, my lad, and will be the better suited to
your strength."
" Strength, man! I'm as able to lift and carry
as Lieutenant Keith, if I'm not greatly mis-
taken," Charlie said with pretended wrath,
" and to prove it I speak for the carrying of
Mrs. Perkins and Miss Neff, who must be a trifle
heavier than any of the other ladies."
"All right; but fortunately there isn't one in
the party heavy enough to be any great burden
to either of us."
So amid a good deal of mirth and laugh-
ter and some timidity and shrinking on the
part of the younger girls, the short journey was
made, and that without mishap or loss.
Then a short, though toilsome walk through
the soft yielding sand brought them to the
life-saving station, a small two-story frame build-
ing standing high on the sandy beach, the rest-
less billows of old ocean tossing and tumbling
not many rods away.
392 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD
They were courteously treated by the brave
fellows who make this their abode during eight
months of the year, were shown the room on
the lower floor where they cook and eat, the tr^o
above where they sleep, and also all the appara-
tus for saving the shipwrecked and any others
who may be in danger of drowning within reach
of their aid.
Our friends were all greatly interested in
looking at these things the colored lamps and
flags for signalling, the life-boat, the breeches-
buoy and the life-car this last especially: it
was of metal, shaped like a row-boat, but covered
in over the top, except a square opening large
enough to admit one passenger at a time, and
having a sliding door, the closing of which,
after the passengers are in, makes the car com-
pletely water-tight.
" How many will it hold ?" asked Edward.
" Six or seven grown folks, if they are not
very large sized."
" Oh, I should think they would smother P
cried Violet.
"It is only about three or four minutes
they'd have to stay in it," said the exhibitor.
Then he showed them the thick, strong rope
or hawser on which it runs, and the mortar by
means of which they send a line to the dis-
tressed vessel with a tally-board attached on
Which are printed directions English on one
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 293
aide, French on the other f or the proper secur-
ing of the hawser to the wreck.
" The other end is made fast on shore, I sup-
pose ?" said Amy inquiringly.
"Yes, Miss."
" And when they have made their end fast
and got into the car "
" Then we pull 'em ashore."
" Not a particularly pleasant ride to take, I
imagine," remarked Donald.
" Not so very sir ; she's apt to be tossed about
pretty roughly by the big waves ; turn over
several times, likerthan not."
"Yes, I suppose so."
" Oh," cried Amy, with a shudder, "I think
I'd almost rather drown."
"No, Miss," said the man, " I guess you'd
find even that better'n drowning."
Having fully satisfied their curiosity, our
friends inquired if there was anybody about
there who would take them across the river.
"Yes, sir, I'll row you across, half of you at a
time," answered the man, addressing Donald,
who had acted as spokesman for the party.
" All of you at once would be too big a load for
the boat."
It was but a short walk to the river, a few
minutes' row across it, and soon they were all on
the farther side and walking along the beach to-
ward home.
294 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
" Dinner time !" exclaimed Ella, looking at
her watch. " What's to be done about it ?"
Her question seemed to be addressed to
Mary.
" Don't ask me," was the demure reply. " It's
none of my concern to-day. Didn't you hear
the agreement between Charlie and Don yester-
day?'*
"There! Mr. Charles Perrine, see the scrape
you have got yourself and me into !" exclaimed
Donald with a perplexed and rueful look.
"What in the world are we to do !" cried
Charlie, stopping short with his hand upon the
gate and turning so as to face the others.
" Get in out of the sun for the first thing,"
replied his cousin.
" Yes, yes, of course !" and he stepped back
and held the gate open for the ladies to pass
in.
" We are all hungry as bears,! suppose," he said
when they were fairly in the house. " Come,
Mary, be good and tell us what to do. Shall we
go to one of the hotels?"
" No, make the fire, set the table, and grind
some coffee," she answered, laughing. "I fore-,
saw that I'd have to come to the rescue, and am
prepared. We'll have coffee, stewed oysters,
eold fowl left from yesterday, plenty of good
bread, rolls and butter, fruits and cake, and it
won't take many minutes to get it ready."
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. ' 295
" Mary, you're a jewel !" Charlie returned,
catching her about the waist and kissing her on
both cheeks.
" Begone, you impertinent fellow !" she said
laughingly as she released herself and pushed
him away. "Even a cousin shouldn't take
such liberties-"
CHAPTEK XXIV.
* O pilot ! 'tis a fearful night,
There's danger on the deep."
-Bayly.
ELSIE had gone home, and in a few days our
little party would break up entirely, Ella and
Amy return to their homes, Mary, Donald and
Charlie go with Edward and Violet to their
mother's cottage to spend some time as Mrs.
Travilla's guests.
The Allisons had gone, and there was now
abundance of room, though the Conlys, mother
and daughter, still lingered, loath to leave the
delightful sea breezes.
The quiet life led under her cousin Elsie's
roof was not much to Virginia's taste, but noth-
ing better had offered as yet.
Breakfast was over, the morning tasks the
girls had set themselves were all done, and the
whole four came trooping out upon the porch
where the three lads were standing apparently
very intent upon some object out at sea.
Edward was looking through a spy-glass,
which he handed to Donald just as the girls
joined them, saying, " See if you can make out
the name."
ELSIE' 8 WIDOWHOOD. 297
" Not quite, but she is certainly a yacht," was
Donald's reply, after a moment's steady gaze at
one of the many vessels within sight ; for they
had counted more than forty of various sorts and
sizes, some outward bound, others coming in.
The one which so excited their interest was
drawing nearer.
"Let me look," said Mary. "I have the
reputation of being very far-sighted."
Donald handed her the glass and pointed out
the vessel.
She sighted it, and in another moment said,
"Yes, I can read tHe name 'The Curlew.'"
"Ah, ha!" cried Edward in a very pleased
tone, te I was correct ; it is Will Tallis's
yacht."
" And really it looks as if he meant to call at
Ocean Beach," added Charlie. "Must have
heard, Ned, that you and I are here."
" Doubtless," laughed Edward.
" k Will Tallis?" repeated Violet inquiringly.
" Is he a friend of yours, Edward ?"
" Why, yes ; have you never heard me speak
of him? He's a splendid fellow, one whom I
should very willingly introduce to my mother
and sisters."
" And has a yacht of his own ?"
" Yes ; he's very rich, and delights in being
on the sea. Inherits the taste, I suppose ; his
father was a sea-captain. He told us Charlie
298 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
and me that he meant to go yachting this sea.
son, and wished he could persuade us to go with
him."
"And I, for one, should like nothing better,"
said Charlie. " Why, Ned, he is coming ashore !
See, they hare dropped anchor and are putting
off from the yacht in a boat ! Yes, here they
come, pulling straight for this beach. "Where's
my hat? Let's run down, boys, and meet them
as they land !" cried the lad, greatly excited.
Amy had found his hat and silently handed
it to him. Edward and Donald seized theirs,
and all three rushed to the beach.
"Come, girls," said Ella, " let us go too; why
should we miss the fun, if there is to be any?"
They put on their hats, took their sun-um-
brellas, and started. They however went only
as far as to the sidewalk in front of the Colorado
House so many people were thronging the
beach to witness the landing, which was now
evidently to take place just below there, and our
modest, refined young ladies did not like to be
in a crowd.
Mrs. Perkins and Susie joined them. Fred
was away; had gone over to New York, expect-
ing to return by the evening train.
" Not much to be seen by us but the waves
and the crowd," remarked Ella, a little impa-
tiently. " Nor much to be heard but the mur-
mur of their voices."
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 299
"They must have landed, I think,'' Mrs.
Perkins said. " Yes, here they come; our lads,
I mean, and a stranger with them. A very nice
looking fellow he is, too."
; The four young men drew near, and Edward
.introduced "My friend, Mr. Tallis," to the
ladies.
' He was very gentlemanly in appearance, and
had a pleasant, open countenance, a cordial,
hearty manner as he shook hands with the ma-
tronly married lady and lifted his hat to the
younger ones.
" I am happy to make your acquaintance,
ladies," he said, with a genial smile and an ad-
miring glance at Violet, " and have come to ask
the pleasure of your company on board my yacht.
I am bound for Boston and the coasts of New
Hampshire and Maine a short sea- voyage which
I trust you will find enjoyable if I can but per-
suade you to try it."
Mrs. Perkins declined, with thanks, for her-
gelf and Susie. Violet did likewise. The other
three hesitated, but finally yielded to the per-
suasions of the lads.
" Edward, you will not go, surely?" whis-
pered Violet, drawing her brother aside.
"And why not?" he returned with some im-
patience.
" Because you haven't mamma's consent, ol
grandpa's either."
300 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
"No, but that's only because they are not
here to give it. I'm sure there's nothing objec-
tionable. Will's the very sort of fellow they
would approve, the vessel is new and strong, and
the captain and crew understand their busi-
ness.
"But a storm might come up."
"Why, Vi, how silly! there's no appearance
of a storm, and we are not intending to go far
out to sea. Besides, you might just as well
bring that objection to any trip by sea."
"Yes; but if you had mamma's consent it
would be different."
"I don't see that. I'd ask it, of course, if I
could and be sure to get it, too, I think but
there isn't time; they don't want to lose this fa-
vorable wind and fine weather, and will be off
again within an hour. Come, make up your
mind to go with us: I want you along, for I
think it will be a delightful little voyage."
" Thank you, brother, but I don't wish to go,
and couldn't enjoy it if I went without mamma's
knowledge and consent: and I do wish you would
not go."
" Vi, I never knew you so absurd and unrea-
sonable ! But if you will not go along, perhaps
I ought to stay to take care of you. I had not
thought of ' that before. Mother left you in my
charge, but I am sure she would not want me to
7 ~se this pleasure, and it strikes me as a triflo
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 3Q1
selfish in you to make it necessary for me to do
so."
"I don't want yon to stay on my account," 1 *
she said, tears springing to her eyea, "and I
don't think you need. I can go home this af-
ternoon by the cars. Probably mamma would
not mind my taking so short a ride alone/'
" I don't know: but I should enjoy the voyage
far more with you along."
"What is the matter?" asked Mrs. Perkins,
overhearing a part of the talk. " I will take
charge of your sister, Mr. Travilla, if she prefers
to stay behind."
" Thank you," Edward responded with bright-
ening countenance. "But Vi, you will not
care to bathe while we are gone?"
"No, Ned, I shall not go in without you, as
mamma desired me not."
" And you are willing for me to go?"
"Not quite; I wish you wouldn't; only don't
stay to take care of me."
Edward looked a good deal vexed and an-
noyed.
"Mrs. Perkins," he said, turning to her, "if
Fred were here, wouM you object to his go-
ing?"
"No, not at all. I should leave him to fol-
low his own inclination. 'But," as Edward
turned triumphantly to Violet, " I am not mean-
ing to encourage you to go, if your sister thinks
302 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
your mother might object: all mothers do not
see alike, you know."
"Well," he said, "I imagine I am as compe-
tent a judge of that as Violet is. I feel well-
nigh certain that she would bid me go and en-
joy myself. She's not one of the fussy kind of
mothers who are afraid to let their children stir
out of their sight."
" Then you will go?" said Mr. Tallis.
"Yes, "Ed ward answered, resolutely avoiding
Violet's pleading looks.
"I wish we could persuade your sister," Mr.
Tallis said, turning to her. "Are you timid
about venturing on the sea, Miss Tra villa?"
" Xot particularly," she said, coloring slightly.
"Then do come with us ! the more the mer-
rier, you know, and I should be so happy. I
do not feel quite comfortable to carry off all the
rest of your party and leave you alone."
The girls joined their entreaties to his, but
Violet was firm in her resolution to remain on
shore.
Then Mary offered to stay with her, but as
Violet felt convinced that it would involve a sac-
rifice on her cousin's part, she would not con-
sent.
They now all hastened back to the cottage to
make such preparations as might be needful. It
was not much to any of them, as they expected
to return the next day or the one following.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 303
"Edward, can I be of any assistance to you?"
Violet asked, going to the door of his room.
" Yes, if you like to pack this valise. Maybe
you would do it better than I. I'm alone, so
come in."
Violet accepted the invitation, and did the
little service quite to his satisfaction.
"You are a nice, handy girl, if I do say it
that shouldn't," he remarked laughingly. " But
what's the matter?" as he saw that her eyes
were full of tears.
" Edward, don't go away vexed with me !"
she exclaimed, putting an arm around his neck.
"Suppose a storm should come up, and and
we should never see each other again."
The last words came with an irrepressible
burst of tears and sobs. The loving young heart
was sore from recent bereavement, and ready to
fear for all its dear ones.
" Come, don't fret about possibilities," he
said, kindly. "I'm not vexed now, and you
must forgive me for calling you selfish."
"You don't think I am?"
" No, indeed! but just the darlingest little sis-
ter ever a fellow had. I shouldn't like if any-
thing should happen to have you remember
that as one of tlie last things I had said to you.
No, I was the selfish one. Now good-bye, and
don't worry about me," he said, holding her
close, and kissing her several times; "you know,
304 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
Vi dear, that we are under the same protecting
care on sea and on land."
"Yes," she whispered, but with some hesita-
tion, and drawing a deep sigh.
"Ah!" he said, "you doubt whether I shall
be taken care of because I'm going without per-
mission. Are you not forgetting that we have
always been trained to think and decide for our-
selves in all cases where it is right and proper
for us to do so? And why should I need per-
mission to go on the sea in a yacht any more
than in a fishing-boat? Can you answer me
that?" he concluded, half kughingly.
"No," she said, with a slight smile, "and I
daresay you are in the right about it."
" Then you won't change your mind ('tis a wo-
man's privilege, you know) and go along? It's
not yet too late."
"No, thank you; I do not care to claim all
the woman's privileges yet," she answered with
playful look and tone.
" Hello, Ned! 'most ready?" shouted Charlie
from below. " Time's about up."
They went down at once.
The other girls were on the porch quite
ready to start, Donald standing with them.
Mrs. Perkins and Susie could be descried down
on the beach waiting to see them off; Mr. Tallis
too, chatting with the ladies.
The young men gathered up the ladies' satch'
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 305
els and their own. Charlie offered his arm to
Amy, but she declined it with a laughing assur-
ance that she was now strong enough to walk
without support.
"Miss Neff," he sighed, turning to Ella,
"I've lost my situation: will you?"
" And you and the rest of us will, maybe, lose
something else if we don't hurry," she answered
lightly. " * Time and tide wait for no man/ so
let us make haste before they fail us."
These three were very merry, the other three
sober almost to absolute quietness as they made
their way to the waiting boat.
Edward kissed his sister again as he was about
to step into it, and she clung to his neck for a
moment whispering. "Ah, I shall pray that you
may come back safely!"
" Don't borrow trouble, you dear little goose,"
he said, as he let her go.
At the last moment it appeared that Donald
was not going.
There were various exclamations of surprise
and disappointment from the voyagers when his
purpose to remain behind became apparent,
" They had understood he was going why did
he change his mind?"
" Well," he said, with a quiet smile, " a man
is not bound to give all his reasons, but the
fact is Mrs. Perkins has held out strong induce'
ments to me to stav where I am."
306 ELSIES WIDOWHOOD.
" And lie couldn't be in better company, could
he?" was her laughing addition.
Violet was as much taken by surprise as the
others, but in her secret heart not at all sorry
" It would be so much less lonely with Cousin
Donald there."
They stood on the beach, waving their hand-
kerchiefs to their departing friends until the t
latter had reached the deck of the yacht. Nor
did they cease to watch the vessel so long as the
smallest portion of it was visible, as it faded
quite out of sight.
Violet felt a strong inclination to indulge in
a hearty cry, but putting a determined restraint
upon herself, chatted cheerfully instead. Yet
her friends perceived her depression and exerted
themselves for her entertainment.
"It seems to me," Donald said, with a glance
at Violet, but addressing Mrs. Perkins, as they
went into a summer house near by and sat
down, "that this little lady has less of inquisi-
tiveness than most people (I will not say most
of h'er sex, for I think my own is by no means
deficient in the characteristic) or she would
have made some inquiry in regard to the strong
inducements I spoke of."
" What were they?" Violet asked. " You have
roused my sleeping curiosity."
" Mrs. Perkins has kindly offered to come to
the cottage and help us with our housekeeping
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 307
while the rest of the lads and lassies are away,
and to bring Miss Susie and her brother with
her."
Vi's face lighted up with pleasure. " It is
very kind," she said. "Now I shall not mind
the absence of the others half so much as I had
expected. I like my little room at the cottage,
and do not fancy living in a crowd as I must
anywhere else."
"Then you will not go home?" Donald said,
inquiringly.
"No; upon second thought I have decided
against that plan, because if I did go I must
tell mamma how it happened, and then if a
storm should come up she would be tortured
with useless anxiety about my brother."
" You are very thoughtful of your mother."
" As any one would be who had. such a mother
as ours, Cousin Donald."
" She is certainly very lovely and lovable," he
said. " Now about our meals, cousin. Do you
object to taking them in a crowd? at one of the
public houses here?"
"No; I think it the least of two evils,"
she answered, with a smile, "for I own to being
somewhat tired of the fun of housework and
cooking."
" Then we will settle upon that plan," Mrs.
Perkins said; "sleep and live at the cottage,
breakfast, dine and sup elsewhere."
308 ELBIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
Mrs. Perkins was a very good talker, full o:
general information, anecdote and entertaining
reminiscences, a delightful companion even to
one as young as Violet.
Time passed swiftly to them all. Life at the
cottage, because it took them ont of the crowd,
was more enjoyable than that at the hotels,
which were all very full at this season, and as a
consequence, very noisy.
The cottage seemed very peaceful and quiet
by contrast. Indeed it was far quieter now than
it had been at any time in the past two or three
weeks, and Violet, who was beginning to weary
of so much sport and mirtlifulness, really found
the change agreeable.
By the middle of the afternoon of the nert
day they began to watch for the reappearance of
the Curlew; but night closed in again without
the sight.
There was a very fresh and stormy breeze
from the north-east when they went to bed. In
the morning it blew almost a gale, and as
Violet's eyes turned seaward her face wore a
very anxious expression.
" No sign of the Curlew yet," she sighed, as
she stood at the parlor window gazing out upon
the wind-tossed billows, plunging, leaping., roar-
ing, foaming as if in furious passion.
"No; and we may weD thank God that we do
not," said Donald's voice close at her side, "for
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 309
the wind is jast in the quarter to drive them
ashore : I hope they are giving the land a wide
berth."
She looked up into his face with frightened
eyes.
" Do not be alarmed," he said ; "let us not
anticipate evil. They may be safe in port some-
where ; and at all events we know who rules ths
winds and waves."
" Yes," she murmured, in low tremulous
tones, "the stormy wind fulfils His word: and
no real evil shall befall any of His children."
There was a moment of silence ; then, " It is
about breakfast time now," he said, "but you
will not venture out in this gale, surely ? Shall
I not have your meal sent in to you ?"
"Thank you, but I prefer to make the effort
to go," she said ; "I want to .jet a nearer view
of the sea."
The others felt the same desire, and presently
they all started out together.
The ladies found it as much as they could do
to keep their feet even with the assistance of
their stronger companions, and the great, wind-
driven waves sometimes swept across the side-
walk.
It was clearly dangerous, if not impossible, to
approach nearer to the surging waters. The
gale was increasing every moment, the sky had
grown black with clouds and distant mut-
310 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
terings of thunder, and an occasional lightning
flash gave warning that the worst was yet to
come. Evidently it would be no day for out-
door exercise or amusement.
Regaining the cottage with difficulty, after
eating their breakfast they brought out books,
games and fancy work, resolved to make the
best of circumstances. Yet anxious as they
were for the fate of their friends, the voyagers
in the yacht, they did little but gaze out upon
the sea, looking for the Curlew, but glad that
neither she nor any other vessel was in sight.
The Curlew's cabin was comfortably, even
luxuriously furnished, her larder well supplied
with all the delicacies of the season. Favored
with beautiful weather and propitious winds,
our friends found their first day out from Ocean
Beach most enjoyable.
They passed the greater part of their time
on deck, now promenading, now reclining in
extension chairs, chatting, laughing, singing to
the accompaniment of flute and violin ; the
one played by Edward, the other by Charlie.
The yacht was a swift sailer, her motion easy,
and until the afternoon of the second day they
were scarcely troubled with sea-sickness. Most
of the time they kept within sight of land,
touching at Boston, Portsmouth, and several
other of the New England seaports, and con-
tinuing on their course until the wind changed,
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 311
when they turned, with the purpose of going
directly back to Ocean Beach.
For some hours all went well, a stiff breeze
carrying them rapidly in the desired direction;
but it grew stronger and shifted to a dangerous
quarter, while the rough and unsteady motion
of the vessel made all the passengers so sea-sick
that they began to heartily wish themselves safe
on land.
The ladies grew frightened, but the captain
assured them there was as yet little cause for
alarm. He had shortened sail and put out to
sea, fearing the dangers of the coast.
But the wind increased constantly until by
night it was blowing a gale, and though every
stitch of canvas had been taken in and furled,
they were being driven landward.
All night long the seamen fought against the
storm, striving to keep out to sea, but conscious
that their efforts were nearly futile. There was
little sleep that night for passengers or crew.
Morning broke amid a heavy storm of rain,
accompanied by thunder and lightning, while
the wind seemed to have redoubled its fury,
Wowing directly toward the shore.
The girls, conscious that they were in peril of
shipwreck, had gone to their berths without un-
dressing. Amy had been very sick all night,
and the other two, who stood it better, had done
their best to wait upon her, though it was little
312 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOh.
that could be done for her relief, and the pitehv
ing and rolling of the vessel frequently threw
them with violence against each other or the
furniture.
" It is morning," said Ella at length; " see, it
grows light in spite of the storm ; and I hear
voices in the saloon. Shall I open the door ?''
"Yes," said Mary, "let us learn the worst,
and try to be prepared for it."
The three young men were in the saloon, and
the girls joined them, Amy looking like the
ghost of herself,
Charlie, who had stationed himself near her
loor, instantly gave her the support of his arm,
putting it about her waist, while he held fast tr
the furniture with the other hand, and her head
dropped on his shoulder.
With death staring them in the face they did
not care for the eyes of their companions in
peril : who, indeed, were too full of the danger
and solemnity of their own position to pay any
attention to the matter.
"0 darling," Charlie said hoarsely, "if I
could only put you safe on shore !"
" Never mind," she answered, looking lov-
ingly into his eyes, '"'if we die, we shall die
together ; and Charlie, as we both trust in
Jesus, it will only be going home together to be
'forever with the Lord,' never, never to part
again !"
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 313
"Yes, there's comfort in that," he said;
-"and if you are to go, I'm glad I'm here to go
with you. But life is sweet, Amy, and we will
not give up hope yet."
Mary and Edward had clasped hands, each
gazing silently into the sad and anxious face
of the other.
She was thinking of her invalid mother, her
father, brothers and sisters, and how they would
miss her loving ministrations.
He too thought of his tender mother so
lately widowed, her sorrow over the loss of her
first-born son ; and of other dear ones, especial-
ly Violet, away from all the rest, the only one
conscious of his danger. He was glad now that
she had refused to come with them, but he
knew the terrible anxiety she must feel, the
ilmost heart-breaking sorrow his loss and the
right of their mother's grief would be to her.
"Mr. Tallis, I know we must be in great
danger," Ella said, as he took her hand to help
her to a seat. " Is there any hope at all ?"
"Oh surely, Miss Neff !" he replied; "we
will not give up hope yet, though we are indeed
in fearful peril. The greatest danger is that
we shall be driven ashore ; but we are still some
distance off the coast, and the wind may change
or lull sufficiently for an anchor to hold when
we are in water shallow enough for trying that
expedient. And even should we be wrecked,
314 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
there will be still a chance for us in the good
offices of the members of the life-saving ser-
vice."
"Ah, yes," she said, a gleam of hope shining
in her eyes, " the brave fellows will not leave
us to perish if they can help us."
" And we will put our trust in God," added
Mary.
What a day it was to them all, the storm
raging throughout the whole of it with una-
bated fury, and their hope of escape from the
dangers of the deep growing less and less.
The patrolmen were out, and toward sundown
one of them descried the masts of a vessel far
away in the distance. It was seen by others
also, for all day long many glasses had been,
at frequent intervals, sweeping the whole field
of vision seaward.
The news spread like wildfire, creating a great
excitement among the multitude of people gath-
ered in the hotels and boarding-houses, as well
as among the dwellers by the sea, not excepting
the brave surfmen whose aid was likely to be in
speed} requisition.
Hundreds of pairs of eyes watched the vessel
battling with the storm, yet spite of every ef-
fort sweeping nearer and nearer the dreadful
breakers. She seemed doomed to destruction,
but darkness fell while yet she was too far awa?
for recognition.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 315
Violet and her companions had gazed upon
her with fast beating hearts from the time of
her appearance until they could no longer catch
the faintest outline of her figure in the gather-
ing gloom.
Donald had nearly satisfied himself of her
identity, but would not for any consideration
have had Violet know that he believed her to
be the Curlew. Even without that confirma-
tion of her fears, the anxiety of the poor child
was such that it was painful to witness.
It was indeed the Curlew, and about the time
ehe was descried by those on land the captain
remarked aside to her owner, " The Jersey
shore is in sight, Mr. Tallis, and nothing short
of a miracle can save us from wreck, for we are
driving right on to it in spite of all that can be
done. The Curlew is doomed, she has dragged
her anchor, and will be in the breakers before
many hours."
" It will be a heavy loss to me, captain," was
the reply, " but if all our lives are saved I shall
not grumble ; shall on the contrary be filled
with thankfulness."
"Well, sir, we'll hope for the best," was the
cheerful rejoinder.
Soon all on board knew the full extent of th
dagger, and our young friends gave themselves
to solemn preparation for eternity ; also, in view
of the possibility of some being saved while
316 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
others were lost, made an exchange of parting
messages to absent loved ones.
It was again a sleepless night to them ; sleep-
less to our Ocean Beach friends at the cottage
also, and to many others whose hearts were
filled with sympathy for those in the doomed
vessel.
About midnight the report of a signal gun of
distress sent all rushing to the beach. She had
struck, not a quarter of a mile from the shore ;
and as the clouds broke away the dark outline
of her hull could be distinctly discerned among
the foam-tipped breakers.
The rain had ceased, and there was a slight-
lull in the tempest of wind, so that it was possi-
ble to stand on the beach ; but so furious still
was the action of the waves that the patrolman,
having instantly answered the gun by burning
his signal-light, and now rushing in among his
mates, reported that the surf-boat could not be
used.
So the mortar-car was ordered out.
There was not an instant's delay. Gallantly
the men bent to their work, dragged the car
toilsomely over the low sand-hills to a spot di-
rectly opposite the wreck, and by the light of a
lantern placed it and every part of the appara-
tus the shot-line box, hauling lines and haw-
ser for running, with the breeches-buoy attached
- in position, put the tackles in place ready fut
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 317
hauling, and with pick and spade dug a trench
for the sand anchor.
Each man having his particular part of the
work assigned him, and knowing exactly what
he was to do and how to do it, and all acting
simultaneously, the whole thing was accom-
plished in a short space of time after reaching
the desired spot.
An anxious, excited crowd was looking on.
Apart from the throng and a little higher up
the beach were our friends, Fred in charge of
his mother and Susie, Donald with Violet under
his protection.
She had begged so hard to come, " because it
might be the Curlew, so how could she stay
away ?" that he had no heart to resist her en-
treaties. And he felt that she would be safe in
his care, while Mrs. Perkins' presence made it
perfectly proper.
All being in readiness the gun was fired, and
the shot flew through the rigging of the ill-fated
Edward, now standing on her deck, under-
stood just what was to be done, and no tune
was lost. With a glad shout, heard by those
on shore, the line was seized by the sailors and
rapidly hauled in.
Ere long the hawser was stretched straight
and taut between the beach and the wreck the
shore end being raised several feet in the air by
318 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
the erection of a wooden crotch and the
breeches-buoy was ready to be drawn to and fro
upon it.
"Will you try it first, sir?" the captain of
the Curlew said to Mr. Tallis.
"No, I should be the last man to leave the
wreck."
"Go, go, Will !" cried Edward imperatively ;
"go and tell them to send the life-car, for there
are ladies to be saved."
" Yes, go sir ; don't waste precious time in
disputing," cried the captain ; and thus urged
the young man went.
He reached the shore in safety, was welcomed
with a glad shout, and instantly the word cir-
culated among the crowd, " The owner of the
Curlew. It is she.'?
Violet had nearly fallen fainting to the
ground, but Donald, supporting her with his
arm said in her ear, " Courage, my brave lassie !
and they shall all be saved."
"Take care of my mother and sister for a
moment, Keith !" exclaimed Fred, and plung-
ing into the crowd he quickly made his way to
the side of the rescued man.
"This way, if you please," he said, touching
him on the shoulder; "a lady, Miss Travilla,
would be glad to speak to you."
" Oh, yes ! I know !" and all dripping and
panting as he was, but having already delivered
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 319
his message, and seen the men on the way for
the safety -car, he went to her.
"It is Mr. Tallis," Fred said ; "Miss Tra-
villa, my mother and sister, and Mr. Keith,"
for it was too dark for a distinct view of each
other's faces.
" My brother ?" faltered Wet, holding out
her hand.
" Is uninjured thus far, my dear young lady,
and I trust will be with you in a few minutes.
The vessel must, I presume, go to pieces finally,
but will undoubtedly hold together long enough,
for all on board to be brought safely to shore."
Men from among the crowd had volunteer-
ed to assist in bringing the car, and while await-
ing its coming the breeches-buoy travelled back
and forth, bringing the sailors ; for neither Ed-
ward nor Charlie would leave the ladies, and
the captain insisted that he should be the last
man to be rescued.
From the hour of their early morning meet-
ing in the saloon the Curlew's passengers were
almost constantly together, a very sober, solemn,
and nearly silent company. Mary, in speaking
of it afterward, said she felt as if she were at-
tending her own funeral and listening to the
sighs and sobs of her bereaved friends.
"And yet," she added with a bright, glad
gmile, " it was not all saduess and gloom ; for
the consolations of God were not small with
320 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
me, and the thought of soon being with Christ
in glory was at times very sweet."
When the vessel struck, Charlie started up
with a sharp cry, " We are lost !"
Then all immediately fell on their knees
while Edward poured out a fervent prayer,
that they might be saved from a watery grave,
if such were the will of God, if not, prepared for
death and a glorious immortality ; adding a
final petition for the dear ones who would grieve
for their loss.
Just as they rose from their knees the signal
gun was fired.
Then the captain came down the companion-
way and looking in upon them, said. "Don't
despair ladies and gentlemen ; things are not
quite so bad as they might be ; we have ground-
ed very near the shore and a life-saving station,
and my signal gun was immediately replied to
by the patrolman with his red signal light. So
we may feel assured that prompt and efficient
help is near at hand."
Hope revived in their breasts, as they listen-
ed ; then Will Tallis and Edward ventured up-
on deck, leaving the girls in Charlie's charge.
The warning lights on shore gave to the anx-
ious watchers on the deck an inkling of what
was being done for their relief, and when the
shot was fired from the mortar and came whiz
sing through the rigging, Edward cried out in
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 331
delight. " The line, the line ! Now we shall
be helped ashore !"
As the vessel was now without motion, save a
shiver as now and again a great wave struck
her, the girls were pretty comfortable and in no
immediate danger, and as they urged it, Charlie,
too, at length ventured upon deck.
He soon returned with an encouraging report,
the better understood by the girls because of
their late visit to the life-saving station. " The
sailors were hauling in the line," he said, and
soon the work of transporting them all to land
would begin.
Amy shuddered at the thought of a ride in
the life-car, yet, as the surfman had predicted,
felt that even that would be far preferable to
drowning.
The next report brought them was of Mr.
Tallis's safe landing, and the next that the life-
car waited for them.
Edward, the captain, and two sailors helped
Mary and Ella across the wind-pwept deck and
into the car, Charlie and anocher sailor fol-
lowing with Amy.
They put her in after the other two and
Charlie stepped in next, calling to Edward to
come also.
" No," was the quiet reply. " I go by the
breeches-buoy."
The sliding door was hastily shut, and Amy
322 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
gasped for breath as she felt the car gliding
swiftly along the hawser, while the great waves
dashed over it, rocking it from side to side.
Charlie's arm was round her, holding her
close, but she grew deathly sick and fainted
quite away.
The minutes seemed hours, but at last they
heard, above the thunder of the breaking waves,
a great shout, and at the same instant felt the
car grate upon the sand.
The door was pushed open, Charlie, the near-
est to it, stepped out, drew Amy after him,
apparently more dead than alive, and leaving it
to others to assist Mary and Ella, bore her in
his arms, in almost frantic haste, to the nearest
house.
Mary was in Vi's arms almost before she knew
that she had actually reached shore ; Vi kiss-
ing her with tears and sobs, and crying, "Ed-
ward, Edward, where is he ?"
"Coming," Mary said, "the brave, generous
fellow would see us all safe first."
It was not long now till Violet's anxiety was
fully relieved and her heart sending up glad
thanksgivings as she found herself clasped to
her brother's breast, all dripping wet though he
was.
And great was the joy of the young owner of
the Curlew when he learned that though she
was a total wreck, not a single soul had been
lost in her.
CHAPTEE XXV.
"Those that he loved so long and sees no more,
Loved and still loves, not dead, but gone before,-.
He gathers round him."
Rogers.
THE morning was but dull and dreary, foi
though the storm had spent itself, the sky was
obscured with clouds and the sea still wrought
tempestuously ; but its sullen roar may, per-
chance, have been as favorable to the prolonged
slumbers of our worn-out friends, whom the
tempest had robbed of so many hours of their
accustomed sleep, as the lack of brightness in
the sky and atmosphere.
However that may have been, most of them,
retiring about dawn of day, slept on till noon,
or near it.
In Mrs. Travilla's cottage the family gathered
round the breakfast table at the usual hour.
The meal was nearly concluded when a ser-
vant brought in the morning paper and handed
it to Mr. Dinsmore.
" I fear that brings news of many disasters
caused by the storm, especially on the Atlantic
seaboard," remarked his daughter as he took
it up.
324 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
" Altogether likely," was his rejoinder.
Then as he ran his eye down the long list ol
casualties, " Why, what is this ?" he exclaimed,
and went on to read aloud.
" Went ashore last night at Ocean Beach, the
Curlew, a pleasure yacht belonging to W. V.
Tallis ; Captain Collins. She is a total wreck,
but no lives were lost, passengers and crew be-
ing taken off by the men of Life-Saying Station
No. . List of passengers, Mr. W. V. Tallis,
Mr. Edward Travilla, Mr. Charles Perrine, Miss
Mary Keith, Miss Amy Fletcher, and Miss Ella
Neff."
There was a moment of astonished silence,
then "Violet!" gasped the mother, turning
deathly pale.
" She was evidently not on board," Mr. Dins-
more hastened to reply, " or else her name wa$
carelessly omitted in the list, for it says dis-
tinctly, ' Xo lives were lost.' "
"I hope you are right, Horace," Mrs. Conlj
remarked, " but if she were my child I shouldn't
have any peace till I knew all about it."
"There isn't the least probability that if a
life had been lost the reporter would have failed
to say so," returned Mr. Dinsmore with some
severity of tone.
" Of course you are in the right, Horace, you
are," she said, bridling.
.Veil," remarked Virginia, " I'm astonished,
ELSIES WIDOWHOOD. 335
I must own, that such pattern good children
should go off on such an expedition without so
much as saying by your leave to either mother
or guardian."
"I have just said that I am morally certain
Violet did not go," said Mr. Dinsmore.
"And I do not blame Edward that he did,"
added the mother in her sweet, gentle tones;
" he is old enough now to decide such matters
for himself in the absence of his natural guar-
dians. Also he knows me well enough to judge
pretty correctly whether I would approve or not,
and I should not have objected had I been
there."
"Shall we drive over and see about the chil-
dren?" asked her father.
" Yes, papa, if you please, and let us start as
soon as the necessary arrangements can be
made."
Violet had scarcely completed her morning
toilet, though it was a little past noon, when
glancing from the window she saw a carriage
at the gate and her grandfather in the act of
assisting her mother to alight from it.
With a low, joyous exclamation, she flew to
meet and welcome them.
" Mamma, mamma ! I am so glad, so glad
you have come!"
" My darling, my darling! Thank God that
I have you safe in my arms!" the mother said,
326 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
holding her close with kisses and tears. " What
is this I hear of danger and shipwreck?"
"It is a long story, mamma; but we are all
safe. Edward, Charlie, and the girls are still
sleeping, I believe, for they were worn out with
anxiety and the loss of two nights' rest."
" And you, dear child?"
" Was not with them, but of course slept but
little last night indeed not at all until after
daybreak, when they were all safe on shore and
have only just risen."
" Then we will hear the story after you have
breakfasted," her grandfather said.
They did not get the whole of it, however,
until Edward joined them, an hour or two later.
It was to them a deeply interesting and thrill-
ing account that he gave. He had also much to
say in Violet's praise, but was relieved and grati-
fied to learn that neither mother nor grand-
father blamed him for the course he had taken.
He brought in his friend Tallis and intro-
duced him, and was glad to see that the impres-
sion on both sides was favorable.
Edward had already urged Tallis to pay him
a visit, and Mr. Dinsmore and Elsie repeated
the invitation. But the young man declined it
for the present, on the plea that the loss of his
yessel made it necessary for him to give his
attention to some pressing business matters.
Elsie proposed taking her son and daughter
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 337
home with her, and they were nothing loath.
She would have had all the rest of the young
party come at once to her cottage and remain as
long as they found it agreeable to do so, but all
^declined with thanks however, except Donald,
'Mary and Charlie, who promised to come in a
few days. Amy was not quite able to travel;
they would stay with her until she was suffi-
ciently recruited to undertake the journey to
her own home. Charlie would see her and Ella
safely there, and follow Mary to the cottage
home of the Travillas.
Before leaving Ocean Beach, Elsie and her
father visited the life-saving station, and the
latter insisted upon bestowing a generous reward
upon each of the brave surfmen. Also he con-
tributed largely to the making good their losses
to the poor shipwrecked sailors.
Most joyously was the return of Edward and
Violet welcomed by grandmother, brothers and
sisters. Edward was the hero of the hour, es-
pecially with Harold and Herbert, who in fact
quite envied him his adventure now that it was
safely over.
Violet found home and its beloved occupants
dearer and more delightful than ever. The
presence there of her aunt and cousin seemed
the only drawback upon her felicity; yet that
occasionally proved a serious one to both herself
and " Cousin Donald," with whom Virginia waf
determined to get up a flirtation.
328 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
He did not admire her and would not fall in
with her plans, perceiving which she turned
against him, became his bitter foe, and made
him and Violet both uncomfortable by sly hints
that he was seeking her ; and that simply be-
cause she was an heiress.
Old Mr. Dinsmore had gone to visit his
daughter Adeline and most sincerely did Violet
Wish that " Aunt Louise" and Virginia would
follow.
Mrs. Travilla was, as we have said, living a
very retired life, not mingling in general society
at all, but an old friend of her husband and
father, who had been a frequent and welcome
guest at the Oaks and Ion, had taken up his
temporary residence at a hotel near by, and now
and then joined their party on the beach or
dropped in at the cottage for a friendly chat
With Mr. Dinsmore.
Sometimes Mrs. Travilla was present and took
part in the conversation; once or twice it had
happened that they had been alone together for
a few moments. She neither avoided inter-
course with the gentleman nor sought it; though
he was a widower and much admired by many
of her sex.
Perhaps Mrs. Conly and Virginia were the
only persons who had any sinister thoughts in
connection with the matter; but they, after the
manner of the human race, judged others by
themselves.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 339
One clay Violet accidentally overheard a little
talk between them that struck her first with
indignation and astonishment, then with grief
and dismay.
" What brings Mr. Ford here, do you suppose,
mamma?" inquired Virginia, in a sneering tone.
"What a question, Virginia, for a girl of
your sense!" replied her mother, " he's courting
Elsie, of course. Isn't she a rich and beautiful
widow? I had almost added young, for she
really looks hardly older than her eldest daugh-
ter."
"Well, do you think he'll succeed?"
" Yes, I do; sooner or later. He is certainly
a very attractive man, and she can't be expected
to live single all the rest of her days. But what
a foolish will that was of Travilla's leaving
everything in her hands!"
" Why, mamma?"
" Because Ford may get it all into his posses-
sion and make way with it by some rash specu-
lation. Men often do those things."
Violet was alone in a little summer-house in
the garden, back of the cottage, with a book.
She had been very intent upon it until roused
by the sound of the voices of her aunt and
cousin, who had been pacing up and down the
walk and now paused for an instant close to her,
though a thick growth of vines hid her from
sight.
330 ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
They moyed on with Mrs. Conly's last word,
and the young girl sprang to her feet, her cheeks
aflame, her eyes glittering, her small hand
clenched till the nails sank into the soft flesh.
"How dare they talk so of mamma! and papa
too, dear, dear papa!" she exclaimed half aloud;
then her anger and grief found vent in a hurst
of bitter weeping as she cast herself down upon
the seat from which she had risen, and bowed
her head upon her hands.
The storm of feeling was so violent that she did
not hear a light, approaching footstep, did not
know that any one was near until she felt her-
self taken into loving arms that clasped her
close, while her mamma's sweet voice asked in
tenderest tones, "my poor darling, what can
have caused you such distress?"
" Mamn/a, mamma, don't ask me ! please
don't ask me !" she cried, hiding her blushing,
tearful face on her mother's bosom.
" Has my dear Vi then secrets from her
mother ?" Elsie asked in tones of half reproach-
ful tenderness.
" Only because it would distress you to know,
dearest mamma. Oh I could not bear to hurt
you so !" sobbed the poor girl.
"Still tell me, dearest " urged the mother.
" Nothing could hurt me so sorely as the loss of
my child's confidence."
^Then mamma, I will ; but oh don't think
that I believe one word of it all.'* Then with
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD. 331
a little hesitation. "I think mamma, that 1
am not doing wrong to tell you, though the
words were not meant for my ear?"
"I think not, my dear child, since it seems
it is something that concerns both you and me."
The short colloquy had burnt itself into
Violet's brain and she repeated it verbatim.
It caused her loved listener a sharper pang
than she knew or supposed. Elsie was deeply
hurt and for a moment her indignation waxed
hot against her ungrateful, heartless relations.
Then her heart sent up a strong cry for help
to forgive even as she would be forgiven.
But she must comfort Vi, and how vividly
at this moment did memory recall a little scene
in her own early childhood when she was in like
sore distress from a similar fear, roused in very
nearly the same manner ; and her father com-
forted her.
" Vi, darling," she said in quivering tones, and
with a tender caress, "it is altogether a mistake.
And you need never fear anything of the kind.
Your beloved father is no more dead to me than
though he were but in the next room. His
place is not now can never be, vacant in either
my home or my heart. " We are separated for
time by 'the stream the narrow stream of
death,' but when I, too, have crossed it, we
shall be together, never to part again."
THE END.
This book is DUE on the last
date stamped below.
LU-uiU.
IOCT
ou-
'
8
k90
DATE
AUG 05
x^/
DUE 3 WEE
DATE RECEIVED
SEP lo , 99
10M-11-50(2555)470
JENT
1997
S FROM
REMINGTON RAND - 20
PS
1672
