Elizabeth: The Disinherited Daugheter | Page 2

the
happy family circle was made by the departure of a daughter to another
State to engage in teaching. Few letters were written in those days, and
the postal service was a slow and small concern. But this absent
school-teacher had written with much care and vivacity to the dear
circle at home as regularly as the months came around. But now, for

long, anxious weeks, no tidings from the absent one had reached that
saddened home at the Cove. "Why don't we get a letter from Betsey?"
was often asked by the fond parents, the loving sisters, and thoughtful
little brothers; but no satisfactory answer could be given.
The father would hasten to the city as often as "mail day" returned and
watch for the ponderous stagecoach, but come back more moderately,
with a shadow upon his countenance, and "No letter!" "No letter!"
would deepen the sorrow of the circle. One day the son "Siah" was sent,
and in an unusually short time was seen coming over the hill with a
speed so unlike a disappointed lad that the watchful mother was "sure
the dear boy had tidings." Her lip trembled as she motioned to the
father and called out, "Where's Esther? Where's Sam? Call 'em all in.
Siah's coming real fast; I guess he's got a letter from Betsey!" "How he
does ride!" says Hannah. "Dear fellow, I most know he's got a letter!"
"Yis, yis," says little sharp-eyed Sam; "see, he holds suthin' white
higher'n his head." Sure enough, on comes the rider, flourishing in his
hand the long-looked-for message from the absent one!
It was but the work of a moment for the excited lad to leap upon the
block, throw the bridle over the post, and run in, letter in hand,
vociferating, "Don't ye worry any more about Betsey; she's all safe and
sound. See, it's in her own handwrite." "Yis, daddy, and stuck together
with that same red wax you gin her," says little Sam.
Ruth breaks the seal and finds a large sheet, and closely written. A
glance from the father brings the house to silence, and she begins to
read. Never a letter began with more tender words or in a sweeter spirit;
but all sounds so precise and awfully solemn that the voice of the
reader falters; tears fill the eyes of the mother and sisters; the father
turns pale; little Sam looks frightened and grips his mother's arm, while
Josiah sobs aloud. But the resolute reader moves steadily on, and only
breaks down when she reaches the name, "Your loving daughter and
sister, Elizabeth Ward."
These words stung that proud father to the quick. To hear his darling's
name attached to such a letter, and find his cherished plans thwarted
forever, was more than he could endure. He arose in a paroxysm of

wrath and left the house. The mother, watching him, became greatly
alarmed, for she had never seen him so angry.
As the boys lead the horse to the stable the girls take the letter to their
room, where they weep much, pray some, and read over and over again
that strange document.

CHAPTER II.
ELIZABETH'S ALIENATION FROM THE ANCESTRAL FAITH.
Elizabeth Ward was the eldest of six children. She had a tall, straight
form, rather stern and dignified airs, a keen black eye, and a beautiful
countenance, though rather on the masculine order. Her father, Samuel
Ward, was a wealthy farmer and stock grower and a skillful horseman.
He had determined to give this, his eldest daughter, a liberal education,
and have her assist in the instruction of her sisters. She proved so easy
to learn, and showed such aptitude and application in study, that he
afforded her the best opportunities given young ladies in New England
at that day. And in his pride of horsemanship he took much pains to
make her a skillful equestrienne, and never seemed prouder than when
riding out with Elizabeth by his side upon an elegant steed in costly
equipage. To carry out his notions for the perfection of her
accomplishments, he sent her to Pittsfield, Mass., among wealthy and
cultured relatives, to devote a year or two to association with elegant
society. And to avoid that horror of the real Yankee's dreams,
"shiftlessness," she was to take up a small select school for
employment. There too, as at home, she must have a splendid horse at
her command, and no cost must be spared to make her equipage, as
well as wardrobe, as elegant as the best. Morning and evening rides
must be kept up for health and recreation, but not less to indulge a
doting father's pride.
She found her new situation very agreeable. Her relatives were
educated and fashionable, and soon became very dear to her heart. Her
school