Elsie Dinsmore | Page 6

girl," said the lady, again kissing the little rosy cheek.

"But now," she added, rising, "I must go away and let you learn your
lesson."
Then taking up the little Bible, and turning over the leaves, she asked,
"Would you like to come to my room sometimes in the mornings and
evenings, and read this book with me, Elsie?"
"Oh! yes, ma'am, dearly!" exclaimed the child, her eyes sparkling with
pleasure.
"Come then this evening, if you like; and now goodbye for the
present." And pressing another kiss on the child's cheek, she left her
and went back to her own room, where she found her friend Adelaide
Dinsmore, a young lady near her own age, and the eldest daughter of
the family. Adelaide was seated on a sofa, busily employed with some
fancy work.
"You see I am making myself quite at home," she said, looking up as
Rose entered. "I cannot imagine where you have been all this time."
"Can you not? In the school-room, talking with little Elsie. Do you
know, Adelaide, I thought she was your sister; but she tells me not."
"No, she is Horace's child. I supposed you knew; but if you do not, I
may just as well tell you the whole story. Horace was a very wild boy,
petted and spoiled, and always used to having his own way; and when
he was about seventeen--quite a forward youth he was too--he must
needs go to New Orleans to spend some months with a schoolmate; and
there he met, and fell desperately in love with, a very beautiful girl a
year or two younger than himself, an orphan and very wealthy. Fearing
that objections would be made on the score of their youth, etc., etc., he
persuaded her to consent to a private marriage, and they had been man
and wife for some months before either her friends or his suspected it.
"Well, when it came at last to papa's ears, he was very angry, both on
account of their extreme youth, and because, as Elsie Grayson's father
had made all his money by trade, he did not consider her quite my
brother's equal; so he called Horace home and sent him North to

college. Then he studied law, and since that he has been traveling in
foreign lands. But to return to his wife; it seems that her guardian was
quite as much opposed to the match as papa; and the poor girl was
made to believe that she should never see her husband again. All their
letters were intercepted, and finally she was told that he was dead; so,
as Aunt Chloe says, 'she grew thin and pale, and weak and melancholy,'
and while the little Elsie was yet not quite a week old, she died. We
never saw her; she died in her guardian's house, and there the little
Elsie stayed in charge of Aunt Chloe, who was an old servant in the
family, and had nursed her mother before her, and of the housekeeper,
Mrs. Murray, a pious old Scotch woman, until about four years ago,
when her guardian's death broke up the family, and then they came to
us. Horace never comes home, and does not seem to care for his child,
for he never mentions her in his letters, except when it is necessary in
the way of business."
"She is a dear little thing," said Rose. "I am sure he could not help
loving her, if he could only see her."
"Oh! yes, she is well enough, and I often feel sorry for the lonely little
thing, but the truth is, I believe we are a little jealous of her; she is so
extremely beautiful, and heiress to such an immense fortune. Mamma
often frets, and says that one of these days she will quite eclipse her
younger daughters."
"But then," said Rose, "she is almost as near; her own grand- daughter."
"No, she is not so very near," replied Adelaide, "for Horace is not
mamma's son. He was seven or eight years old when she married papa,
and I think she was never particularly fond of him."
"Ah! yes," thought Rose, "that explains it. Poor little Elsie! No wonder
you pine for your father's love, and grieve over the loss of the mother
you never knew!"
"She is an odd child," said Adelaide; "I don't understand her; she is so
meek and patient she will fairly let you trample upon her. It provokes
papa. He says she is no Dinsmore, or she would know how to stand up

for her own rights; and yet she has a temper, I know, for once in a great
while it shows itself for an instant-- only an instant, though, and at very
long intervals--and then she grieves over it for days,