MARTHA FINLEY Ultimate Collection – Timeless Children Classics & Other Novels. Finley Martha
it for you, dear papa," she said, in a low, tremulous tone; "do please take it."
"It is really very pretty," he said, examining it; "is it possible it is your work? I had no idea you had so much taste and skill. Thank you, daughter; I shall take it, and use it with a great deal of pleasure."
He took her hand as he spoke, and sitting down, lifted her to his knee, saying, "Elsie, my child, why do you always seem so afraid of me? I don't like it."
With a sudden impulse she threw her arms round his neck, and pressed her lips to his cheek; then dropping her head on his breast, she sobbed: "O papa! dear papa, I do love you so very dearly! will you not love me? O papa! love me a little. I know I've been naughty very often, but I will try to be good."
Then for the first time he folded her in his arms and kissed her tenderly, saying, in a moved tone, "I do love you, my darling, my own little daughter."
Oh! the words were sweeter to Elsie's ear than the most delicious music! her joy was too great for words, for anything but tears.
"Why do you cry so, my darling?" he asked, soothingly, stroking her hair, and kissing her again and again.
"O papa! because I am so happy, so very happy," she sobbed.
"Do you indeed care so very much for my love?" he asked; "then, my daughter, you must not tremble and turn pale whenever I speak to you, as though I were a cruel tyrant."
"O papa! I cannot help it, when you look and speak so sternly. I love you so dearly I cannot bear to have you angry with me; but I am not afraid of you now."
"That is right," he said, caressing her again. "But there is the tea-bell," he added, setting her down. "Go into the dressing-room there, and bathe your eyes, and then come to me."
She hastened to do his bidding, and then taking her hand he led her down and seated her in her usual place by his side.
There were visitors, and all his conversation was addressed to them and the older members of the family, but he now and then bestowed a kind look upon his little girl, and attended carefully to all her wants; and Elsie was very happy.
Everything now went on very pleasantly with our little friend for some days; she did not see a great deal of her father, as he was frequently away from home for a day or two, and, when he returned, generally brought a number of visitors with him; but whenever he did notice her it was very kindly, and she was gradually overcoming her fear of him, and constantly hoping that the time would soon come when he would have more leisure to bestow upon her. She was happy now, and with a mind at ease, was able to learn her lessons well; and as her Aunt Adelaide faithfully kept her promise, and thus freed her from Arthur's annoyances, she was enabled to do justice to her writing. She took great pains, her copy-book showed a marked improvement in her penmanship, and its pages had not yet been defaced by a single blot, so that she was looking forward with pleasing anticipations to the time when her report should again be presented to her father.
But, alas! one unfortunate morning it happened that Miss Day was in a very bad humor indeed—peevish, fretful, irritable, and unreasonable to the last degree; and, as usual, Elsie was the principal sufferer from her ill-humor. She found fault with everything the little girl did; scolded her, shook her, refused to explain the manner of working out a very difficult example, or to permit her to apply to any one else for assistance, and then punished her because it was done wrong; and when the child could no longer keep back her tears, called her a baby for crying, and a dunce for not understanding her arithmetic better.
All this Elsie bore meekly and patiently, not answering a word; but her meekness seemed only to provoke the governess the more; and finally, when Elsie came to recite her last lesson, she took pains to put her questions in the most perplexing form, and scarcely allowing the child an instant to begin her reply, answered them herself; then, throwing down the book, scolded her vehemently for her bad lesson, and marked it in her report as a complete failure.
Poor Elsie could bear no more, but bursting into tears and sobs, said: "Miss Day, I did know my lesson, every word of it, if you had asked the questions as usual, or had given me time to answer."
"I say that you did not know it; that it was a complete failure," replied Miss Day, angrily; "and you shall just sit down and learn it, every word, over."
"I do know it, if you will hear me right," said Elsie, indignantly, "and it is very unjust in you to mark it a failure."
"Impudence!" exclaimed Miss Day, furiously; "how dare you contradict me? I shall take you to your father."
And seizing her by the arm, she dragged her across the room, and opening the door, pushed her into the passage.
"Oh! don't, Miss Day," pleaded the little girl, turning toward her, pale and tearful, "don't tell papa."
"I will! so just walk along with you," was the angry rejoinder, as she pushed her before her to Mr. Dinsmore's door. It stood open, and he sat at his desk, writing.
"What is the matter?" he asked, looking up as they appeared before the door.
"Elsie has been very impertinent, sir," said Miss Day; "she not only accused me of injustice, but contradicted me flatly."
"Is it possible!" said he, frowning angrily. "Come here to me, Elsie, and tell me, is it true that you contradicted your teacher?"
"Yes, papa," sobbed the child.
"Very well, then, I shall certainly punish you, for I will never allow anything of the kind."
As he spoke he picked up a small ruler that lay before him, at the same time taking Elsie's hand as though he meant to use it on her.
"O papa!" she cried, in a tone of agonized entreaty.
But he laid it down again, saying: "No, I shall punish you by depriving you of your play this afternoon, and giving you only bread and water for your dinner. Sit down there," he added, pointing to a stool. Then, with a wave of his hand to the governess, "I think she will not be guilty of the like again, Miss Day."
The governess left the room, and Elsie sat down on her stool, crying and sobbing violently, while her father went on with his writing.
"Elsie," he said, presently, "cease that noise; I have had quite enough of it."
She struggled to suppress her sobs, but it was almost impossible, and she felt it a great relief when a moment later the dinner-bell rang, and her father left the room.
In a few moments a servant came in, carrying on a small waiter a tumbler of water, and a plate with a slice of bread on it.
"Dis am drefful poor fare, Miss Elsie," he said, setting it down beside her, "but Massa Horace he say it all you can hab; but if you say so, dis chile tell ole Phoebe to send up somethin' better fore Massa Horace gits through his dinner."
"Oh! no, thank you, Pompey; you're very kind, but I would not disobey or deceive papa," replied the little girl, earnestly; "and I am not at all hungry."
He lingered a moment, seeming loath to leave her to dine upon such fare.
"You had better go now, Pompey," she said gently; "I am afraid you will be wanted."
He turned and left the room, muttering something about "disagreeable, good-for-nothing Miss Day!"
Elsie felt no disposition to eat; and when her father returned, half an hour afterward, the bread and water were still untouched.
"What is the meaning of this?" he asked in a stern, angry tone; "why have you not eaten what I sent you?"
"I am not hungry, papa," she said humbly.
"Don't tell me that," he replied, "it is nothing but stubbornness; and I shall not allow you to show such a temper. Take up that bread this moment and eat it. You shall eat every crumb of the bread and drink every drop of the water."
She obeyed him instantly, breaking off a bit of bread and putting it in her mouth, while he stood watching her with an air of stern,