The Novels of Faith – Premium 7 Book Collection. Finley Martha
"papa has brought you a present; will you have it now, or shall it be kept for Christmas?"
"Keep it for Christmas, papa," she answered gayly. "Christmas is almost here, and besides, I don't want to look at anything but you to-night."
"Very well, look at me as much as you like," was his laughing rejoinder. "And now tell me, have you been a good girl in my absence?"
"As good as I ever am, I believe, papa. I tried very hard; but you can ask Miss Day."
"No, I am entirely satisfied with your report, for I know my little daughter is quite truthful."
Elsie colored with pleasure, then calling to mind the time when he had for a moment suspected her of falsehood, she heaved a deep sigh, dropping her head upon his breast.
He seemed to understand her thoughts, for, pressing his lips to her forehead, he said gently and kindly, "I think I shall never again doubt my little daughter's truth."
She looked up with a grateful smile.
"Miss Day has gone away to stay until after New Year's day, papa," she said, "and so our holidays have begun."
"Ah! I am very well satisfied," said he. "I think you have earned a holiday, and I hope you will enjoy it. But I don't know that I shall let you play all the time," he added with a smile; "I have some notion of giving you a lesson now and then, myself."
"Dear papa, how pleasant!" she exclaimed delightedly; "I do so love to say lessons to you."
"Well, then, we will spend an hour together every morning. But are you not to have some company?"
"Oh! yes, papa, quite a house full," she said with a slight sigh. "The Percys, and the Howards, and all the Carringtons, and some others too, I believe."
"Why do you sigh, daughter?" he asked; "do you not expect to enjoy their company?"
"Yes, sir, I hope so," she answered, rather dubiously; "but when there are so many, and they stay so long, they are apt to disagree, and that, you know, is not pleasant. I am sure I shall enjoy the hour with you better than anything else; it is so sweet to be quite alone with my own darling papa," and the little arm stole softly round his neck again, and the rosy lips touched his cheek.
"Well, when are the little plagues coming?" he asked, returning her caress.
"Some of them to-morrow, papa; no, Monday—to-morrow is Sabbath day."
"Shall I bring in de trunks now, massa?" asked Mr. Dinsmore's servant, putting his head in at the door.
"Yes, John, certainly."
"Why, you brought back a new one, papa, didn't you?" asked Elsie, as John carried in one she was sure she had never seen before, and in obedience to a motion of her father's hand, set it down quite near them.
"Yes, my dear, it is yours. There, John, unlock it," tossing him the key. "And now, daughter, get down and see what you can find in it worth having."
Elsie needed no second bidding, but in an instant was on her knees beside the trunk, eager to examine its contents.
"Take the lid off the band-box first, and see what is there," said her father.
"O papa, how very pretty!" she cried, as she lifted out a beautiful little velvet hat adorned with a couple of ostrich feathers.
"I am very glad it pleases you, my darling," he said, putting it on her head, and gazing at her with proud delight in her rare beauty. "There! it fits exactly, and is very becoming."
Then taking it off, he returned it to the box, and bade her look further.
"I am reserving the present for Christmas," he said, in answer to her inquiring look.
Elsie turned to the trunk again.
"Dear papa, how good you are to me!" she said, looking up at him almost with tears of pleasure in her eyes, as she lifted out, one after another, a number of costly toys, which she examined with exclamations of delight, and then several handsome dresses, some of the finest, softest merino, and others of thick rich silk, all ready made in fashionable style, and doing credit to his taste and judgment; and lastly a beautiful velvet pelisse, trimmed with costly fur, just the thing to wear with her pretty new hat.
He laughed and patted her cheek.
"We must have these dresses tried on," he said, "at least one of them; for as they were all cut by the same pattern—one of your old dresses which I took with me—I presume they will all fit alike. There, take this one to mammy, and tell her to put it on you, and then come back to me."
"Oh! I wondered how you could get them the right size, papa," Elsie answered, as she skipped gayly out of the room.
She was back again in a very few moments, arrayed in the pretty silk he had selected.
"Ah! it seems to be a perfect fit," said he, turning her round and round, with a very gratified look.
"Mammy must dress you to-morrow in one of these new frocks, and your pretty hat and pelisse."
Elsie looked troubled.
"Well, what is it?" he asked.
"I am afraid I shall be thinking of them in church, papa, if I wear them then for the first time."
"Pooh! nonsense! what harm if you do? This squeamishness, Elsie, is the one thing about you that displeases me very much. But there! don't look so distressed, my pet. I dare say you will get over it by-and-by, and be all I wish; indeed I sometimes think you have improved a little already, in that respect."
Oh! what a pang these words sent to her heart! was it indeed true that she was losing her tenderness of conscience? that she was becoming less afraid of displeasing and dishonoring her Saviour than in former days? The very thought was anguish.
Her head drooped upon her bosom, and the small white hands were clasped convulsively together, while a bitter, repenting cry, a silent earnest prayer for pardon and help went up to Him whose ear is ever open to the cry of His children.
Her father looked at her in astonishment.
"What is it, darling?" he asked, drawing her tenderly toward him, and pushing back the curls from her face; "why do you look so pained? what did I say that could have hurt you so? I did not mean to be harsh and severe, for it was a very trifling fault."
She hid her face on his shoulder and burst into an agony of tears.
"It was not that, papa, but—but——"
"But what, my darling? don't be afraid to tell me," he answered, soothingly.
"O papa! I—I am afraid I don't—love Jesus—as much as I did," she faltered out between her sobs.
"Ah! that is it, eh? Well, well, you needn't cry any more. I think you are a very good little girl, though rather a silly one, I am afraid, and quite too morbidly conscientious."
He took her on his knee as he spoke, wiped away her tears, and then began talking in a lively strain of something else.
Elsie listened, and answered him cheerfully, but all the evening he noticed that whenever she was quiet, an unusual expression of sadness would steal over her face.
"What a strange child she is!" he said to himself, as he sat musing over the fire, after sending her to bed. "I cannot understand her; it is very odd how often I wound, when I intend to please her."
As for Elsie, she scarcely thought of her new finery, so troubled was her tender conscience, so pained her little heart to think that she had been wandering from her dear Saviour.
But Elsie had learned that "if any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous," and to Him she went with her sin and sorrow; she applied anew to the pardoning, peace-speaking blood of Christ—that "blood of sprinkling that speaketh better things than that of Abel;" and thus the sting of conscience was taken away and