Elsie Dinsmore Part 13

"I did not intend to disobey you, papa," she sobbed; "I quite forgot that you had forbidden me to go there."

"That is no excuse, no excuse at all," said he severely; "You must _remember_ my commands; and if your memory is so poor I shall find means to strengthen it."

He paused a moment, still looking sternly at the little, trembling, sobbing girl at his side; then asked, "What were you doing in the meadow? tell me the whole story, that I may understand just how severely I ought to punish you."

Elsie gave him all the particulars; and when, upon questioning her closely, he perceived how entirely voluntary her confession had been, his tone and manner became less stern, and he said quite mildly, "Well, Elsie, I shall not be very severe with you this time, as you seem to be very penitent, and have made so full and frank a confession; but beware how you disobey me again, for you will not escape so easily another time; and remember I will not take forgetfulness as any excuse. Go now to Aunt Chloe, and tell her from me that she is to put you immediately to bed."

"It is only the middle of the afternoon, papa," said Elsie, deprecatingly.

"If it were much _earlier_, Elsie, it would make no difference; you must go at once to your bed, and stay there until to-morrow morning."

"What will Lucy and Herbert think when they come in and can't find me, papa?" she said, weeping afresh.

"You should have thought of that before you disobeyed me," he answered very gravely. "If you are hungry," he added, "you may ask Chloe to get you a slice of bread or a cracker for your supper, but you can have nothing else."

Elsie lingered, looking timidly up into his face as though wanting to say something, but afraid to venture.

"Speak, Elsie, if you have anything more to say," he said encouragingly.

"Dear papa, I am _so_ sorry I have been so naughty," she murmured, leaning her head against the arm of his chair, while the tears rolled fast down her cheeks; "won't you please forgive me, papa? it seems to me I can't go to sleep to-night if you are angry with me."

He seemed quite touched by her penitence. "Yes, Elsie," he said, "I do forgive you. I am not at all angry with you now, and you may go to sleep in peace. Good night, my little daughter," and he bent down and pressed his lips to her brow.

Elsie held up her face for another, and he kissed her lips.

"Good night, dear papa," she said, "I hope I shall never be such a naughty girl again." And she went to her room, made almost happy by that kiss of forgiveness.

Elsie was up quite early the next morning and had learned all her lessons before breakfast. As she came down the stairs she saw, through the open door, her papa standing with some of the men-servants, apparently gazing at some object lying on the ground. She ran out and stood on the steps of the portico, looking at them and wondering what they were doing.

Presently her father turned round, and seeing her, held out his hand, calling, "Come here, Elsie."

She sprang quickly down the steps, and running to him, put her hand in his, saying, "Good morning, papa."

"Good morning, daughter," said he, "I have something to show you."

And leading her forward a few paces, he pointed to a large rattlesnake lying there.

"O papa!" she cried, starting back and clinging to him.

"It will not hurt you _now_" he said; "it is dead; the men killed it this morning _in the meadow_. Do you see _now_ why I forbade you to go there?"

"O papa!" she murmured, in a low tone of deep feeling, laying her cheek affectionately against his hand, "I might have lost my life by my disobedience. How good G.o.d was to take care of me! Oh! I hope I shall never be so naughty again."

"I hope not," said he gravely, but not unkindly; "and I hope that you will always, after this, believe that your father has some good reason for his commands, even although he may not choose to explain it to you."

"Yes, papa, I think I will," she answered, humbly.

The breakfast-bell had rung, and he now led her in and seated her at the table.

Lucy Carrington looked curiously at her, and soon took an opportunity to whisper, "Where were you last night, Elsie? I couldn't find you, and your papa wouldn't say what had become of you, though I am quite sure he knew."

"I'll tell you after breakfast," replied Elsie, blus.h.i.+ng deeply.

Lucy waited rather impatiently until all had risen from the table, and then, putting her arm round Elsie's waist, she drew her out on to the veranda, saying, "now, Elsie, tell me; you know you promised."

"I was in bed," replied Elsie, dropping her eyes, while the color mounted to her very hair.

"In bed! before five o'clock!" exclaimed Lucy in a tone of astonishment. "Why, what was that for?"

"Papa sent me," replied Elsie, with an effort. "I had been naughty, and disobeyed him."

"Why, how strange! Do tell me what you had done!" exclaimed Lucy, with a face full of curiosity.

"Papa had forbidden me to go into the meadow, I forgot all about it, and ran in there to get Herbert's arrow for him," replied Elsie, looking very much ashamed.

"Was _that all?_ why _my_ papa wouldn't have punished me for that,"

said Lucy. "He might have scolded me a little if I had done it on purpose, but if I had told him I had forgotten, he would only have said, 'You must remember better next time.'"

"Papa says that forgetfulness is no excuse; that I am to remember his commands, and if I forget, he will have to punish me, to make me remember better next time," said Elsie.

"He must be very strict indeed; I'm glad he is not _my_ papa," replied Lucy, in a tone of great satisfaction.

"Come, little girls, make haste and get ready; we are to start in half an hour," said Adelaide Dinsmore, calling to them from the hall door.

The whole family, old and young, including visitors, were on that day to go on a picnic up the river, taking their dinner along, and spending the day in the woods. They had been planning this excursion for several days, and the children especially had been looking forward to it with a great deal of pleasure.

"Am I to go, Aunt Adelaide? did papa say so?" asked Elsie anxiously, as she and Lucy hastened to obey the summons.

"I presume you are to go of course, Elsie; we have been discussing the matter for the last three days, always taking it for granted that you were to make one of the party, and he has never said you should not,"

replied Adelaide, good-naturedly; "so make haste, or you will be too late. But here comes your papa now." she added, as the library door opened, and Mr. Dinsmore stepped out into the hall where they were standing.

"Horace, Elsie is to go of course?"

"I do not see the _of course_, Adelaide," said he dryly. "No; Elsie is _not_ to go; she must stay at home and attend to her lessons as usual."

A look of keen disappointment came over Elsie's face, but she turned away without a word and went upstairs; while Lucy, casting a look of wrathful indignation at Mr. Dinsmore, ran after her, and following her into her room, she put her arm round her neck, saying, "Never mind, Elsie; it's too bad, and I wouldn't bear it. I'd go in spite of him."

"No, no, Lucy, I must obey my father; G.o.d says so; and besides, I couldn't do that if I wanted to, for papa is stronger than I am, and would punish me severely if I were to attempt such a thing," replied Elsie hastily, brus.h.i.+ng away a tear that _would_ come into her eye.

"Then I'd coax him," said Lucy. "Come, I'll go with you, and we will both try."

"No," replied Elsie, with a hopeless shake of the head, "I have found out already that my papa never breaks his word; and nothing could induce him to let me go, now that he has once said I should not. But you will have to leave me, Lucy, or you will be too late."

"Good-bye, then," said Lucy, turning to go; "but I think it is a great shame, and I shan't half enjoy myself without you."

"Well now, Horace, I think you might let the child go," was Adelaide's somewhat indignant rejoinder to her brother, as the two little girls disappeared; "I can't conceive what reason you can have for keeping her at home, and she looks so terribly disappointed. Indeed, Horace, I am sometimes half inclined to think you take pleasure in thwarting that child."

"You had better call me a tyrant at once, Adelaide," said he angrily, and turning very red; "but I must beg to be permitted to manage my own child in my own way; and I cannot see that I am under any obligation to give my reasons either to you or to any one else."