Elsie's Motherhood by Martha Finley

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"Suppose we accept the invitation," said Mr. Travilla, leading the way.

The two old ladies preferred a seat under a wide-spreading tree on the
lawn; but the others accompanied him in a tour of the deserted mansion
already falling rapidly to decay.

They climbed the creaking stairs, passed along the silent corridors,
looked into the empty rooms, and out of the broken windows upon the
flower gardens, once trim and gay, now choked with rubbish, and
overgrown with weeds, and sighed over the desolations of war.

Some of the lower rooms were still in a pretty good state of
preservation, and in one of these the servants were directed to build
a fire and prepare tea and coffee.

Plenty of dry branches strewed the ground in a bit of woods but a few
rods distant. Some of these were quickly gathered and a brightly blazing
fire presently crackled upon the hearth and roared up the wide chimney.

Leaving the house, which in its loneliness and dilapidation inspired
only feelings of sadness and gloom, our party wandered over the
grounds, still beautiful even in their forlornly neglected state.

The domain was extensive, and the older boys having taken an opposite
direction from their parents, were presently out of their sight and
hearing, the house being directly between. Uncle Joe, however, was with
the lads, so no anxiety was felt for their safety.

Wandering on, they came to a stream of limpid water flowing between high
grassy banks, and spanned by a little rustic bridge.

"Let's cross over," said Herbert, "that's such a pretty bridge, and it
looks lovely on the other side."

"No, no, 'tain't safe, boys, don't you go for to try it," exclaimed
Uncle Joe.

"Pooh! what do you know about it?" returned Herbert, who always had
great confidence in his own opinion. "If it won't bear us all at once,
it certainly will one at a time. What do you say, Ed?"

"I think Uncle Joe can judge better whether it's safe than little boys
like us."

"Don't you believe it: his eyes are getting old and he can't see half so
well as you or I."

"I kin see dat some ob de planks is gone, Marse Herbert; an' de ole
timbahs looks shaky."

"Shaky! nonsense! they'll not shake under my weight, and I'm going to
cross."

"Now, Herbie, don't you do it," said his brother. "You know mamma
wouldn't allow it if she was here."

"'Twon't be disobedience though; as she isn't here, and never has
forbidden me to go on that bridge," persisted Herbert.

"Mamma and papa say that truly obedient children don't do what they know
their parents would forbid if they were present," said Eddie.

"I say nobody but a coward would be afraid to venture on that bridge,"
said Herbert, ignoring Eddie's last remark. "Suppose it should break and
let you fall! the worst would be a ducking."

"De watah's deep, Marse Herbert, and you might git drownded!" said Uncle
Joe. "Or maybe some ob de timbahs fall on you an' break yo' leg or yo'
back."

They were now close to the bridge.

"It's very high up above the water," said Harry, "and a good many boards
are off: I'd be afraid to go on it."

"Coward!" sneered his brother. "Are you afraid too, Ed?"

"Yes, I'm afraid to disobey my father; because that's disobeying God."

"Did your father ever say a word about not going on this bridge?"

"No; but he's told me never to run into danger needlessly; that is when
there's nothing to be gained by it for myself or anybody else."

"Before I'd be such a coward!" muttered Herbert, deliberately walking on
to the bridge.

The other two boys watched his movements in trembling, breathless
silence, while Uncle Joe began looking about for some means of rescue in
case of accident.

Herbert picked his way carefully over the half-rotten timbers till he
had gained the middle of the bridge, then stopped, looked back at his
companions and pulling off his cap, waved it around his head, "Hurrah!
here I am: who's afraid? who was right this time?"

Then leaning over the low railing, "Oh!" he cried, "you ought just to see
the fish! splendid big fellows. Come on, boys, and look at 'em!"

But at that instant the treacherous railing gave way with a loud crack,
and with a wild scream for help, over he went, headforemost, falling
with a sudden plunge into the water and disappearing at once beneath the
surface.

"Oh he'll drown! he'll drown!" shrieked Harry, wringing his hands, while
Eddie echoed the cry for help.

"Run to de house, Marse Ed, an' fotch some ob de boys to git him out,"
said Uncle Joe, hurrying to the edge of the stream with an old
fishing-rod he had found lying among the weeds on its bank.

But a dark object sprang past him, plunged into the stream, and as
Herbert rose to the surface, seized him by the coat-collar, and so
holding his head above water, swam with him to the shore.

"Good Bruno! brave fellow! good dog!" said a voice near at hand, and
turning to look for the speaker, Uncle Joe found Mr. Daly standing by
his side.

Leaving his gayer companions, the minister had wandered away, book in
hand, to this sequestered spot. Together he and Uncle Joe assisted the
dog to drag Herbert up the bank, and laid him on the grass.

The fall had stunned the boy, but now consciousness returned. "I'm not
hurt," he said, opening his eyes. "But don't tell mother: she'd be
frightened half to death."

"We'll save her as much as we can; and I hope you've learned a lesson,
young sir, and will not be so foolhardy another time," said Mr. Daly.

"P'raps he'll tink ole folks not such fools, nex' time," remarked Uncle
Joe. "Bless de Lord dat he didn't get drownded!"

The men and boys came running from the house, bringing cloaks and shawls
to wrap about the dripping boy. They would have carried him back with
them, but he stoutly resisted, declaring himself quite as able to walk
as anybody.

"Let him do so, the exercise will help to prevent his taking cold
provided he is well wrapped up;" said Mr. Daly, throwing a cloak over
the lad's shoulders and folding it carefully about him.

"Ill news flies fast," says the proverb. Mrs. Carrington met them upon
the threshold, pale and trembling with affright. She clasped her boy in
her arms with a heart too full for utterance.

"Never mind, mother," he said, "I've only had a ducking, that's all."

"But it may not be all: you may get your death of cold," she said,
"I've no dry clothes for you here."

By this time the whole party had hurried to the spot.

"Here's a good fire; suppose we hang him up to dry before it," said old
Mr. Dinsmore with a grim smile.

"His clothes rather; rolling him up in cloaks and shawls in the
meantime," suggested Herbert's grandmother. "Let us ladies go back to
the lawn, and leave his uncle to oversee the business."

Herbert had spoiled his holiday so far as the remainder of the visit to
this old estate was concerned: he could not join the others at the feast
presently spread under the trees on the lawn, or in the sports that
followed; but had to pass the time lying idly on a pallet beside the
fire, with nothing to entertain him but his own thoughts and watching
the servants, until, their work done, they too wandered away in search
of amusement.

Most of the afternoon was spent by the gentlemen in fishing in that same
stream into which Herbert's folly and self-conceit had plunged him.

Eddie had his own little fishing-rod, and with it in his hand sat on a
log beside his father, a little apart from the rest, patiently waiting
for the fish to bite. Mr. Travilla had thrown several out upon the
grass, but Eddie's bait did not seem to attract a single one.

He began to grow weary of sitting still and silent, and creeping closer
to his father whispered, "Papa, I'm tired, and I want to ask you
something. Do you think the fish will hear if I speak low?"

"Perhaps not; you may try it if you like," returned Mr. Travilla,
looking somewhat amused.

"Thank you, papa. Well, Herbert said nobody but a coward would be afraid
to go on that bridge. Do you think he was right, papa?"

"No, my boy; but if you had gone upon it to avoid being laughed at or
called a coward, I should say you showed a great lack of true courage.
He is a brave man or boy who dares to do right without regard to
consequences."

"But, papa, if you'd been there and said I might if I wanted to?"

"Hardly a supposable case, my son."

"Well, if I'd been a man and could do as I chose?"

"Men have no more right to do as they please than boys; they must obey
God. If his will is theirs, they may do as they please, just as you may
if it is your pleasure to be good and obedient."

"Papa, I don't understand. Does God say we must not go into dangerous
places?"

"He says, 'Thou shalt not kill;' we have no right to kill ourselves, or
to run the risk of doing so merely for amusement or to be considered
brave or dexterous."

"But if somebody needs us to do it to save them from being hurt or
killed, papa?"

"Then it becomes quite a different matter: it is brave, generous, and
right to risk our own life or limbs to save those of others."

"Then I may do it, papa?"

"Yes, my son; Jesus laid down his life to save others, and in all things
he is to be our example."

A hand was laid lightly on the shoulder of each, and a sweet voice said,
"May my boy heed his father's instructions in this and in every thing
else."

"Wife!" Mr. Travilla said, turning to look up into the fair face bent
over them.

"Mamma, dear mamma, I do mean to," said Eddie.

"Is it not time to go home?" she asked. "The little ones are growing
weary."

"Yes, the sun is getting low."

In a few moments the whole party had reembarked; in less exuberant
spirits than in the morning, yet perhaps not less happy: little disposed
to talk, but with hearts filled with a quiet, peaceful content.

Viamede was reached without accident, a bountiful supper awaiting them
there partaken of with keen appetites, and the little ones went gladly
to bed.

Returning from the nursery to the drawing-room, Elsie found her namesake
daughter sitting apart in a bay window, silently gazing out over the
beautiful landscape sleeping in the moonlight.

She looked up with a smile as her mother took a seat by her side and
passed an arm about her waist.

"Isn't it lovely, mamma? see how the waters of our lakelet shine in the
moonbeams like molten silver! and the fields, the groves, the hills! how
charming they look in the soft light."

"Yes, darling: and that was what you were thinking of, sitting here
alone?"

"Yes, mamma; and of how good God is to us to give us this lovely home
and dear, kind father and mother to take care of us. It is always so
sweet to come back to my home when I've been away. I was enjoying it all
the way coming in the boat to-night; that and thinking of the glad time
when we shall all be gathered into the lovelier home Jesus is preparing
for us."

"God grant we may!" said the mother, with emotion, "it is my heart's
desire and prayer to God for all my dear ones, especially my children.
'Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart
of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.'"

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