Elsie's New Relations by Martha Finley
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15 ELSIE'S NEW RELATIONS
What They Did and How They Fared at Ion
A Sequel to _Grandmother Elsie_
by
MARTHA FINLEY
A. L. Burt Company
Publishers
New York Chicago
1911
CHAPTER I.
"For wild, or calm, or far or near,
I love thee still, thou glorious sea."
--Mrs. Hemans.
"I bless thee for kind looks and words
Shower'd on my path like dew,
For all the love in those deep eyes,
A gladness ever new."
--Mrs. Hemans.
It is late in the afternoon of a delicious October day; the woods back of
the two cottages where the Dinsmores, Travillas and Raymonds have spent
the last three or four months are gorgeous with scarlet, crimson and gold;
the air from the sea is more delightful than ever, but the summer visitors
to the neighboring cottages and hotels have fled, and the beach is almost
deserted, as Edward and his child-wife wander slowly along it, hand in
hand, their attention divided between the splendors of a magnificent
sunset and the changing beauty of the sea; yonder away in the distance it
is pale gray; near at hand delicate green slowly changing to pink, each
wave crested with snowy foam, and anon they all turn to burnished gold.
"Oh, how very beautiful!" cries Zoe, in an ecstasy of delight. "Edward,
did you ever see anything finer?"
"Never! Let us go down this flight of steps and seat ourselves on the next
to the lowest. We will then be quite near the waves and yet out of danger
of being wet by them."
He led her down as he spoke, seated her comfortably and himself by her
side with his arm around her.
"I've grown very fond of the sea," she remarked. "I shall be sorry to
leave it. Will not you?"
"Yes and no," he answered, doubtfully. "I, too, am fond of old ocean, but
eager to get to Ion and begin life in earnest. Isn't it time, seeing I
have been a married man for nearly five months? But why that sigh, love?"
"O Edward, are you not sorry you are married? Are you not sometimes very
much ashamed of me?" she asked, her cheek burning hotly and the downcast
eyes filling with tears.
"Ashamed of you, Zoe? Why, darling, you are my heart's best treasure," he
said, drawing her closer to his side, and touching his lips to her
forehead. "What has put so absurd an idea into your head?"
"I know so little, so very little compared with your mother and sisters,"
she sighed. "I'm finding it out more and more every day, as I hear them
talk among themselves and to other people."
"But you are younger than any of them, a very great deal younger than
mamma, and will have time to catch up to them."
"But I'm a married woman and so can't go to school any more. Ah," with
another and very heavy sigh, "I wish papa hadn't been quite so indulgent,
or that I'd had sense enough not to take advantage of it to the neglect of
my studies!"
"No, I suppose it would hardly do to send you to school, even if I could
spare you--which I can't," he returned laughingly, "but there is a
possibility of studying at home, under a governess or tutor. What do you
say to offering yourself as a pupil to grandpa?"
"Oh, no, no! I'm sure he can be very stern upon occasion. I've seen it in
his eyes when I've made a foolish remark that he didn't approve, and I
should be too frightened to learn if he were my teacher."
"Then some one else must be thought of," Edward said, with a look of
amusement. "How would I answer?"
"You? Oh, splendidly!"
"You are not afraid of me?"
"No, indeed!" she cried, with a merry laugh and a saucy look up into his
face.
"And yet I'm the only person who has authority over you."
"Authority, indeed!" with a little contemptuous sniff.
"You promised to obey, you know."
"Did I? Well, maybe so, but that's just a form that doesn't really mean
anything. Most any married woman will tell you that."
"Do you consider the whole of your marriage vow an unmeaning form, Zoe?"
he asked, with sudden gravity and a look of doubt and pain in his eyes
that she could not bear to see.
"No, no! I was only in jest," she said, dropping her eyes and blushing
deeply. "But really, Edward, you don't think, do you, that wives are to
obey like children?"
"No, love, I don't; and I think in a true marriage the two are so entirely
one--so unselfishly desirous each to please the other--that there is
little or no clashing of wills. Thus far ours has seemed such to me. How
is it, do you think, little wife?"
"I hope so, Edward," she said, laying her head on his shoulder, "I know
one thing--that there is nothing in this world I care so much for as to
please you and be all and everything to you."
"And I can echo your words from my very heart, dearest," he said,
caressing her. "I hope you are at home and happy among your new
relatives."
"Yes, indeed, Edward, especially with mamma. She is the dearest, kindest
mother in the world; to me as much as to her own children, and oh, so wise
and good!"
"You are not sorry now that you and I are not to live alone?" he queried,
with a pleased smile.
"No, oh, no! I'm ever so glad that she is to keep house at Ion and all of
us to live together as one family."
"Except Lester and Elsie," he corrected; "they will be with us for a short
time, then go to Fairview for the winter. And it will probably become
their home after that, as mamma will buy it, if Mr. Leland--Lester's
uncle, who owns the place--carries out his intention of removing to
California. His children have settled there, and, of course, the father
and mother want to be with them."
The sun had set, and all the bright hues had faded from the sea, leaving
it a dull gray.
"What a deserted spot this seems!" remarked Zoe, "and only the other day
it was gay with crowds of people. Nobody to be seen now but ourselves,"
glancing up and down the coast as she spoke. "Ah, yes! yonder is someone
sitting on that piece of wreck."
"It is Lulu Raymond," Edward said, following the direction of her glance.
"It is late for the child to be out so far from home; a full mile I should
say. I'll go and invite her to walk back with us."
"No, you needn't," said Zoe, "for see, there is her father going to her.
But let us go home, for I must change my dress before tea."
"And we want time to walk leisurely along," returned Edward, rising and
giving her his hand to help her up the steps.
Lulu was reading, so absorbed in the story that she did not perceive her
father's approach, and as he accosted her with, "It is late for you to be
here alone, my child, you should have come in an hour ago," she gave a
great start, and involuntarily tried to hide her book.
"What have you there? Evidently something you do not wish your father to
see," he said, bending down and taking it from her unwilling hand.
"Ah, I don't wonder!" as he hurriedly turned over a few pages. "A dime
novel! Where did you get this, Lulu?"
"It's Max's, papa, he lent it to me. O papa, what made you do that?" as
with an energetic fling the captain suddenly sent it far out into the sea.
"Max made me promise to take care of it and give it back to him, and
besides I wanted to finish the story."
"Neither you nor Max shall ever read such poisonous stuff as that with my
knowledge and consent," replied the captain in stern accents.
"Papa, I didn't think you'd be so unkind," grumbled Lulu, her face
expressing extreme vexation and disappointment, "or that you would throw
away other people's things."
"Unkind, my child?" he said, sitting down beside her and taking her hand
in his. "Suppose you had gathered a quantity of beautiful, sweet-tasted
berries that I knew to be poisonous, and were about to eat them; would it
be unkind in me to snatch them out of your hand and throw them into the
sea?"
"No, sir; because it would kill me to eat them, but that book couldn't
kill me, or even make me sick."
"No, not your body, but it would injure your soul, which is worth far
more. I'm afraid I have been too negligent in regard to the mental food of
my children," he went on after a slight pause, rather as if thinking aloud
than talking to Lulu, "and unfortunately I cannot take the oversight of it
constantly in the future. But remember, Lulu," he added firmly, "I wholly
forbid dime novels, and you are not to read anything without first
obtaining the approval of your father or one of those under whose
authority he has placed you."
Lulu's face was full of sullen discontent and anger. "Papa," she said, "I
don't like to obey those people."
"If you are wise, you will try to like what has to be," he said.
"It wouldn't have to be if you would only say I needn't, papa."
"I shall not say that, Lucilla," he answered with grave displeasure. "You
need guidance and control even more than most children of your age, and I
should not be doing my duty if I left you without them."
"I don't like to obey people that are no relation to me!" she cried,
viciously kicking away a little heap of sand.
"No, you don't even like to obey your father," he said with a sigh. "Max
and Gracie together do not give me half the anxiety that you do by your
wilful temper."
"Why, can't I do as I please as well as grown people?" she asked in a more
subdued tone.
"Even grown people have to obey," said her father. "I am now expecting
orders from the government, and must obey them when they come. I must obey
my superior officers, and the officers and men under me must obey me. So
must my children. God gave you to me and requires me to train you up in
His fear and service to the best of my ability. I should not be doing that
if I allowed you to read such hurtful trash as that I just took from
you."
"It was Max's, papa, and I promised to give it back. What shall I say when
he asks me for it?"
"Tell him to come to me about it."
"Papa----"
"Well, what is it?" he asked, as she paused and hesitated.
"Please, papa, don't punish him. You never told him not to buy or read
such things, did you?"
"No; and I think he would not have done so in defiance of a prohibition
from me. So I shall not punish him. But I am pleased that you should plead
for him. I am very glad that my children all love one another."
"Yes, indeed we do, papa!" she said, "And we all love you, and you love
Max and Gracie very much, and----"
"And Lulu also," he said, putting his arm about her and drawing her closer
to his side, as she paused with quivering lip and downcast eyes.
"As much as you do Max and Gracie?" she asked brokenly, hiding her face on
his shoulder. "You said just now I was naughtier than both of them put
together."
"Yet you are my own dear child, and it is precisely because I love you so
dearly that I am so distressed over your quick temper and wilfulness. I
fear that if not conquered they will cause great unhappiness to yourself
as well as to your friends. I want you to promise me, daughter, that you
will try to conquer them, asking God to help you."
"I will, papa," she said, with unwonted humility; "but, oh, I wish you
were going to stay with us! It's easier to be good with you than with
anybody else."
"I am sorry, indeed, that I cannot," he said, rising and taking her hand.
"Come, we must go back to the house now."
They moved along in silence for a little, then Lulu said, with an
affectionate look up into her father's face, "Papa, I do so like to walk
this way!"
"How do you mean?" he asked, smiling kindly upon her.
"With my hand in yours, papa. You know I haven't often had the chance."
"No, my poor child," he sighed, "that is one of the deprivations to which
a seaman and his family have to submit."
"Well," said the little girl, lifting his hand to her lips, "I'd rather
have you for my father than anybody else, for all that."
At that he bent down and kissed her with a smile full of pleasure and
fatherly affection.
CHAPTER II.
"By thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou
shalt be condemned."--_Matt._ 12:37.
As they drew near the house Max came to meet them.
"I've been to the post-office since the mail came in, papa," he said, "and
there is no government letter for you yet. I'm so glad! I hope they're
going to let us keep you a good deal longer."
"I'm not sorry to prolong my stay with wife and children," the captain
responded, "but cannot hope to be permitted to do so very much longer."
"Grandpa Dinsmore has come back from taking Harold and Herbert to
college," pursued Max, "and we're all to take tea in there, Mamma Vi says;
because grandpa wants us all about him this first evening."
"That is kind," said the captain, opening the gate and looking smilingly
at Violet, who, with little Grace, was waiting for him on the veranda. He
stopped there to speak with them, while Lulu hurried on into the house
and up to her own room, Max following.
"Where's my book, Lu?" he asked.
"O Max, I couldn't help it--but papa caught me reading it and took it away
from me. And he told me when you asked me for it I should send you to
him."
Max's face expressed both vexation and alarm. "I sha'n't do that," he
said, "if I never get it. But was he very angry, Lu?"
"No; and you needn't be afraid to go to him, for he won't punish you; I
asked him not to, and he said he wouldn't. But he threw the book into the
sea, and said neither you nor I should ever read such poisonous stuff with
his knowledge or consent."
"Then, where would be the use of my going to him for it? I'll not say a
word about it."
He went out, closed the door and stood irresolutely in the hall, debating
with himself whether to go up-stairs or down. Up-stairs in his room was
another dime novel which he had been reading that afternoon; he had not
quite finished it, and was eager to do so; he wanted very much to know how
the story ended, and had meant to read the few remaining pages now before
the call to tea. But his father's words, reported to him by Lulu, made it
disobedience.
"It's a very little sin," whispered the tempter; "as having read so much,
you might as well read the rest."
"But it will be disobeying wilfully the kind father who forgave a heedless
act of disobedience not very long ago," said conscience; "the dear father
who must soon leave you to be gone no one knows how long, perhaps never to
come back."
Just then the captain came quickly up the stairs. "Ah, Max, are you
there?" he said, in a cheery tone, then laying his hand affectionately on
the boy's shoulder. "Come in here with me, my son, I want to have a little
talk with you while I make my toilet."
"Yes, sir," said Max, following him into the dressing-room.
"What have you been reading to-day?" asked the captain, throwing off his
coat, pouring water into the basin from the pitcher, and beginning his
ablutions.
Max hung his head in silence till the question was repeated, then
stammered out the title of the book, the perusal of which he was so
desirous to finish.
"Where did you get it?" asked his father.
"I bought it at a news-stand, papa."
"You must not buy anything more of that kind, Max; you must not read any
such trash."
"I will not again, papa; I should not this time if you had ever forbidden
me before."
"No, I don't believe you would be guilty of wilful disobedience to any
positive command of your father," the captain said in a grave but kindly
tone; "and yet I think you suspected I would not approve, else why were
you so unwilling to tell me what you had been reading?"
He was standing before the bureau now, hairbrush in hand, and as he spoke
he paused in his work, and gazed searchingly at his son.
Max's face flushed hotly, and his eyes drooped for a moment, then looking
up into his father's face he said frankly, "Yes, papa, I believe I was
afraid you would take the book from me if you saw it. I deserve that you
should be angry with me for that and for lending one to Lu."
"I am displeased with you on both accounts," the captain replied, "but I
shall overlook it this time, my son, hoping there will be no repetition of
either offence. Now go to your room, gather up all the doubtful reading
matter you have, and bring it here to me. I shall not go with you, but
trust to your honor to keep nothing back."
"Oh, thank you, papa, for trusting me!" cried Max, his countenance
brightening wonderfully, and he hastened away to do his father's bidding.
"Just the dearest, kindest father that ever was!" he said to himself, as
he bounded up the stairs. "I'll never do anything again to vex him, if I
can help it."
He was down again in a moment with two dime novels and a story-paper of
the same stamp.
The captain had finished his toilet. Seating himself he took what Max had
brought, and glancing hastily over it, "How much of this trash have you
read, Max?" he asked.
"The paper and most of one book, papa. I'll not read any more such, since
you've forbidden me; but they're very interesting, papa."
"I dare say, to a boy of your age. But you don't think I would want to
deprive you of any innocent pleasure, Max?"
"No, sir; oh, no! But may I know why you won't let me read such stories?"
"Yes; it is because they give false views of life, and thus lead to wrong
and foolish actions. Why, Max, some boys have been made burglars and
highwaymen by such stories. I want you to be a reader, but of good and
wholesome literature; books that will give you useful information and good
moral teachings; above all things, my son, I would have you a student of
the Bible, 'the holy Scriptures, which are able to make you wise unto
salvation through faith which is in Jesus Christ.' Do you read it often,
Max?"
"Not very, papa. But you know I hear you read it every morning and
evening."
"Yes; but I have sometimes been grieved to see that you paid very little
attention."
Max colored at that. "Papa, I will try to do better," he said.
"I hope you will," said his father. "You will enjoy the same religious
advantages at Ion, and, my boy, try to profit by them, remembering that we
shall have to render an account at last of the use or abuse of all our
privileges. I want you to promise me that you will read a few verses of
the Bible every day, and commit at least one to memory."
"I will, papa. And what else shall I read? You will let me have some
story-books, won't you?" Max said, entreatingly.
"Yes," said his father, "I have no objection to stories of the right sort.
There are some very beautiful stories in the Bible; there are entertaining
stories in history; and there are fictitious stories that will do you good
and not harm. I shall take care in future that you have plenty of
wholesome mental food, so that you will have no excuse for craving such
stuff as this," he added, with a glance of disgust at what he held in his
hand. "It may go into the kitchen fire."
"Mrs. Scrimp never burns the least little bit of paper, papa," said Max.
"Indeed! Why not?" asked his father, with an amused smile.
"She says it is wicked waste, because it is better than rags for the
paper-makers."
"Ah! well, then, we will tear these into bits and let them go to the
paper-makers."
Max was standing by his father's side. "Papa," he said, with a roguish
look into his father's face, "don't you think you would enjoy reading them
first?"
The captain laughed. "No, my son," he said; "I have not the slightest
inclination to read them. Bring me that waste basket and you may help me
tear them up."
They began the work of destruction, Max taking the paper, the captain the
book his son had been reading. Presently something in it attracted his
attention; he paused and glanced over several pages one after the other,
till Max began to think he had become interested in the story. But no; at
that instant he turned from it to him, and Max was half frightened at the
sternness of his look.
"My son," he said, "I am astonished and deeply grieved that you could read
and enjoy anything like this, for it is full of profanity; and reading or
hearing such expressions is very likely to lead to the use of them. Max,
do you ever say such words?"
Max trembled and grew red and pale by turns, but did not speak.
"Answer me," was his father's stern command.
"Not often, papa."
The captain barely caught the low breathed words. "Not often? sometimes,
then?" he groaned, covering his face with his hand.
"O papa, don't be so grieved! I'll never do it again," Max said in a
broken voice.
The captain sighed deeply. "Max," he said, "dearly as I love my only son,
I would sooner lay him under the sod, knowing that his soul was in heaven,
than have him live to be a profane swearer. Bring me that Bible from the
table yonder."
The boy obeyed.
"Now turn to the twenty-fourth chapter of Leviticus, and read the
sixteenth verse."
Max read in a trembling voice, "'And he that blasphemeth the name of the
Lord, he shall surely be put to death, and all the congregation shall
certainly stone him; as well the stranger, as he that is born in the land,
when he blasphemeth the name of the Lord, shall be put to death.'"
"Now the twenty-third," said his father.
"'And Moses spake to the children of Israel, that they should bring forth
him that had cursed out of the camp, and stone him with stones; and the
children of Israel did as the Lord commanded Moses.'"
Max had some difficulty in finishing the verse, and at the end quite broke
down.
"Papa," he sobbed, "I didn't know that was in the Bible. I never thought
about its being so dreadfully wicked to say bad words."
"What do you now think a boy deserves who has done it again and again? say
as often as Max Raymond has?" asked his father.
"I suppose to be stoned to death like that man. But nobody is ever put to
death for swearing nowadays?" the boy said, half inquiringly, not daring
to look at his father as he spoke.
"No, Max, fortunately for you and many others. But suppose you were my
father and I a boy of your age, and that I had been swearing, what would
you think you ought to do about it?"
"Give you a sound flogging," he answered, in a low, reluctant tone.
"Well, Max, that is just what I shall have to do, if I ever know you to
use a profane word again," said his father, in a grave, sad tone. "I
should do it now, but for the hope that you are sorry enough for the past
to carefully avoid that sin in the future."
"Indeed I will, papa," he said, very humbly.
"And, Max," resumed his father, "you are never to make a companion of, or
go at all with anybody who uses such language, and never to read a book or
story that has in it anything of that kind. And you are not to say by
George or by anything. Our Saviour says, 'Let your communication be Yea,
yea, Nay, nay, for whatsoever is more than these cometh of evil.' My son,
have you asked God to forgive you for taking His holy name in vain?"
"No, sir."
"Then go at once to your room and do it."
"I did, papa," Max said, when he came down again to find his father
waiting for him.
"I trust the petition came from your heart, my son," was the grave but
kind rejoinder. "I must have a little more talk with you on this subject,
but not now, for it is time we followed the others into the next house, if
we would not keep Grandma Rose's tea waiting."
CHAPTER III.
"A kingdom is a nest of families, and a family is a small
kingdom."--Tupper.
It was a bright and cheerful scene that greeted the eyes of Captain
Raymond and his son as they entered the parlor of the adjacent cottage.
It was strictly a family gathering, yet the room was quite full. Mr.
Dinsmore was there with his wife, his daughter Elsie and her children,
Edward and Zoe, Elsie Leland with her husband and babe, Violet Raymond
with her husband's two little girls, Lulu and Grace, and lastly Rosie and
Walter.
Everybody had a kindly greeting for the captain, and Violet's bright face
grew still brighter as she made room for him on the sofa by her side.
"We were beginning to wonder what was keeping you," she said.
"Yes, I'm afraid I am rather behind time," he returned. "I hope you have
not delayed your tea for me, Mrs. Dinsmore."
"No; it is but just ready," she said. "Ah, there's the bell. Please, all
of you walk out."
When the meal was over all returned to the parlor, where they spent the
next hour in desultory chat.
Gracie claimed a seat on her father's knee. Lulu took possession of an
ottoman and pushed it up as close to his side as she could; then seating
herself on it leaned up against him.
He smiled and stroked her hair, then glanced about the room in search of
Max.
The boy was sitting silently in a corner, but reading an invitation in his
father's eyes, he rose and came to his other side.
The ladies were talking of the purchases they wished to make in Boston,
New York or Philadelphia, on their homeward route.
"I must get winter hats for Lulu and Gracie," said Violet.
"I want a bird on mine, Mamma Vi," said Lulu; "a pretty one with gay
feathers."
"Do you know, Lulu, that they skin the poor little birds alive in order to
preserve the brilliancy of their plumage?" Violet said with a troubled
look. "I will not wear them on that account, and as you are a kind-hearted
little girl, I think you will not wish to do so either."
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