"Yes, sir, I will," said Elsie. "Come with me to my room, won't you, Lucy?"
"Yes; but won't you speak to mamma first? and Herbert, too; you are such a favorite with both of them; and they still are in the dressing-room, for mamma is not very well, and was quite fatigued with her ride."
Lucy led the way to her mamma's room, as she spoke, Elsie following.
"Ah! Elsie dear, how do you do? I'm delighted to see you," said Mrs. Carrington, rising from the sofa as they entered.
Then, drawing the little girl closer to her, she passed her arm affectionately around her waist, and kissed her several times.
"I suppose you are very happy now that your papa has come home at last?" she said, looking searchingly into Elsie's face. "I remember you used to be looking forward so to his return; constantly talking of it and longing for it."
Poor Elsie, conscious that her father's presence had not brought with it the happiness she had anticipated, and yet unwilling either to acknowledge that fact or tell an untruth, was at a loss what to say.
But she was relieved from the necessity of replying by Herbert, Lucy's twin brother, a pale, sickly-looking boy, who had for several years been a sufferer from hip complaint.
"O Elsie!" he exclaimed, catching hold of her hand and squeezing it between both of his, "I'm ever so glad to see you again."
"Yes," said Mrs. Carrington, "Herbert always says nobody can tell him such beautiful stories as Elsie; and nobody but his mother and his old mammy was half so kind to run and wait on him when he was laid on his back for so many weeks. He missed you very much when we went home, and often wished he was at Roselands again."
"How is your hip now, Herbert?" asked Elsie, looking pityingly at the boy's pale face.
"Oh! a great deal better, thank you. I can take quite long walks sometimes now, though I still limp, and cannot run and leap like other boys."
They chatted a few moments longer, and then Elsie went to her room to have her hat taken off, and her hair made smooth before the tea-bell should ring.
The two little girls were seated together at the table, Elsie's papa being on her other side.
"How nice these muffins are! Don't you like them, Elsie?" asked Lucy, as she helped herself to a third or fourth.
"Yes, very much," said Elsie, cheerfully.
"Then what are you eating that cold bread for? and you haven't got any butter, either. Pompey, why don't hand Miss Elsie the butter?"
"No, Lucy, I mustn't have it. Papa does not allow me to eat hot cakes or butter," said Elsie, in the same cheerful tone in which she had spoken before.
Lucy opened her eyes very wide, and drew in her breath.
"Well," she exclaimed, "I guess if my papa should try that on me, I'd make such a fuss he'd have to let me eat just whatever I wanted."
"Elsie knows better than to do that," said Mr. Dinsmore, who had overheard the conversation; "she would only get sent away from the table and punished for her naughtiness."
"I wouldn't do it anyhow, papa," said Elsie, raising her eyes beseechingly to his face.
"No, daughter, I don't believe you would," he replied in an unusually kind tone, and Elsie's face flushed with pleasure.
Several days passed away very pleasantly, Lucy sharing Elsie's studies in the mornings, while Herbert remained with his mamma; and then in the afternoon all walking or riding out together, unless the weather was too warm, when they spent the afternoon playing in the veranda, on the shady side of the house, and took their ride or walk after the sun was down.
Arthur and Walter paid but little attention to Herbert, as his lameness prevented him from sharing in the active sports which they preferred; for they had never been taught to yield their wishes to others, and were consequently extremely selfish and overbearing; but Elsie was very kind, and did all in her power to interest and amuse him.
One afternoon they all walked out together, attended by Jim; but Arthur and Walter, unwilling to accommodate their pace to Herbert's slow movements, were soon far in advance, Jim following close at their heels.
"They're quite out of sight," said Herbert presently, "and I'm very tired. Let's sit down on this bank, girls; I want to try my new bow, and you may run and pick up my arrows for me."
"Thank you, sir," said Lucy, laughing; "Elsie may do it if she likes, but as for me, I mean to take a nap; this nice, soft grass will make an elegant couch;" and throwing herself down, she soon was, or pretended to be, in a sound slumber; while Herbert, seating himself with his back against a tree, amused himself with shooting his arrows here and there, Elsie running for them and bringing them to him, until she was quite heated and out of breath.
"Now I must rest a little, Herbert," she said at length, sitting down beside him. "Shall I tell you a story?"
"Oh! yes, do; I like your stories, and I don't mind leaving off shooting till you're done," said he, laying down his bow.
Elsie's story lasted about ten minutes, and when she had finished, Herbert took up his bow again, saying, "I guess you're rested now, Elsie," and sent an arrow over into the meadow.
"There! just see how far I sent that! do run and bring it to me, Elsie!" he cried, "and let me see if I can't hit that tree next time; I've but just missed it."
"I'm tired, Herbert; but I'll run and bring it to you this once," replied Elsie, forgetting entirely her father's prohibition; "but then you must try to wait until Jim comes back before you shoot any more."
So saying, she darted away, and came back in a moment with the arrow in her hand. But a sudden recollection had come over her just as she left the meadow, and throwing down the arrow at the boy's feet, she exclaimed in an agitated tone, "O Herbert! I must go home just as quickly as I can; I had forgotten—oh! how could I forget! oh! what will papa say!"
"Why, what's the matter?" asked Herbert in alarm.
"Never mind," said Elsie, sobbing. "There are the boys coming; they will take care of you, and I must go home. Good-bye."
And she ran quickly up the road, Herbert following her retreating form with wondering eyes.
Elsie sped onward, crying bitterly as she went.
"Where is papa!" she inquired of a servant whom she met in the avenue.
"Dunno, Miss Elsie, but I reckon Massa Horace am in de house, kase his horse am in de stable."
Elsie hardly waited for the answer, but hurrying into the house, went from room to room, looking and asking in vain for her father. He was not in the drawing-room, or the library, or his own apartments. She had just come out of this, and meeting a chamber-maid in the hall, she exclaimed, "O Fanny! where is papa? can't you tell me? for I must see him."
"Here I am, Elsie; what do you want with me?" called out her father's voice from the veranda, where she had neglected to look.
"What do you want?" he repeated, as his little girl appeared before him with her flushed and tearful face. Elsie moved slowly toward him, with a timid air and downcast eyes.
"I wanted to tell you something, papa," she said in a low, tremulous tone.
"Well, I am listening," said he, taking hold of her hand and drawing her to his side. "What is it? are you sick or hurt?"
"No, papa, not either; but—but, O papa! I have been a very naughty girl," she exclaimed, bursting into tears, and sobbing violently. "I disobeyed you, papa. I—I have been in the meadow."
"Is it possible! Would you dare to do so when I so positively forbade it only the other day?" he said in his sternest tone, while a dark frown gathered on his brow. "Elsie, I shall have to punish you."
"I did not intend to disobey you, papa," she sobbed;