"I don't doubt it, daughter," he said, "for I have often noticed that spoiled, petted children, usually have very little love for their parents, or indeed for any one but themselves. But I must put you in your bed, or you will be in danger of taking cold."
He laid her down, tucked the clothes snugly about her, and pressing one more kiss on the round, rosy cheek, left her to her slumbers.
Chapter Fourteenth
"You play the spaniel,
And think with wagging of your tongue to win me."
—SHAKESPEARE's Henry Eighth.
"These delights, if thou canst give,
Mirth, with thee I mean to live."
—MILTON's L'Allegro.
The young party at Roselands had now grown so large—several additions having been made to it on Monday afternoon and evening—that a separate table was ordered to be spread for them in the nursery, where they took their meals together; Mrs. Brown, the housekeeper, taking the head of the table, for the double purpose of keeping them in order, and seeing that their wants were well supplied.
Elsie came in to breakfast, from a brisk walk with her papa, looking fresh and rosy, and bright as the morning; quite different from some of the little guests, who had been up far beyond their usual hours the night before, and, having just left their beds, had come down pale and languid in looks, and in some instances showing peevish and fretful tempers, very trying to the patience of their attendants.
"O Elsie!" exclaimed Carry Howard, as the little girl took her place at the table, "we were all so sorry that you had to leave us so soon last night; we had lots of fun after you left. I think your papa might have let you stay up a little longer; but he has promised that tonight—as we are to have the Christmas-tree, and ever so much will be going on—you shall stay up till half-past nine, if you like. Aren't you glad? I'm sure I am."
"Yes, papa is very kind, and I know I feel much better for going to bed early last night," said Elsie, cheerfully.
"Yes, indeed," remarked Mrs. Brown, "late hours and rich food are very bad for little folks, and I notice that Miss Elsie has grown a deal stronger and healthier-looking since her papa came home; he takes such good care of her."
"Indeed he does," said Elsie heartily, thanking Mrs. Brown with one of her sweetest smiles.
"What are we going to do to-day, Elsie?" asked Caroline.
"Whatever you all prefer," said Elsie. "If you like I will practice that duet with you the first hour after breakfast, or do anything else you wish; but the second hour I must spend with papa, and after that I have nothing to do but entertain my company all day."
"Do you do lessons in holidays?" asked Mary Leslie, a merry, fun-loving child, about Elsie's own age, who considered lessons an intolerable bore, and had some vague idea that they must have been invented for the sole purpose of tormenting children. Her blue eyes opened wide with astonishment when Elsie quietly replied that her papa had kindly arranged to give her an hour every morning, because he knew it would be so much pleasanter for her than spending the whole day in play.
Elsie did keenly enjoy that quiet hour spent in studying and reciting to her father, sitting on a low stool at his feet, or perhaps oftener on his knee, with his arm around her waist.
She had an eager and growing thirst for knowledge, and was an apt scholar, whom any one with the least love for the profession might have delighted in teaching; and Mr. Dinsmore, a thorough scholar himself, and loving knowledge for its own sake—loving also his little pupil with all a father's fond, yearning affection—delighted in his task.
When Elsie left her father she found that the Carringtons had just arrived. She and Lucy had not seen each other since the week the latter had spent at Roselands early in the summer, and both felt pleased to meet.
Mrs. Carrington gave Elsie a warm embrace, remarking that she had grown, and was looking extremely well; better than she had ever seen her. But no one was more delighted to meet Elsie than Herbert, and she was very glad to learn that his health was gradually improving. He was not, however, at all strong, even yet, and his mother thought it best for him to lie down and rest a little after his ride. She promised to sit by him, and the two little girls went in search of the rest of the young folks.
Several of the older boys had gone out walking or riding, but the younger ones, and all the little girls, were gathered in a little back parlor, where, by Adelaide's care and forethought, a variety of story-books, toys, and games, had been provided for their amusement. Elsie's entrance was hailed with delight, for she was a general favorite.
"Oh! Elsie, can't you tell us what to play?" cried Mary Leslie; "I'm so tired," and she yawned wearily.
"Here are some dissected maps, Mary," replied Elsie, opening a drawer; "would you not like them?"
"No, indeed, thank you; they are too much like lessons."
"Here are blocks; will you build houses?"
"Oh! I am too big for that; they are very nice for little children."
"Will you play jack-stones? here are some smooth pebbles."
"Yes, if you and Carry, and Lucy, will play with me."
"Agreed!" said the others, "let's have a game."
So, Elsie having first set the little ones to building block-houses, supplied Harry Carrington—an older brother of Lucy's—with a book, and two younger boys with dissected maps to arrange, the four girls sat down in a circle on the carpet and began their game.
For a few moments all went on smoothly; but soon angry and complaining words were heard coming from the corner where the house-building was going on. Elsie left her game to try to make peace.
"What is the matter, Flora, dear?" she asked soothingly of a little curly-headed girl, who was sobbing, and wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron.
"Enna took my blocks," sobbed the child.
"Oh! Enna, won't you give them back?" said Elsie, coaxingly; "you know Flora is a visitor, and we must be very polite to her."
"No, I won't," returned Enna, flatly; "she's got enough now."
"No, I haven't; I can't build a house with those," Flora said, with another sob.
Elsie stood a moment looking much perplexed; then, with a brightening face, exclaimed in her cheerful, pleasant way, "Well, never mind, Flora, dear, I will get you my doll. Will not that do quite as well?"—"Oh! yes, I'd rather have the doll, Elsie," the little weeper answered eagerly, smiling through her tears.
Elsie ran out of the room and was back again almost in a moment, with the doll in her arms.
"There, dear little Flora," she said, laying it gently on the child's lap, "please be careful of it for I have had it a long while, and prize it very much, because my guardian gave it to me when I was a very little girl, and he is dead now."
"I won't break it, Elsie, indeed I won't," replied Flora, confidently; and Elsie sat down to her game again.
A few moments afterward Mr. Horace Dinsmore passed through the room.
"Elsie," he said, as he caught sight of his little daughter, "go up to my dressing-room."
There was evidently displeasure and reproof in his tone, and, entirely unconscious of wrongdoing, Elsie looked up in surprise, asking, "Why, papa?"
"Because I bid you," he replied; and she silently obeyed, wondering greatly what she had done to displease her father.
Mr. Dinsmore passed out of one door while Elsie left by the other.
The three little girls looked inquiringly into each other's faces.