She was sitting on his knee that evening; she had been singing hymns—he accompanying her sweet treble with his deep bass notes; then for a while she had talked to him in her own simple, childlike way, of what she had been reading in her Bible and the "Pilgrim's Progress," asking him a question now and then, which, with all his learning and worldly wisdom, he was scarcely as capable of answering as herself. But now she had been for some minutes sitting perfectly silent, her head resting upon his breast, and her eyes cast down, as if in deep thought,
He had been studying with some curiosity the expression of the little face, which was much graver than its wont, and at length he startled her from her reverie with the question, "What is my little girl thinking about?"
"I was thinking, papa, that if you will let me, I should like very much to give Arthur a nice present before he goes away. May I?"
"You may if you wish," he said, stroking her hair.
"Oh, thank you, papa," she answered joyously, "I was half afraid you would not let me; then, if you please, won't you, the next time you go to the city, buy the very handsomest pocket Bible you can find?—and then, if you will write his name and mine in it, and that it is a token of affection from me, I will be so much obliged to you, dear papa."
"I will do so, daughter, but I am afraid Arthur will not feel much gratitude to you for such a present."
"Perhaps he may like it pretty well, papa, if it is very handsomely bound," she said, rather doubtfully; "at any rate I should like to try. When does he go, papa?"
"Day after to-morrow, I believe."
"I wish he would come in for a few minutes to see me, and say good-bye; do you think he will, papa?"
"I am afraid not," replied her father, shaking his head; "however, I will ask him. But why do you wish to see him?"
"I want to tell him that I am not at all vexed or angry with him, and that I feel very sorry for him, because he is obliged to go away all alone amongst strangers, poor fellow!" she sighed.
"You need not waste any sympathy on him, my dear," said her father, "for I think he rather likes the idea of going off to school."
"Does he, papa? Why, how strange!" exclaimed the little girl, lost in astonishment.
As Mr. Dinsmore had predicted, Arthur utterly refused to go near Elsie; and, at first, seemed disposed to decline her gift; but at length, on Lora suggesting that he might require a Bible for some of his school exercises, he accepted it, as Elsie had thought he might, on account of the handsome binding.
Elsie was hurt and disappointed that he would not come to see her; she shed a few quiet tears over his refusal, because she thought it showed that he still disliked her, and then wrote him a little note, breathing forgiveness, sisterly affection, and regard for his welfare. But the note was not answered, and Arthur went away without showing any signs of sorrow for his unkind treatment of her; nor, indeed, for any of his bad conduct.
Miss Day had returned, and the rest of her pupils now resumed their studies; but Elsie was, of course, quite unable to attend in the school-room, as her ankle was not yet in a condition to be used in the least. Her father said nothing to her about lessons, but allowed her to amuse herself as she liked with reading, or working for the doll. She, however, was growing weary of play, and wanted to go back to her books.
"Papa," she said to him one morning, "I am quite well now, excepting my lameness, and you are with me a great deal every day, may I not learn my lessons and recite them to you?"
"Certainly, daughter, if you wish it," he replied, looking much pleased; "I shall consider it no trouble, but, on the contrary, a very great pleasure to teach you, if you learn your lessons well, as I am sure you will."
Elsie promised to be diligent, and from that day she went on with her studies as regularly as if she had been in school with the others.
She felt her confinement very much at times, and had a great longing for the time when she could again mount her pony, and take long rides and walks in the sweet fresh air; but she was not often lonely, for her papa managed to be with her a great deal, and she never cared for any other companion when he was by. Then, Mr. Travilla came in frequently to see her, and always brought a beautiful bouquet, or some fine fruit from his hot-house, or some other little nicety to tempt an invalid's appetite, or what she liked, even better still, a new book. Her aunts Adelaide and Lora, too, felt very kindly toward her, coming in occasionally to ask how she was, and to tell her what was going on in the house; and sometimes Walter brought his book to ask her to help him with his lessons, which she was always ready to do, and then he would sit and talk a while, telling her what had occurred in the school-room, or in their walks or rides, and expressing his regret on account of the accident that prevented her from joining them as usual.
Her doll, too, was a great source of amusement to her, and she valued it very highly, and was so extremely careful of it that she hardly felt willing to trust it out of her own hands, lest it should be broken. Especially was she annoyed when Enna, who was a very careless child, wished to take it; but it was a dangerous thing to refuse Enna's requests, except when Mr. Dinsmore was by, and so Elsie always endeavored to get the doll out of sight when she heard her coming.
But one unfortunate afternoon Enna came in quite unexpectedly, just as Elsie finished dressing it in a new suit, which she had completed only a few moments before.
"Oh, Elsie, how pretty it looks!" she cried. "Do let me take it on my lap a little while. I won't hurt it a bit."
Elsie reluctantly consented, begging her to be very careful, "because, Enna," she said, "you know if you should let it fall, it would certainly be broken."
"You needn't be afraid," replied Enna, pettishly, "I guess I can take care of a doll as well as you."
She drew up Elsie's little rocking-chair, as she spoke, and taking the doll from her, sat down with it in her arms.
Elsie watched nervously every movement she made, in momentary dread of a catastrophe.
They were alone in the room, Chloe having gone down to the kitchen on some errand.
For a few moments Enna was content to hold the doll quietly in her arms, rocking backwards and forwards, singing to it; but ere long she laid it down on her lap, and began fastening and unfastening its clothes, pulling off its shoes and stockings to look at its feet—dropping them on the floor, and stooping to pick them up again, at the same time holding the doll in such a careless manner that Elsie expected every instant to see it scattered in fragments on the floor.
In vain she remonstrated with Enna, and begged her to be more careful; it only vexed her and made her more reckless; and at length Elsie sprang from her couch and caught the doll, just in time to save it, but in so doing gave her ankle a terrible wrench.
She almost fainted with the pain, and Enna, frightened at her pale face, jumped up and ran out of the room, leaving her alone.
She had hardly strength to get back on to her couch; and when her father came in, a moment after, he found her holding her ankle in both hands, while the tears forced from her by the pain were streaming down over her pale cheeks.
"Why, my poor darling, what is it?" he exclaimed, in a tone of mingled surprise and alarm.
"Oh, papa," she sobbed, "Enna was going to let my doll fall, and I jumped to catch it, and hurt my ankle."
"And what did you do it for?" he said angrily. "I would rather have bought you a dozen such dolls than have had your ankle hurt again. It may cripple you for life, yet, if you are not more careful."
"Oh, papa, please don't scold me, please