Martha Finley - Elsie Dinsmore - Complete Series (28 Books in One Edition)

"The child is sweet and fair to look upon, Horace, but I see nothing of you or my sister in her face," observed Miss Stanhope, as her nephew entered the breakfast-room, preceding his daughter by a moment or two. "Whom does she resemble?"

"Elsie is almost the exact counterpart of her own mother, Aunt Wealthy, and looks like no one else," he answered, with a glance of proud fatherly affection at the young creature as she entered and took her place at the table.

"Now my daughter," he said, at the conclusion of the meal, "you must go and lie down until near dinner-time, if possible."

"Yes, that is excellent advice," said Miss Stanhope. "I see, and I'm glad, she's worth taking care of, as you are sensible, Horace. You shall be called in season, dear. So take a good nap."

Elsie obeyed, retired to her room, slept several hours, and woke feeling greatly refreshed. Chloe was in waiting to dress her for dinner.

"Had you a nap too, my poor old mammy?" asked her young mistress.

"Yes, darlin'. I've been lying on that coach, and feel good as ever now. Hark! what dat?"

"It sounds like a dog in distress," said Elsie, as they both ran to the window and looked out.

A fat poodle had nearly forced his plump body between the palings of the front gate in the effort to get into the street, and sticking fast, was yelping in distress. As they looked Miss Stanhope ran quickly down the path, seized him by the tail, and jerked him back, he uttering a louder yelp than before.

"There, Albert," she said, stroking and patting him, "I don't like to hurt you, but how was I to get you out, or in? You must be taught that you're to stay at home, sir. Thomas! Thomas! come home, Thomas!" she called; and a large cat came running from the opposite side of the street.

"So those are Aunt Wealthy's pets. What an odd name for a cat," said Elsie, laughing.

"Yes, Miss Elsie, dey's pets, sure nuff: Phillis says Miss Wealthy's mighty good t'em."

"There, she is coming in with them, and, mammy, we must make haste. I'm afraid it's near dinner-time," said Elsie, turning away from the window.

Her toilet was just completed when there was a slight tap on the door, and her father's voice asked if she was ready to go down.

"Yes, papa," she answered, hurrying to him as Chloe opened the door.

"Ah, you are looking something like yourself again," he said, with a pleasant smile, as he drew her hand within his arm, and led her down the stairs. "You have had a good sleep?"

"A delicious rest. I must have slept at least four hours. And you, papa?"

"I took a nap of about the same length, and feel ready for almost anything in the shape of dinner, etc. And there is the bell."

Miss Stanhope cast many an admiring glance at nephew and niece during the progress of the meal.

"I'm thinking, Horace," she said at length, "that it's a great shame I've been left so many years a stranger to you both."

"I'm afraid it is, Aunt Wealthy; but the great distance that lies between our homes must be taken as some excuse. We would have been glad to see you at the Oaks, but you never came to visit us."

"Ah, it was much easier for you to come here," she replied, shaking her head. "I've been an old woman these many years. Come," she added, rising from the table, "come into the parlor, children, and let me show you the olden relics of time I have there—things that I value very highly, because they've been in the family for generations."

They followed her—Elsie unable to forbear a smile at hearing her father and herself coupled together as "children"—and looked with keen interest upon some half dozen old family portraits, an ancient cabinet of curiosities, a few musty, time-worn volumes, a carpet that had been very expensive in its day, but was now somewhat faded and worn, and tables, sofas, and chairs of solid mahogany; each of the last-named covered with a heavily-embroidered silken cushion.

"That sampler," said Aunt Wealthy, pointing to a large one with a wonderful landscape worked upon it, that, framed and glazed, hung between two of the windows, "is a specimen of my paternal grandmother's handiwork; these chair-cushions, too, she embroidered and filled with her own feathers, so that I value them more than their weight in gold."

"My great-grandmother kept a few geese, I presume," Mr. Dinsmore remarked aside to Elsie with a quiet smile.

Having finished their inspection of the parlor and its curiosities, they seated themselves upon the front porch, where trees and vines gave a pleasant shade. Miss Stanhope had her knitting, Mr. Dinsmore the morning paper, while Elsie sat with her pretty white hands lying idly in her lap, doing nothing but enjoy the beautiful prospect and a quiet chat with the sweet-voiced old lady.

The talk between them was quite brisk for a time, but gradually it slackened, till at length they had been silent for several minutes, and Elsie, glancing at her aunt, saw her nodding over her work.

"Ah, you must excuse me, dear," the old lady said apologetically, waking with a start; "I'm not very well, and, deary, I woke unusually early this morning, and have been stirring about ever since."

"Can't you afford yourself a little nap, auntie?" Elsie asked in return. "You mustn't make company of me; and, besides, I have a book that I can amuse myself with."

"You would be quite alone, child, for I see your father has gone in."

"I shall not mind that at all, auntie. Do go and lie down for at least a little while."

"Well, then, dear, I will just lie down on the sofa in the sitting room, and you must call me if any one comes."

"Aunt Wealthy couldn't have meant for a child like that, unless she comes on some important errand," thought Elsie, as, a few moments later, a little girl came slowly across the lawn and stepped upon the porch.

The child looked clean and decent, in a neat calico dress and gingham sun-bonnet. At sight of Elsie she stood still, and, gazing with open-mouthed curiosity, asked, "Be you the rich young lady that was coming to see Miss Wealthy from 'way down south?"

"I have come from the South to see Miss Stanhope. What do you wish?"

"Nothin', I just come over 'cause I wanted to."

"Will you take a seat?"

"Yes," taking possession of the low rocking chair Miss Stanhope had vacated.

"What's your name?" inquired Elsie.

"Lenwilla Ellawea Schilling," returned the child, straightening herself up with an air of importance; "mother made it herself."

"I should think so," replied Elsie, with a sparkle of fun in her eye. "And your mother is Mrs. Schilling, is she?"

"Yes, and pap, he's dead, and my brother's named Corbinus."

"What do they call you for short?"

"Willy, and him Binus."

"Where do you live?"

"Over yonder," nodding her head towards the opposite side of the street. "Mother's comin' over to see you some time. I guess I'll be going now." And away she went.

"What did that child want?" asked Miss Stanhope, coming out just in time to see the little maiden pass through the gate.

"Nothing but to look at and question me, I believe." Elsie answered, with an amused smile.

"Ah! she generally comes to borrow some little thing or other. They're the sort of folks that always have something they're out of. Mrs. Sixpence is a very odd sixpence indeed."

"I think the little girl said her last name was Schilling."

"Ah, yes, so it is: but I'm always forgetting their exact commercial value," and Aunt Wealthy laughed softly. "In fact, I've a very good forgetting of my own, and am more apt to get names wrong than right."

"Mrs. Schilling must have an odd taste for names," said Elsie.

"Yes, she's a manufacturer of them; and very proud of her success in that line."

Miss Stanhope was a great lover of flowers, very proud of hers, cultivated principally by her own hands. After tea she invited her nephew and niece to a stroll through her garden, while she exhibited her pets with a very excusable pride in their variety, beauty, and fragrance.