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

Elsie's deep mourning was for her sufficient excuse for declining all invitations; while Rose could plead her still precarious state of health.

She wore no outward badge of mourning for Mrs. Travilla, but felt deep and sincere grief at her loss; for the two had been intimate and dear friends for many years, the wide disparity in age making their intercourse and affection much like that of mother and daughter.

The condition of political affairs in their own country was another thing that caused our friends to feel more exclusive and somewhat reluctant to mingle with those of other nationalities. Every mail brought them letters and papers from both North and South, and from their distant standpoint they watched with deep interest and anxiety the course of events fraught with such momentous consequences to their native land.

Neither Mr. Dinsmore nor Mr. Travilla had ever been a politician; but both they and their wives were dear lovers of their country, by which they meant the whole Union. The three who were natives of the South acknowledged that that section was dearer to them than any other, but that the whole was nearer and dearer than any part; while Rose said "she knew no difference; it was all her own beloved native land, to her mind one and indivisible."

They led a cheerful, quiet life in their Italian home, devoting themselves to each other and their children; Mr. Dinsmore acting the part of tutor to young Horace, as he had done to Elsie.

Her little ones were the pets and playthings of the entire household, while she and their father found the sweetest joy in caring for them and watching over and assisting the development of their natures, mental, moral, and physical. Their children would never be left to the care and training of servants, however faithful and devoted.

Nor would those of Mr. Dinsmore and Rose. In the esteem of these wise, Christian parents the God-given charge of their own offspring took undoubted precedence of the claims of society.

Thus placidly passed the summer and autumn, the monotony of their secluded life relieved by the enjoyment of literary pursuits, and varied by walks, rides, drives, and an occasional sail, in bright, still weather, over the waters of the lovely bay.

Elsie entered the drawing-room one morning, with the little daughter in her arms. The child was beautiful as a cherub, the mother sweet and fair as ever, nor a day older in appearance than while yet a girl in her father's house.

She found him sole occupant of the room, pacing to and fro with downcast eyes and troubled countenance. But looking up quickly at the sound of her footsteps he came hastily towards her.

"Come to grandpa," he said, holding out his hands to the little one; then as he took her in his arms, "My dear daughter, if I had any authority over you now——"

"Papa," she interrupted, blushing deeply, while the quick tears sprang to her eyes, "you hurt me! Please don't speak so. I am as ready now as ever to obey your slightest behest."

"Then, my darling, don't carry this child. You are not strong, and I fear will do yourself an injury. She can walk very well now, and if necessary to have her carried, call upon me, her father, or one of the servants; Aunt Chloe, Uncle Joe, Dinah, one or another is almost sure to be at hand."

"I will try to follow out your wishes, papa. Edward has said the same thing to me, and no doubt you are right; but it is so sweet to have her in my arms, and so hard to refuse when she asks to be taken up."

"You mustn't ask mamma to carry you," Mr. Dinsmore said to the child, caressing her tenderly as he spoke; "poor mamma is not strong, and you will make her sick."

They had seated themselves side by side upon a sofa. The little one turned a piteous look upon her mother, and with a quivering lip and fast-filling eyes, said, "Mamma sick? Elsie tiss her, make her well?"

"No, my precious pet, mother isn't sick; so don't cry," Elsie answered, receiving the offered kiss, as the babe left her grandfather's knee and crept to her; then the soft little hands patted her on the cheeks and the chubby arms clung about her neck.

But catching sight, through the open window, of her father coming up the garden walk, wee Elsie hastily let go her hold, slid to the floor and ran to meet him.

Mr. Dinsmore seemed again lost in gloomy thought.

"Papa, dear, what is it? What troubles you so?" asked Elsie, moving closer to him, and leaning affectionately on his shoulder, while the soft eyes sought his with a wistful, anxious expression.

He put his arm about her, and just touching her cheek with his lips, heaved a deep sigh. "The papers bring us bad news. Lincoln is elected."

"Ah well, let us not borrow trouble, papa; perhaps he may prove a pretty good president after all."

"Just what I think," remarked Mr. Travilla, who had come in with his little girl in his arms at the moment of Mr. Dinsmore's announcement, and seated himself on his wife's other side; "let us wait and see. All may go right with our country yet."

Mr. Dinsmore shook his head sadly. "I wish I could think so, but in the past history of all republics whenever section has arrayed itself against section the result has been either a peaceful separation, or civil war; nor can we hope to be an exception to the rule."

"I should mourn over either," said Elsie, "I cannot bear to contemplate the dismemberment of our great, glorious old Union. Foreign nations would never respect either portion as they do the undivided whole."

"No; and I can't believe either section can be so mad as to go that length," remarked her husband, fondling his baby daughter as he spoke. "The North, of course, does not desire a separation; but if the South goes, will be pretty sure to let her go peaceably."

"I doubt it, Travilla; and even if a peaceable separation should be allowed at first, so many causes of contention would result (such as the control of the navigation of the Mississippi, the refusal of the North to restore runaway negroes, etc., etc.), that it would soon come to blows."

"Horace, you frighten me," said Rose, who had come in while they were talking.

The color faded from Elsie's cheek, and a shudder ran over her, as she turned eagerly to hear her husband reply.

"Why cross the bridge before we come to it, Dinsmore?" he answered cheerily, meeting his wife's anxious look with one so fond and free from care, that her heart grew light; "surely there'll be no fighting where there is no yoke of oppression to cast off. There can be no effect without a cause."

"The accursed lust of power on the part of a few selfish, unprincipled men, may invent a cause, and for the carrying out of their own ambitious schemes, they may lead the people to believe and act upon it. No one proposes to interfere with our institution where it already exists—even the Republican party has emphatically denied any such intention—yet the hue and cry has been raised that slavery will be abolished by the incoming administration, arms put into the hands of the blacks, and a servile insurrection will bring untold horrors to the hearths and homes of the South."

"Oh, dreadful, dreadful!" cried Rose.

"But, my dear, there is really no such danger: the men (unscrupulous politicians) do not believe it themselves; but they want power, and as they could never succeed in getting the masses to rebel to compass their selfish ends, they have invented this falsehood and are deceiving the people with it."

"Don't put all the blame on the one side, Dinsmore," said Mr. Travilla.

"No; that would be very unfair. The framers of our constitution looked to gradual emancipation to rid us of this blot on our escutcheon, this palpable inconsistency between our conduct and our political creed.

"It did so in a number of States, and probably would ere this in all, but for the fierce attacks of a few ultra-abolitionists, who were more zealous to pull the mote out of their brother's eye than the beam out of their own, and so exasperated the Southern people by their wholesale abuse and denunciations, that all thought of emancipation was given up.