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

"I think not, dear; there are only Aunt Wealthy, who has not lost any near friend lately, and—Why there she is now! the dear old soul!" she broke off joyously, for at that instant a carriage, which she had been watching coming up the drive, drew up before the door, and a young gentleman and a little old lady alighted.

Aunt Chloe took the babe, and Elsie hastened down to meet her aunt, her little daughter following.

To the child's great relief it was an altogether joyous greeting this time; both Miss Stanhope, and her escort, Harry Duncan, were looking very happy, which caused her to regard them with much satisfaction, and the kisses asked of her were given very readily.

"Were you expecting us to-day, Mrs. Allison?" Harry asked, turning to Adelaide.

"Yes; I received your telegram."

"Business hurried us off two days sooner than we expected," said Miss Stanhope. "I would have written, but was so very busy with papers and painterers doing the house all up new; and putting down new curtains, and tacking up new carpets, till, Elsie, the old place would hardly know you."

The old lady's heart was evidently full to overflowing, with happiness at the prospect of seeing May installed as future mistress in the pretty cottage at Lansdale.

Yet there was no lack of sympathy in the sorrows or joys of others; she wept with them all over their losses past and prospective; for she, too, saw that Harold must soon pass away from earth, and while rejoicing with him, when she learned how gladly he would obey the summons, her heart yet bled for those to whom he was so dear.

Richard and his bride arrived in due season. The latter had lost no near relative by the war, and—to wee Elsie's delight—the meeting between "Aunt Lottie and mamma," seemed one of unalloyed pleasure.

Unlike those of her older sisters, May's was a private wedding—none but the family and a few near relatives and connections being present. Though deeply attached to Harry, and trusting him fully, much of sadness was unavoidably mingled with her happiness as she prepared for her bridal. It could not be otherwise, as she thought of Fred in his soldier grave, Harold soon to follow, and Sophie—whose had been the last wedding in the paternal home, and so gay and joyous a one—now in her widow's weeds and well-nigh broken-hearted.

"Mine will not be a gay bridal," May had said, in arranging her plans; "and I will just wear my traveling suit."

But Harold objected. "No, no, May; I want to see you dressed as Rose and Sophie were—in white, with veil and orange blossoms. Why shouldn't your beauty be set off to the best advantage as well as theirs, even though only the eyes of those who love you will look upon it?"

And so it was; for Harold's wishes were sacred now.

They were married in the morning; and after a sumptuous breakfast the bridal attire was exchanged for the traveling suit, and the new-made husband and wife set out upon their wedding trip. It was very sad for poor May to leave, not only childhood's home, parents, and brothers and sisters whose lease of life seemed as likely to be long as her own, but to part from the dying one to whom she was most tenderly attached.

But Harry promised to bring her back; and she was to be immediately summoned, in case of any marked unfavorable change in the invalid.

Then, too, Harold was so serenely happy in the prospect before him, and talked so constantly of it as only going home a little while before the rest, and of how at length all would be reunited in that better land, to spend together an eternity of bliss, that it had robbed death of half its gloom and terror.

It was Harold's earnest desire that all his dear ones should be as gay and happy as though he were in health; he would not willingly cast a shadow over the pathway of any of them, for a day; especially the newly married, whose honeymoon, he said, ought to be a very bright spot for them to look back upon in all after years.

So Lottie felt it right to let her heart swell with gladness in the new love that crowned her life; and the time passed cheerfully and pleasantly to the guests at Elmgrove.

Mrs. Ross and her mother, and Miss Stanhope, remained for a fortnight after the wedding. All were made to feel themselves quite at home in both houses; the two families were much like one, and usually spent their evenings together, in delightful social intercourse; Harold in their midst on his couch, or reclining in an easy chair, an interested listener to the talk and occasionally joining in it.

One evening when they were thus gathered about him, Mrs. Carrington, looking compassionately upon the pale, patient face, remarked, "You suffer a great deal, Captain Allison?"

"Yes, a good deal," he answered cheerfully, "but not more than I can easily endure, remembering that it is 'whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth.'"

"You take a very Christian view of it; but do your sufferings arouse no bitterness of feeling towards the South?"

"Oh, no!" he answered, earnestly, "why should they? The people of the South were not responsible for what was done at Andersonville; perhaps the Confederate government was so only in a measure; and Wirtz was a foreigner. Besides, there was a great deal endured by rebel prisoners in some of our Northern prisons. Father," turning to the elder Mr. Allison, "please tell Mrs. Carrington about your visit to Elmira."

The others had been chatting among themselves, but all paused to listen as Mr. Allison began his narrative.

"We learned that a young relative of my wife was confined there, and ill. I went at once to see what could be done for him, and finding the prison in charge of a gentleman who was under much obligation to me, gained admittance without much difficulty. It was a wretched place, and the prisoners were but poorly fed; which was far more inexcusable here than at the South, where food was scarce in their own army and among the people."

"I know that to have been the case," said Mrs. Carrington. "The farmers were not allowed to make use of their grain for their own families, till a certain proportion had been taken for the army; and there were families among us who did not taste meat for a year."

"Yes; the war has been hard for us, but far harder upon them. I found our young friend in a very weak state. I succeeded in getting permission to remove him to more comfortable quarters, and did so; but he lived scarcely two days after."

"How very sad," remarked Elsie, with emotion. "Oh, what a terrible thing is war!"

"Especially civil war," said the elder Mrs. Allison; "strife among brethren; its fruits are bitter, heart-rending."

"And being all one people there was equal bravery, talent, and determination on both sides; which made the struggle a very desperate one," said Harold.

"And the military tic-tacs were the same," added Aunt Wealthy; "and then speaking the same language, and looking so much alike, foes were sometimes mistaken for friends, and versa-vice."

"A brother-in-law of Louise's was confined in Fort Delaware for some months," said Adelaide, addressing her brother, "and wrote to me for some articles of clothing he needed badly, adding, 'If you could send me something to eat, it would be most thankfully received.' I sent twice, but neither package ever reached him."

"Too bad! too bad!" said Mr. Dinsmore; "yet very likely it was through no fault of the government."

"No; I am satisfied that individuals—selfish, unscrupulous men of whom there were far too many on both sides, were the real culprits, and that the government intended every prisoner should be made as comfortable as circumstances would permit," said Mr. Allison. "But there are men who made large fortunes by swindling the government and robbing our brave soldiers; men unworthy of the name! who would sell their own souls for gold!"