Elsie's New Relations / What They Did and How They Fared at Ion; A Sequel to Grandmother Elsie

"Our love, it ne'er was reckoned,
Yet good it is and true;
It's half the world to me, dear,
It's all the world to you."
—Hood.

Edward was a trifle late in obeying the call to breakfast. He found the rest of the family already seated at the table, and great was the surprise created by his entrance.

"Why, how's this? hae we all been sleepin' a week or ten days?" exclaimed Mr. Lilburn. "The lad was to hae been absent that length o' time, and I thought it was but yesterday he went; yet here he is!"

"This is an unexpected pleasure, my dear boy," was his mother's greeting.

The others said "Good-morning," and all smilingly awaited an explanation.

"Good-morning to you all," returned Edward, taking his seat. "Of course I have not had time to attend to the business matter that took me away; but the fact is, I found I could not do without my wife, so came back after her."

"Where is she now?" asked his mother.

"I left her still in bed and asleep. I came home by the stage, found her awake—indeed, I think she said she had not slept at all—and kept her awake for some time talking——"

"So much to say after so lengthened a separation?" laughingly interrupted his grandfather.

"Yes, sir, a good deal," Edward answered, coloring slightly. "So she has to make it up now, and I would not wake her."

"Quite right," said his mother. "Her breakfast shall be sent up whenever she is ready for it."

"I'm very glad you've come, Ned," remarked Rosie, "for Zoe nearly cried her eyes out yesterday, grieving after you. 'Twouldn't be I that would fret so after any man living—unless it might be grandpa," with a coquettish, laughing look at him.

"Thank you, my dear," he said.

"Ah, lassie, that's a' because your time hasna come yet," remarked Mr. Lilburn. "When it does, you'll be as lovelorn and foolish as the rest."

"Granting that it is foolish for a woman to love her husband," put in Mrs. Dinsmore, sportively.

"A heresy never to be countenanced here," said her spouse; "the husbands and wives of this family expect to give and receive no small amount of that commodity. Do you set off again this morning, Ned?"

"No, sir; not before to-morrow; not then unless Zoe is ready to go with me."

"Quite right, my boy, your wife's health and happiness are, as your mother remarked to me yesterday, of more consequence than any mere business matter."

On leaving the table Edward followed his mother out to the veranda.

"Can I have a word in private with you, mamma?" he asked, and she thought his look was troubled.

"Certainly," she said. "I hope nothing is wrong with our little Zoe?"

"It is of her—and myself I want to speak. I feel impelled to make a confession to you, mother dear, that I would not willingly to any one else. Perhaps you have suspected," he added, coloring with mortification, "that all was not right between us when I left yesterday. She would not have fretted so over my mere absence of a few days, but I had scolded and threatened her the night before, and went away without any reconciliation or even a good-by. In fact, she was asleep when I left the rooms, and knew nothing of my going."

"O Edward!" exclaimed his listener in a low, pained tone.

"I am bitterly ashamed of my conduct, mother," he said with emotion, "but we have made it up and are both very happy again in each other's love. She was very humble over her part of the quarrel, poor little thing! and we mean to live in peace and love the rest of our lives, God helping us," he added reverently.

"I trust so, my dear boy," Elsie said, "for whether you live in peace or contention, will make all the difference of happiness or misery in your lives. It would have quite broken my heart had your father ever scolded or threatened me."

"But you, mamma, were a woman when you married, old enough and wise enough to guide and control yourself."

"I was older than Zoe is, it is true; but do not be dictatorial, Edward; if you must rule, do it by love and persuasion; you will find it the easiest and happiest way for you both."

"Yes, mother, I am convinced of it; but unfortunately for my poor little wife, I have not my father's gentleness and easy temper. Will you come up with me now and take a look at her? I fear she is not quite well—her cheeks are so flushed and her hands so hot. I shall never forgive myself if I have made her ill."

"I sincerely hope you are not to be visited with so severe a punishment as that," his mother said. "But come, let us go to her at once."

They found her still sleeping, but not profoundly; her face was unnaturally flushed, and wore a troubled expression, while her breathing seemed labored.

As they stood anxiously regarding her, she woke with a sharp cry of distress and anguish, then catching sight of her husband bending over her, her face grew radiant, and throwing her arms about his neck, "O Ned, dear Ned!" she cried, "are you here? and do you love me yet?"

"Dearly, dearly, my darling," he said, holding her close. "What has troubled you?"

"Oh, such a dreadful dream! I thought I was all alone in a desert and couldn't find you anywhere."

"But 'drames always go by conthraries, my dear,'" he quoted sportively. Then more seriously, "Are you quite well, love?" he asked.

"A little dull and a trifle headachy," she answered, smiling up at him, "but I think a cup of coffee and a drive with my husband in the sweet morning air will cure me."

"You shall have both with the least possible delay."

"What time is it? Have you been to breakfast?"

"It's about nine, and I have taken breakfast. I think you must have some before exerting yourself to dress."

"Just as you say; it's nice to have you tell me what to do," she said, nestling closer in his arms. "I can't think why I should ever have disliked it."

"I presume it was all the fault of my tone and manner, sometimes of my words, too," he said, passing his hand caressingly over her hair and cheek. "I'm afraid I've been decidedly bearish on several occasions; but I trust I shall have the grace to treat my wife with politeness and consideration after this."

Elsie, who had left the room on Zoe's awaking, now came in and bidding her an affectionate good-morning, said she had ordered her breakfast to be brought up at once, adding, "I hope you will do it justice, my dear."

"I'll see that she does, mamma," Edward answered for her, in sportive tone; "she has made such fair promises of submission, obedience, and all that, that she'll hardly dare refuse to do anything I bid her."

"I haven't been very good about it lately, mamma," Zoe said, looking half tearfully, half smilingly from one to the other, "but Ned's forgiven me, and now I feel as you say you did—that it's a real pleasure to give up my wishes to one I love so very dearly, and who is, I know, very much wiser than I."

"That is right, dear," Elsie said tenderly, "and I trust he will show himself worthy of all your love and confidence."

The two now comported themselves like a pair of lovers, as indeed they had done through all their brief married life, except the last few days.

Edward exerted himself for the entertainment of his little wife during their drive, and was very tender and careful of her.

On their return, he bade her lie down on the sofa in her boudoir and rest, averring that she looked languid and unlike herself.

"To please you," she said, obeying the mandate with a smiling glance up into his face.

"That's a good child!" he responded, sitting down beside her and smoothing her hair with fond, caressing hand. "Now, what shall I do to please you?"

"Stay here, close beside me, and hold my hand, and talk to me."

"Very well," he answered, closing his fingers over the hand she put into his, then lifting it to his lips. "How your face has changed, love, since that frightened look you gave me when I came in with the lamp last night."

"How frightened and ashamed I was, Ned!" she exclaimed, tears springing to her eyes; "I felt that you had a right to beat me if you wanted to, and I shouldn't have said a word if you'd done it."

"But you couldn't have feared that?" he said, with a pained look, and coloring deeply.

"No, oh, no, indeed! I know you would never do that, but I dreaded what you might say, and did not at all expect you would be so kind and forgiving and loving to me.

"But how was I brought up here? I knew nothing from the instant you were at my side on the door-step till I saw you coming in with the lamp."

"In your husband's arms."

"What a heavy load for you to carry!" she said, looking at him with concern.

"No, not at all; I did it with perfect ease, except for the darkness and the fear that you might recover consciousness on the way and scream out with affright before you discovered who your captor was."

"My husband, my dear, kind husband!" she murmured, softly stroking his face as he bent over her to press a kiss upon her forehead.

"My darling little wife," he returned.

Then after a moment's silent exchange of caresses,

"Would you mind telling me where you were going and what you intended to do?" he asked with a half smile.

"I have no right to refuse, if you require a full confession," she said, half playfully, half tearfully, and blushing deeply.

"I don't require it, but should like to have it, nevertheless; for I confess my curiosity is piqued," he said with an amused, yet tender look and tone.

"There isn't really very much to tell," she sighed, "only that because I was dreadfully unhappy and had worked myself up to believing that I was a hated wife, a burden and annoyance to my husband, I thought it would be an act of noble self-sacrifice to run away, and—O Ned, please don't laugh at me!"

"I am not laughing, love," he said in soothing, half-tremulous tones, taking her in his arms and holding her close, as he had done the night before. "How could I laugh at you for being willing to sacrifice everything for me? But that's not all?"

"Not quite. It came to me like a flash about the stage passing so near at two o'clock in the morning, and that I could get away then without being seen, and after I was in it make up my mind where I would get out."

"And how did you expect to support yourself?"

"There was some money in my purse—you never let it get empty, Ned—and—I thought I wouldn't need any very long."

"Wouldn't? why not?"

"Oh, I was sure, sure I couldn't live long without you," she cried, hugging him close and ending with a burst of tears and sobs.

"You dear, dear little thing!" he said with emotion, and tightening his clasp of her slight form; "after I had been so cruel to you, too!"

"No, you weren't, except in going away without making up and saying good-by."

"It's very generous in you to say it, darling. But how large was this sum of money that you expected to last as long as you needed any?"

"I don't know. I didn't stop to count it. You can do that, if you want to. I suppose the purse is in my satchel."

He brought the satchel—still unpacked—took out the purse and examined its contents.

"Barely ten dollars," he said. "It would have lasted but a few days, and, my darling, what would have become of you then?"

He bent over her in grave tenderness.

"I don't know, Ned," she replied; "I suppose I'd have had to look for employment."

"To think of you, my little, delicate, petted darling, looking for employment by which to earn your daily bread!" he exclaimed with emotion. "It is plain you know nothing of the hardships and difficulties you would have had to encounter. I shudder to think of it all. But I should never have let it come to that."

"Would you have looked for me, Ned?"

"I should have begun the search the instant I heard of your flight, nor ever have known a moment's rest till I found you!" he exclaimed with energy. "But as I came in the stage you purposed to take, I should have met and brought you back, if that fortunate mishap had not taken place."

Then she told him of her thoughts, feelings, and painful anticipations while held fast in the relentless grasp of the door, finishing with, "Oh, I never could have dreamed that it would all end so well, so happily for me!"

"And yet, dear one, I do not think you at all realize how painful—not to say dreadful—would have been the consequences to you, to me, and, indeed, to all the family, if you had succeeded in carrying out what I must call your crazy scheme."

She looked up at him in alarmed inquiry, and he went on, "'Madame Rumor, with her thousand tongues,' would have had many a tale to tell of the cruel abuse to which you had been subjected by your husband and his family—so cruel that you were compelled to run away in the night, taking advantage of the temporary absence of your tyrannical husband; while——"

"O Ned, dear Ned, I never thought of that!" she exclaimed, interrupting him with a burst of tears and sobs. "I wouldn't for the world have wrought harm to you or any of them."

"No, love, I know you wouldn't. I believe your motives were altogether kind and self-sacrificing," he said soothingly; "and you yourself would have been the greatest sufferer; the world judges hardly—how hardly my little girl-wife has no idea; wicked people would have found wicked motives to which to impute your act and caused a stain upon your fair fame that might never have been removed.

"But there, there, love, do not cry any more over it; happily, the whole thing is a secret between us two, and we may now dismiss the disagreeable subject forever.

"But shall we not promise each other that we will never part in anger, even when the separation may not be for an hour? or ever lie down to sleep at night unreconciled, if there has been the slightest misunderstanding or coldness between us?"

"Oh, yes, yes, I promise!" she cried eagerly; "but, oh, dear Ned, I hope we will never, never have any more coldness or quarrelling between us, never say a cross word to each other."

"And I join you, dearest, in both wish and promise."

"I am growing very babyish," she said presently with a wistful look up into his face; "I can hardly bear to think of being parted from you for a day; and I suppose you'll have to be going off again to attend to that business affair?"

"Yes, as soon as I see that my wife is quite well enough to undertake the journey; for I'm not going again without her."

"Oh, will you take me with you, Ned?" she cried joyfully. "How very good in you."

"Good to myself, little woman," he said, smiling down at her; "it will turn a tiresome business trip into a pleasure excursion. I have always found my enjoyment doubled by the companionship of my better half."

"I call that rank heresy," she said laughing, "you're the better half as well as the bigger. I wish I were worthy of such a good husband," she added earnestly and with a look of loving admiration. "I'm very proud of you, my dear—so good and wise and handsome as you are!"

"Oh, hush, hush! such fulsome flattery," he returned, coloring and laughing. "Let me see; this is Friday, so near the end of the week that I do not care to leave home till next week. We will say Tuesday morning next, if that will suit you, love?"

"Nicely," she answered. "Oh, I'm so glad you have promised to take me with you!"

LULU.

Before two days had passed Zoe was quite herself again, and as full of delight at the prospect of going away for a little trip as any child could have been. She wore so bright a face, was so merry and frolicsome, that it was a pleasure to watch her, especially when with her husband, and not aware that any other eye was upon her.

His face, too, beamed with happiness.

Elsie's eyes resting upon them would sometimes fill with tears—half of joy in their felicity, half of sorrowful yet tender reminiscence. In his present mood Edward was very like his father in looks, in speech, in manner.

Tuesday morning came, bringing with it delightful weather; Edward had decided to take a later train than when starting before, because he would not have Zoe roused too soon from sleep.

They took breakfast with the family at the usual hour, an open barouche waiting for them at the door; then with a gay good-by to all set out upon their journey, driving to the nearest station, and there taking the cars.

"I wish I was going, too!" sighed Lulu, as she and Rosie stood looking after the barouche.

"Mamma would have let us drive over to the station with them," said Rose; "Edward asked if we might, but Ben had some errands to do in town, and couldn't bring us back in time for lessons."

"Lessons! I'm sick and tired of them!" grumbled Lulu. "Other children had holidays last week, but we had to go right on studying."

"But we are to take ours in a week or two, visiting at the Oaks and the Laurels, perhaps two weeks at each place, and I'm sure that will be nicer than to have had Easter holidays at home."

"There, it's out of sight," said Lulu. "I'd like to be Aunt Zoe, just starting off on a journey. Let's take a run down the avenue, Rosie."

"I would, but I must look over my Latin lesson, or I may not be ready for grandpa."

With the last words she turned and went into the house.

Lulu knew that she was not ready for Mr. Dinsmore either, but she was in no mood for study, and the grounds looked so inviting that she yielded to the temptation to take a ramble instead.

Max, from his window, saw her wandering about among the shrubs and flowers and longed to join her. He was bearing his punishment in a very good spirit, making no complaint, spending his time in study, reading, writing and carving.

Mr. Dinsmore came to him to hear his recitations, and was always able to commend them as excellent. He treated the boy in a kind, fatherly manner, talking to him of his sin and the way to obtain forgiveness and deliverance from it, very much as Elsie and Violet had.

Yet he did not harp continually upon that, but dwelt often upon other themes, trying so to treat the lad that his self-respect might be restored.

Max appreciated the kindness shown him, and was strengthened in his good resolutions. He was privately very much troubled about his losses, particularly that of the watch, supposing it to be in Ralph's possession, for Mr. Dinsmore had said nothing to him on the subject.

Being very fond of his sisters, Max felt the separation from them no small part of his punishment; he followed Lulu's movements this morning with wistful eyes.

She looked up, and seeing his rather pale, sad face at the window, drew nearer and called softly to him, "Max, how are you? I'm so sorry for you."

He only shook his head and turned away.

Then Mr. Dinsmore's voice spoke sternly from a lower window, "Lulu, you are disobeying orders. Go into the house and to the school-room immediately. You ought to have been there fully a quarter of an hour ago."

Lulu was a little frightened, and obeyed at once.

"You are late, Lulu. You must try to be more punctual in future," Elsie said in a tone of mild rebuke, as the little girl sat down at her desk.

"I don't care if I am," she muttered, insolently.

Rose darted at her a look of angry astonishment, Gracie looked shocked, and little Walter said, "It's very, very naughty to speak so to my mamma."

But Elsie did not seem to have heard; her face still wore its usual sweet, placid expression. Lulu thought she had not heard, but found out her mistake when she went forward to recite. She was told in a gentle, quiet tone, "You are not my pupil, to-day, Lulu," and returned to her seat overwhelmed with embarrassment and anger.

No further notice was taken of her by any one excerpt Gracie, who now and then stole a troubled, half-pitying look at her, until Mr Dinsmore came to hear the Latin lessons.

Lulu had sat idly at her desk nursing her anger and discontent, her eyes on the book open before her, but her thoughts elsewhere, so was not prepared for him.

She was frightened, but tried to hide it, made an attempt to answer the first question put to her, but broke down in confusion.

He asked another; she was unable to answer it; and with a frown he said, "I perceive that you know nothing about your lesson to-day. Why have you not learned it?"

"Because I didn't want to," muttered the delinquent.

Rosie opened her eyes wide in astonishment. She would never have dared to answer her grandfather in that manner.

"Take your book and learn it now," he said in his sternest tone.

Lulu did not venture to disobey, for she was really very much afraid of Mr. Dinsmore.

He heard Rosie's lesson, assigned her task for the next day, and both left the room. The others had gone about the time Mr. Dinsmore came in, so Lulu was left alone.

She thought it best to give her mind to the lesson, and in half an hour felt that she was fully prepared with it.

But Mr. Dinsmore did not come back, and she dared not leave the room, though very impatient to do so.

The dinner bell rang, and still he had not come.

Lulu was hungry and began to fear that she was to be made to fast; but at length a servant brought her a good, substantial, though plain dinner, set it before her, and silently withdrew.

"It's not half as good as they've got," Lulu remarked half aloud to herself, discontentedly eying her fare, "but it's better than nothing."

With that philosophical reflection she fell to work, and speedily emptied the dishes.

Mr. Dinsmore came to her shortly after, heard the lesson, gave her a little serious talk and dismissed her.

Feeling that she owed an apology to Grandma Elsie, but still too stubborn and proud to make it, Lulu was ashamed to join the others, so went off alone into the grounds. She was not Grandma Elsie's pupil, she understood, until the morning's impertinence had been atoned for.

It was against rules to go beyond the boundary of the grounds without permission; yet after wandering through them for a while, she did so, and entering a shady, pleasant road, walked on without any settled purpose, till she reached a neighboring plantation where lived some little girls with whom she had a slight acquaintance.

They were playing croquet on the lawn, and espying Lulu at the gate, invited her to come in and join them.

She did so, became much interested in the sport, and forgot to go home until the lengthening shadows warned her that it must be very near the tea hour at Ion.

She then bade a hasty good-by and retraced her steps with great expedition and in no tranquil state of mind. In truth, she was a good deal alarmed as she thought of the possible consequences to herself of her bold disregard of rules.

She arrived at Ion heated and out of breach, and, as a glance at the hall clock told her, fully fifteen minutes late.

Hair and dress were in some disorder, but not thinking of that, in her haste and perturbation, she went directly to the supper-room, where the family were in the midst of their meal.

They all seemed busily engaged with it or in conversation, and she hoped to slip unobserved into her seat.

But to her consternation she perceived, as she drew near, that neither plate nor chair seemed to have been set for her; every place was occupied.

At the same instant Mr. Dinsmore, turning a stern look upon her, remarked, "We have no place here for the rebellious and insubordinate, therefore I have ordered your plate removed; and while you continue to belong to that class, you will take your meals in your own room."

He dismissed her with a wave of the hand as he spoke, and, filled with anger and chagrin, she turned and flew from the room, never stopping till she had gained her own and slammed the door behind her.

"Before Mr. Lilburn and everybody!" she exclaimed aloud, stamping her foot in impotent rage.

Then catching sight of her figure in the glass, she stood still and gazed, her cheeks reddening more and more with mortification. Hair and dress were tumbled, the latter slightly soiled with the dust of the road, as were her boots also, and the frill about her neck was crushed and partly tucked in.

She set to work with energy to make herself neat, and had scarcely completed the task when her supper was brought in. It consisted of abundance of rich sweet milk, fruit, and the nicest of bread and butter.

She ate heartily; then as Agnes carried away the tray, seated herself by the window with her elbows on the sill, her chin in her hands, and half involuntarily took a mental review of the day.

The retrospect was not agreeable.

"And I'll have to tell papa all about it in my diary," she groaned to herself. "No, I sha'n't; what's the use? it'll just make him feel badly. But he said I must, and he trusted me, he trusted me to tell the truth and the whole truth, and I can't deceive him; I can't hide anything after that."

With a heavy sigh she took her writing-desk, set it on the sill to catch the fading light, and wrote:

"It has been a bad day with me. I didn't look over my lessons before school, as I ought to have done, but went out in the grounds instead. While I was there, I broke a rule. Grandpa Dinsmore reproved me and called me in. I went up to the school-room. Grandma Elsie said I was late and must be more punctual, and I gave her a saucy answer. She wouldn't hear my lessons, and I was cross and wouldn't study, and wasn't ready for Grandpa Dinsmore, and was saucy to him. So I had to stay up there in the school-room and learn my lesson over and eat my dinner there by myself.

"After that, when he let me out, I took a long walk and played croquet with some other girls—all without leave.

"They were eating supper when I got back, and I went in without making myself neat, and my plate and chair had been taken away, and I was sent up here to take my supper and stay till I'm ready to behave better."

She read over what she had written.

"Oh, what a bad report! How sad it will make papa feel when he reads it!" she thought, tears springing to her eyes.

She pushed the desk aside and leaned on the sill again, her face hidden in her hands. Her father's words about the kindness and generosity of Mr. Dinsmore and his daughter in offering to share their home with his children, came to her recollection, and all the favors received at the hands of these kindest of friends passed in review before her. Could her own mother have been kinder than Grandma Elsie? and she had repaid her this day with ingratitude, disobedience and impertinence. How despicably mean!

Tears of shame and penitence began to fall from her eyes, and soon she was sobbing aloud.

Violet heard her from the next room, and came to her side.

"What is it, Lulu, dear? are you sorry for your misconduct?" she asked in gentle, affectionate tones, smoothing the child's hair with her soft white hand as she spoke.

"Yes, Mamma Vi," sobbed the little girl. "Won't you please tell Grandma Elsie I'm sorry I was saucy and disobedient to her this morning?"

"Yes, dear, I will. And—have you not a message for grandpa also?"

"Yes; I'm sorry I was naughty and impertinent to him, and for breaking his rules, too. Do you think they'll forgive me, Mamma Vi, and try me again?"

"I am sure they will," Violet said. "And will you not ask God's forgiveness, also, dear child?"

"I do mean to," Lulu said. "And I've told papa all about it. I wish he didn't have to know, because it will make him very sorry."

"Yes," sighed Violet, "it grieves him very much when his dear children do wrong. I hope, dear Lulu, that thought will help you to be good in future. Still more, that you will learn to hate and forsake sin because it is dishonoring and displeasing to God, because it grieves the dear Saviour who loves you and died to redeem you."

Forgiveness was readily accorded by both Mr. Dinsmore and his daughter, and Lulu went to bed comparatively happy after a short visit and kind motherly talk from Grandma Elsie.

Two days later Max was released from his imprisonment. He more than half dreaded to make his appearance below stairs, thinking every one would view him askance, but was agreeably surprised by being greeted on every hand with the utmost kindness and cordiality.

On the following Monday he and the other children were sent to the Oaks to make the promised visit.

Gracie alone needed some persuasion to induce her to go of her own free will, and that only because mamma was not going. Gracie was not at all sure that she could live two whole weeks without her dear mamma.

Just before they started, Mr. Dinsmore made Max very happy by the restoration of his money and watch. He added an admonition against gambling, and Max replied with an earnest promise never to touch a card again.

A CHAPTER OF SURPRISES.

Edward and Zoe decided upon a little pleasure trip in addition to the business one, and, in consequence, were absent from home for over a fortnight. On their return, Elsie met them on the threshold with the warmest and most loving of welcomes.

"How well and happy you both look, my dear children!" she said, glancing from one to the other, her face full of proud, fond, motherly affection.

"As we are, mother dear," Edward responded. "Glad to see you so, also. How is Vi?"

"Doing nicely."

"Vi! Is she sick?" asked Zoe, her tone expressing both surprise and concern.

"Yes," Elsie said, leading the way down the hall and up the stairs. Then as they reached the upper hall, "Come this way, my dears, I have something to show you."

She led them to the nursery; to the side of a dainty crib; and pushing aside its curtains of lace, brought to view a little downy head and pink face nestling cosily upon the soft pillow within.

Zoe uttered an exclamation of astonishment and delight. "Why, mamma, where did you get it? Oh, the little lovely darling!" and down she went on her knees by the side of the crib, to make a closer inspection. "O Ned, just look! did you ever see anything half so dear and sweet?"

"Yes," he said, with a meaning, laughing look into her sparkling face. "I see something at this moment that to my eyes is dearer and sweeter still. What does Vi think of it, mamma?" turning to his mother.

"She is very proud and happy," Elsie answered with a smile. "I believe Zoe has expressed her views exactly."

"It's Vi's, is it?" said Zoe. "Come, Ned, do look at it. You ought to care a little about your——"

She broke off with an inquiring glance up into her mother's face.

"Niece," supplied Elsie, "my first granddaughter."

"Another Elsie, I suppose," Edward remarked, bending down to examine the little creature with an air of increasing interest.

"Her father must be heard from before the name can be decided upon," his mother answered. "Vi wishes it named for me, but I should prefer to have another Violet."

"I incline to think Captain Raymond will agree with her," said Edward.

"I never saw so young a baby," remarked Zoe. "How old is she, mamma?"

"A week to-day."

"I'm tempted to break the tenth commandment," said Zoe, leaning over the babe and touching her lips to its velvet cheek. "I used to be very fond of dolls, and a live one would be so nice. I almost wish it was mine."

"Don't forget that you would be only half owner if it was," said Edward laughing. "But come now, my dear, it is time we were attending to the duties of the toilet. The tea-bell will ring directly."

"Well, I'll always want to share everything I have with you," she said. "Mamma," rising and putting her hand into her husband's, "we've had such a nice time! Ned has been so good and kind to me!"

"And she has been the best and dearest of little wives," he said, returning the look of fond affection she had bent upon him, "so we could not fail to enjoy ourselves hugely."

"I am rejoiced to hear it," Elsie said, looking after them with glad tears in her eyes as they left the room together.

The children were enjoying themselves greatly at the Oaks. Horace Dinsmore, Jr., and his young wife made a very pleasant host and hostess. Horace's reminiscences of his own childhood and his sister Elsie's girlhood in this, her old home, were very interesting, not to Rosie and Walter only, but to the others.

They were shown her suite of rooms, the exact spot in the drawing-room where she stood during the ceremony that united her to Mr. Travilla, and the arbor—still called Elsie's arbor—where he offered himself and was accepted.

They had an equally pleasant visit at the Laurels, whither they went directly from the Oaks, Gracie wondering why she was not permitted to go to see mamma first for a while, and grieving over it for a time.

They were not told what had taken place in their absence, until the day of their return to Ion.

Mrs. Dinsmore had driven over for them, and after an hour's chat with her daughter, Mrs. Lacey, sent for the children, who were amusing themselves in the grounds.

"O grandma, good-morning! Did you come to take us home?" cried Rosie, as she came running in, put her arms about Mrs. Dinsmore's neck, and held up her face for a kiss.

"Yes, dear child, and to bring you some news. Good-morning, Max, Lulu, Gracie, Walter—all of you—there's a little stranger at Ion."

"A little stranger!" was the simultaneous exclamation from all five, Max adding, "What sort?" and Rosie, "Where from?"

"A very sweet, pretty little creature, I think; a little girl from 'No Man's Land,'" was the smiling reply. "A new little sister for you, Max, Lulu, and Gracie, a niece for Rosie and Walter."

Max looked pleased, though slightly puzzled, too; Gracie's eyes shone, and the pink flush deepened on her cheeks, as she asked delightedly, "Is it a baby? Mamma's baby?" but Lulu frowned and was silent.

"Yes, it is your mamma's baby," replied Grandma Rose. "Would you like to go home and see it?"

All answered in the affirmative, except Lulu, who said nothing, and then hurried from the room to make ready.

"O Lu, aren't you glad?" exclaimed Gracie, as they put on their hats.

"No!" snapped Lulu, "what is there to be glad about? It'll steal all papa's love away from us; Mamma Vi's, too, of course, if she ever had any."

Gracie was shocked, "Lulu!" she said, just ready to cry, "how can you say such things? I just know nothing will ever make papa quit loving us. Can't he love us and the new baby too? and can't mamma?"

"Well, you'll see!" returned Lulu wisely.

There was no time for anything more; the good-bys were said, they were helped into the Ion carriage, waiting at the door, and driven rapidly homeward.

During the drive Grandma Rose noticed that while the other children were merry and talkative, Lulu was silent and sullen, and Gracie apparently just ready to burst into tears.

She more than half suspected what the trouble was, but thought best to seem not to see that anything was amiss.

Mr. Dinsmore and his daughter were on the veranda waiting to welcome the little party on their arrival, and Rosie and Walter were well content to stay with their mother for a little, while the others passed on up to Violet's rooms.

They found her in her boudoir, seated in an easy-chair, beside a window overlooking the avenue, and with her baby on her lap.

She was looking very young, very sweet and beautiful, happy, too, though a shade of anxiety crossed her features as the children came in.

"How are you, dears? I am very glad to see you again," she said, smiling sweetly and holding out her pretty white hand.

Gracie sprang forward with a little joyful cry. "O mamma, my dear, sweet, pretty mamma! I am so glad to get back to you!" and threw her arms about Violet's neck.

Violet's arm was instantly around the child's waist; she kissed her tenderly two or three times, then said, looking down at the sleeping babe, "This is your little sister, Gracie."

"Oh, the darling, wee, pretty pet!" exclaimed Gracie, bending over it. "Mamma, I'm so glad, if—if——" She stopped in confusion, while Lulu, standing back a little, threw an angry glance at her.

"If what, dear?" asked Violet.

"If you and papa will love me and all of us just as well," stammered the little girl, growing very red, and her eyes filling with tears.

"Dear child," Violet said, drawing her to her side with another tender caress, "you need not doubt it for a moment."

"Why, Gracie, what could have put such a notion into your head?'" said Max. "Mamma Vi, may I kiss you and it, too?" with an affectionate glance at her, then a gaze of smiling curiosity at the babe.

"Indeed, you may, Max," Violet answered, offering her lips.

"I'm glad she's come, and I expect to love her dearly," he remarked, when he had touched his lips softly to the babe's cheek, "though I'd rather she'd been a boy, as I have two sisters already and no brother at all."

"Haven't you a kiss for me, Lulu, dear?" Violet asked half entreatingly, "and a welcome for your little sister?"

Lulu silently and half reluctantly kissed both, then turned and walked out of the room.

Violet looked after her with a slight sigh, but at that moment her own little brother and sister created a diversion by running in with a glad greeting for her and the new baby.

Their delight was rather noisily expressed, and no one of the little group either heard or saw a carriage drive up the avenue to the main entrance.

But Mr. Dinsmore and Elsie were on the watch for it (they had been exchanging meaning, happy glances all the morning), and ready with the warmest of greetings for the tall, handsome, noble looking man who hastily alighted from it and ran up the veranda steps.

"Dear mother!" he said, grasping Mrs. Travilla's hand, then giving her a filial kiss.

"We are very glad to see you, captain," she said. "Your telegram this morning was a delightful surprise."

"Yes, it was, indeed, to all of us who knew of its coming," said Mr. Dinsmore, shaking hands in his turn.

"My wife! how is she? and the children? are they all well?" asked the gentleman half breathlessly.

"All well," was the answer. "We told Violet you had reported yourself in Washington, and she will not be overcome at sight of you. You will find her in her own rooms."

He hurried thither, met Gracie at the head of the stairs, and caught her in his arms with an exclamation of astonishment and delight.

"Can this be my baby girl? this plump, rosy little darling?"

"Papa!" she cried, throwing her arms about his neck and hugging him tightly, while he kissed her again and again with ardent affection, "oh, have you come? No, I'm your own little Gracie, but not the baby girl now, for there's a little one on mamma's lap. Come, and I'll show you."

"Ah!" he exclaimed, letting her lead him on. "I had not heard, have not had a letter for three or four weeks."

They were at the door. Gracie threw it open. Rose was holding the babe. Violet looked up, started to her feet with a cry of joy, and in an instant was in her husband's arms, weeping for very gladness.

For several moments they were conscious of nothing but the joy of the reunion; then with a sudden recollection she withdrew herself from his arms, took her babe, and laid it in them.

"Another darling," he said gazing tenderly upon it, "another dear little daughter! My love, how rich we are!"

He kissed it, gave it to the waiting nurse, and turned to his wife again.

"Let me help you to the sofa, love," he said.

"Lie down for a little. I fear this excitement will exhaust and injure you."

She let him have his way. He sat down by her side, held her hand, and bent over her in loving anxiety.

"Are you quite well?" he asked.

"Very well indeed," she said, looking up fondly into his face, "and, oh, so happy now that you are here, my dear, dear husband!"

Gracie crept to his side and leaned lovingly against him.

"My little darling," he said, putting his arm round her and turning to give her a kiss. "But where are Max and Lulu?"

"Up in the boys' work-room, papa," she answered. "They don't know you've come."

"Then I must enlighten their ignorance," he said gayly. "Excuse me a moment, my love. Take care of mamma for me while I'm gone, Gracie," and rising hastily he left the room.

Max and Lulu were busily engaged looking over designs and materials for their work, and discussing their comparative merits. So deeply interested were they that they took no note of approaching footsteps till they halted in the doorway, then turning their heads they saw their father standing there, regarding them with a proud, fond fatherly smile.

"Papa! O papa!" they both cried out joyfully, and ran into his outstretched arms.

"My dear, dear children!" he said, holding them close, and caressing first one, then the other.

He sat down with one on each knee, an arm around each, and for some minutes there was a delightful interchange of demonstrations of affection.

"Now you see, Lu, that papa does love us as well as ever," Max said, in a tone of mingled triumph and satisfaction.

"Did she doubt it?" asked the captain in surprise, and gazing searchingly into her face.

She blushed and hung her head.

"She thought the new baby would steal all your love," said Max.

"Silly child!" said her father, drawing her closer and giving her another kiss. "Do you think my heart is so small that it can hold love enough for but a limited number? Did I love Max less when you came? or you less when our Heavenly Father gave Gracie to us? No, daughter; I can love the newcomer without any abatement of my affection for you."

"Papa, I'm sorry I said it. I won't talk so any more; and I mean to love the baby very much," she murmured with her arm about his neck, her cheek laid to his.

"I hope so," he said; "it would give me a very sad heart to know that you did not love your little sister.

"Well, Max, my son, what is it?"

The boy was hanging his head and his face had suddenly grown scarlet, "Papa, I—I—Did you get my letter and diary I sent you last month?"

"Yes; and Lulu's also," the captain said, with a sigh and a glance from one to the other, his face growing very grave. "I think my children would often be deterred from wrongdoing by the thought of the pain it will cause their father, if they could at all realize how sore it is. It almost broke my heart, Max, to learn that you had again been guilty of the dreadful sin of profanity, and had learned to gamble also; yet I was greatly comforted by the assurance that you were truly penitent, and hoped you had given your heart to God.

"My boy, and my little girl, there is nothing else I so earnestly desire for you as that you may be His true and faithful servants all your days, His in time and eternity."

A solemn silence fell on the little group, and for several minutes no one spoke.

Lulu was crying softly, and there were tears in Max's eyes, while the father held both in a close embrace.

At length Lulu murmured, "I am sorry for all my naughtiness, papa, and do mean to try very hard to be good."

"I, too," said Max, struggling with his emotion, "and if you think I deserve (oh, I know I do), and, papa, if you think you ought to——"

"You have had your punishment, my son," the captain said in a moved tone. "I consider it all sufficient. And now we will go down to Mamma Vi and Gracie. I want you all together, that I may enjoy you all at once and as much as possible for the short time that I can be with you.

"But before we go, I have a word more to say: there is one thing about you both that greatly comforts and encourages me, my darlings; that is your truthfulness, your perfect openness with me and willingness to acknowledge your faults."

Those concluding words brought a flush of joy and love to each young face as they were lifted to his. He gave a hearty kiss to Lulu, then to Max, and led them from the room, a very happy pair.

"One sacred oath has tied
Our loves; one destiny our life shall guide,
Nor wild, nor deep, our common way divide."
—Prior.

Edward sat at the open window of his wife's boudoir enjoying the beauties of the landscape—the verdant lawn and shrubberies, the smiling fields and wooded hills beyond—the sweet morning breeze and the matin songs of the birds, while Zoe in the adjoining room put the finishing touches to her toilet.

She came to him presently, very simply dressed in white, looking sweet and fresh as a rose just washed with dew, and seated herself upon his knee.

"Darling!" he said, low and tenderly, putting his arm about her slender waist and imprinting a kiss upon the rosy cheek.

"My dear, dear husband! what could I ever do without you; how desolate I should be this day, if I hadn't you to love and care for me!" she said with a sob, stealing an arm around his neck and laying her cheek to his. "You know—you cannot have forgotten—that it is just one year to-day since dear papa died."

"Think what a blessed year it has been to him, love; think what a happy meeting with him in that blessed land you may look forward to. There, death-divided friends will meet never to part again, free from sin and sorrow, pain and care, and to be 'forever with the Lord.'

"No; I have not forgotten what this day one year ago took from you, or what it gave to me—my heart's best treasure."

He drew her closer, and again touched his lips to her cheek.

Smiling through her tears, she offered her lips.

"Oh, I'm very, very happy!" she said. "It has been a happy year in spite of my grief for my dear, dear father, except when—O Ned, we won't ever be cross to one another again, will we?"

"I trust not, my darling," he said. "It is too sharp a pain to be at variance with one's other half," he added, with playful tenderness. "Is it not, love!"

"Indeed, indeed it is!" she cried.

"See! this is to prove to you that I have not forgotten what a treasure I secured a year ago," he said, reaching for an open jewel case that stood on a table near at hand, and laying it in her lap.

"Pearls! Oh, how lovely! the most magnificent set I ever saw. Many, many thanks, dear Ned!" she exclaimed in delight. "I shall wear them this evening in honor of the day.

"But what shall I give you? I'm afraid I have nothing but—what I gave you a year ago—myself."

"The most priceless treasure earth can afford!" he responded, clasping her close to his heart.

"And your love," she said softly, her arm stealing round his neck again, her shining eyes gazing fondly into his, "is more to me than all its gold and jewels."