Elsie at Viamede

A great commotion instantly followed, the captain giving his orders to lower a boat and go in search of the man, and at the same time slowing the movements of the steamer.

Our party were much interested and excited, most of them full of concern for the drowning one, who seemed to have strangely disappeared, for not a trace of him could be seen as the boat was rowed hither and thither; and at length, resigning all hope of finding even the lifeless body, the men returned to the larger vessel to report their failure.

The ladies were in tears, and as the captain drew near, Zoe asked in tones tremulous with emotion, "Is there no hope at all of saving the poor fellow, captain?"

"I'm afraid he's gone to the bottom, ma'am, though it's odd he couldn't keep up for the few minutes it took to launch the boat; but I suppose the wheel must have struck him. By the way," he added, as if struck by a sudden thought, "I don't know yet who it was. I must have the crew mustered on deck and see who is missing."

He proceeded to do so at once, when to the surprise of all it was discovered that no one was missing.

"A stowaway, evidently!" growled the captain, "and he's got his desserts; though I wouldn't have let him drown if I could have helped it."

At that instant a light broke upon Edward Travilla and Dr. Conley, and both turned hastily toward their guest, Mr. Ronald Lilburn.

He was sitting near, quietly listening to the talk, his features expressing grave concern, yet they could perceive a sparkle of fun in his eye.

Edward stepped to his side, and, bending down over him, spoke in an undertone close to his ear. "I think you could tell us something of the man, Cousin Ronald."

"I, laddie? What would I ken o' the folk i' this part o' the world?" queried the old gentleman, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise.

"Ah, sir, who is to say he belonged to this part of the world?" laughed Edward. "I must own that I strongly suspect he was a countryman of yours; a Scotchman, at least."

Then going to the side of his wife he said a word or two in an undertone that chased away her tears, while she sent a laughing glance in Cousin Ronald's direction.

But they were drawing near their journey's end, and presently everything else seemed to be forgotten in gazing upon the ever changing beauties of the landscape as they threaded their way through lake and lakelet, past swamp, forest, plain, and plantation. They gazed with delight upon the cool, shady dells carpeted with a rich growth of flowers, miles upon miles of smoothly shaven lawns, velvety green and shaded by magnificent oaks and magnolias, lordly villas peering through groves of orange trees, tall white sugarhouses, and the long rows of cabins of the laborers, forming all together a panorama of surpassing loveliness.

"Oh, it is an earthly paradise, is it not, Ned?" cried Zoe, clasping her hands in an ecstacy of delight.

"Very, very beautiful," he responded, his eyes shining with pleasure. "But you know this is not, like yours, my first sight of it; I spent a very happy winter here in the days when my dear and honored father was with us."

"And I," said his sister Elsie, softly sighing at the thought that that loved parent had left them to return no more. "It will not seem the same without him; yet with so many dear ones left – especially our dear, dear mother – our visit can hardly be otherwise than most enjoyable. Ah, Ned, is not that our own orange orchard just coming into view?"

"It is, my dear sister; we will be there in a very few minutes now."

"At home and with mamma!" she exclaimed in joyous tones; then called to her little sons, "Come here, Ned and Eric. We are almost at dear grandmamma's house, and she will soon have you in her arms."

At that the little fellows came running to her with a joyous shout, for they dearly loved their Grandma Elsie, and to their infant minds the time of separation from her had seemed very long.

To their Aunt Adelaide, the Conleys – Arthur excepted – and the young Dinsmores the scenes were equally new, and called forth from one and all demonstrations of admiration and delight. Very soon the boat reached and rounded to at the landing, where were gathered all the members of the Viamede, Magnolia Hall, and parsonage families to meet and welcome these dear ones from their own old homes farther to the north.

It was an altogether joyous meeting, Cousin Ronald and Virginia, as well as the rest, receiving most kind and cordial greeting, though the latter was an entirely unexpected guest.

Isadore took her sister in her arms, kissed and wept over her as a near and dear one who had gone through great trials during the years of their separation.

"What a long, long while it is since we parted, and what sore trials you have gone through in the meantime, Virgie!" she sighed. "Ah, I hope the future may have better things in store for you."

"I should say it ought indeed, considering all I've had to suffer in the past," returned Virginia. "I've come to beg a home with you, Isa, as you might have had to of me if I had been the lucky one in the matter of drawing a prize in the matrimonial lottery."

"I will try to do the very best I can for you, Virgie," was Isadore's pleasant toned reply, though it was not with unmingled satisfaction that she saw opening before her the prospect of receiving this selfish, indolent sister into her peaceful, well regulated household as a permanent addition to it.

Zoe was in ecstasies over the beauties of Viamede – the large, palatial mansion, the beautiful grounds, the lovely scenery.

"Oh, mamma," she exclaimed, pausing on the veranda to take a general survey, "it is just too lovely for anything! It really exceeds my expectations, though they were raised very high by all I have heard of the beauties of Viamede. I wonder you can ever resign yourself to leaving it for a longer time than the hot season, when it is not so healthy as your more northern home."

"Yes, I sometimes wonder at myself," Elsie said with a smile; "and yet both Ion and the Oaks are very dear to me – so many happy years of my life have been passed in them. Ah, no, I could not give up those dear homes entirely any more than I could this."

"Ah, you are a most fortunate woman, cousin mine," remarked Mr. Lilburn, standing by, "and worthy of it all; no one more so."

"Ah, Cousin Ronald, you, like all the rest of my friends, are only too ready to pass my imperfections by and see only virtues; some of them altogether imaginary, I fear," she returned with a smile. "I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you here again, and I hope you may so greatly enjoy your sojourn among us that you will be pleased to repeat your visit whenever opportunity offers."

"Ah, many thanks, cousin, but have a care lest you should be in danger of seeing me here oftener than will be found agreeable," was his laughing reply.

At that Elsie only shook her head with a playful smile, then turned to baby Lilly, who was reaching out her little arms to grandma, crying, "Take! take, gamma!"

"No, no, mother dear," Edward said, coming up to them and taking his little daughter from the nurse's arms, "I can't have you wearying yourself with her." Then to the child, "Papa is going to carry you upstairs, little pet. Dear grandma has been sick and is not strong enough to carry you about. The friends and relatives will all be here for some time, mother?" turning to her again.

"Yes," she replied; "they will all stay to tea."

"And Zoe and I will join you and them again in a few minutes," he said, moving on through the hall, in the direction of the stairway.

All scattered to their rooms then, but reassembled on the veranda some few minutes before the call to the tea-table. It was a large, merry, informal tea-party, Grandma Elsie having been most hospitably urgent that everyone should stay, partake with her and the others who had been making Viamede their home for months past, and spend the evening.

The approaching wedding and matters connected with it were naturally the principal themes of discourse, and Betty was good-humoredly rallied on the conquest she had made and the pleasant prospect of having a home of her own with at least one loyal subject. Zoe insisted on a description of the trousseau, especially the wedding dress.

"Drive over to Magnolia Hall day after to-morrow and you shall see everything for yourself, Zoe," Betty said, laughing and blushing; "at least all but the gifts which have not yet come in."

"Thank you; I think I'll accept that invitation," returned Zoe. "But I suppose there is something to be seen here?"

"Yes; the dresses of the bridesmaids and maids of honor," said Rosie; "and we who are to wear them think them quite beautiful. Don't we, girls?" turning toward Evelyn and Lulu, who answered with an emphatic, "Yes, indeed!"

"Suppose you come and take a look at them, Zoe," proposed Rosie, as they left the table, and Zoe promptly accepted the invitation, Betty, Elsie Leland, Ella, and Virginia, and the Dinsmore cousins going along.

"Oh, they are lovely!" was the united exclamation at sight of the dresses, Zoe adding, "I can't say which is handsomest."

"That's just how it is with me," laughed Betty; "but I own to thinking the bride's dress a trifle handsomer than any of these."

"Ah, yes; but just think how we may outshine you when our turns come to wear a wedding dress," said Rosie. "I mean to have one that shall be a marvel of beauty and taste. Don't you, Eva and Lu?"

"I very much doubt whether I shall ever have any," replied Evelyn, with her grave, sweet smile.

"If you don't it will be your own fault, I am sure," said Rosie. "And it will be just the same with Lu."

"I'm not going to get married ever!" cried Lulu emphatically. "I wouldn't leave my father for all the rest of the men in all the world."

"Ah, your father is glad to hear it," said a voice close at her side, while a hand was laid affectionately on her shoulder. "But my dear eldest daughter is still quite too young to be even thinking of such things."

"Then I won't think of them if I can help it, papa dear," she said, lifting loving, smiling eyes to his face, "for indeed I do want to obey even your slightest wish."

"I don't doubt it, daughter," he returned, pressing affectionately the hand she had slipped into his.

"Now, Elsie," said Zoe, addressing Mrs. Leland, "let us show our wedding finery. You, Ella Conley, I suppose won't care to open your trunks, as they are to be carried over to the Parsonage."

"They have already gone," said Isadore, she also having joined the party of inspection, "but the finery can be shown there just as well."

"Yes, it can wait," returned Ella, "and will perhaps be all the more appreciated for not being seen along with so many other beauties."

"I am the only one who has no finery to exhibit," remarked Virginia in an ill used tone. But they were already on the way to Mrs. Leland's room and no one seemed to hear or heed the complaint, everybody being too much engrossed with the business in hand to take notice of her ill-humor.

But it was Saturday evening and the Parsonage and Magnolia Hall people returned to their homes at an early hour, taking their guests with them.

"Now, daughter," Captain Raymond said, turning to Lulu as the last carriage disappeared from sight, "go at once to your own room and prepare for bed."

"Yes, sir; and must I say good-night now to you?" she asked in a low tone, close at his ear.

"No," he returned, with a smile, "I will be with you presently for a few minutes."

She looked her thanks, and hastened to obey.

"I am quite ready for bed, papa," she said when he came into her room. "Please mayn't I sit on your knee for five or ten minutes?"

"That is just what I want you to do," he said, taking possession of an easy chair and drawing her to the coveted place. "I must have a little talk with my dear eldest daughter," he continued, smoothing her hair and cheek caressingly.

"What about, papa dear?" she asked, nestling closer in his arms. "I haven't been misbehaving, have I? You are not displeased with me, are you?"

"No, dear child; only afraid that you may be caring too much about dress and finery, and that perhaps I am not altogether blameless in regard to that – that I may not have guarded my dear little girl against it as I should."

"I am afraid that perhaps I do care too much about it, papa dear," she sighed, hanging her head, while blushes dyed her cheek; "but I'm sure it is all my own fault, not yours at all; so please don't feel badly about it."

He took up her Bible, opened it, and read, "Whose adorning, let it not be that outward adorning of plaiting the hair, and of wearing of gold, or of putting on of apparel; but let it be the hidden man of the heart, in that which is not corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price. For after this manner in the old time the holy women also, who trusted in God, adorned themselves."

"Papa, is it wrong to wear nice, pretty clothes, and to enjoy having them?" she asked, as he closed the book and laid it aside. "Is that what is meant in those verses?"

"I think not," he said; "if I understood it in that way I should feel it wrong to allow a daughter of mine to wear them. I think it means that you are not to care too much about such adornment, but more, much more, for that other and greater adornment, even the hidden man of the heart, the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, remembering that in the sight of God it is of great price, worth infinitely more than any ornament of gold, the richest jewels, or the finest attire. Cultivate that with all diligence, my own darling child, if you desire to please and honor your heavenly Father and make yourself even dearer than you now are to your earthly one, and lovelier in his eyes."

"Oh, I do, papa! I do want to please and honor God, and you too; I want to be just a joy and blessing and comfort to you, my own dear, dear father! I don't think you have any idea how very, very dearly I love you, papa," putting her arms about his neck and kissing him over and over again. "Gracie and I think – indeed we feel quite sure – that no other children ever had such a dear, good, kind father as ours. And I know Max thinks the same."

"Well, daughter, I delight in having you and all my children think so, however mistaken you maybe," he said, with a pleased smile, holding her close and returning her caresses; "and it certainly is the earnest desire of my heart to be the best, kindest, and dearest of fathers to the darling children God has given me."

"As I am sure you are, dear papa," she said. "I never have any doubt of it at all, even when you punish me. And, papa," she added, with an effort, "if you think finery bad for me, I am willing to be dressed just as plainly as you think best."

"That is my own dear little girl," he returned, with a gratified look; "but I have not been dressing you better – more richly, gayly, or tastefully – than seems to me right and proper; also, I think quite as much sin may be committed by being proud of plainness in dress as proud of wearing finery. What I am aiming at is to have my little daughter look upon dress as a secondary matter, and feel far more anxious to be one who is pleasing in the sight of her heavenly Father than one admired and envied by some earthly creature as the possessor of wealth, and fine or costly raiment. In short, I want you to feel that the style and richness of your attire is a matter of little consequence, while to live in the light of God's countenance, pleasing and honoring him and growing in holiness and conformity to his will, is to be desired and striven for beyond everything else."

"Yes, papa," she said softly, "I will ask God to help me to do so; and you will pray for me too, won't you?"

"Indeed I will, my darling; we will kneel down and ask him now; ask for help to keep from indulging in worldly mindedness and vanity, and that our earnest desire and effort may ever be to serve and honor and glorify him in all our words and ways."

"My own dear father," she said, when they had risen from their knees, "I am sure that if I don't grow up a good Christian the fault will not be yours." Then, glancing at the bed where Grace lay in a profound sleep, "I am so glad and thankful that I am not feeble like poor, dear Gracie, because if I had to go to bed and to sleep so early as she almost always does, I'd miss these nice talks from you. But, fortunately, she doesn't need so much help to be good as I do. Ah, papa, I've given you a great deal more trouble to train me up right than she ever has, or will."

"My darling," he said, "if you only grow up to be a noble, useful Christian woman, such as I hope one day to see you, I shall feel more than repaid for all the anxiety, care, and trouble of your training."