Elsie's Widowhood. Finley Martha

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      PREFACE

      It was not in my heart to give to my favorite child, Elsie, the sorrows of Widowhood. But the public made the title and demanded the book; and the public, I am told, is autocratic. So what could I do but write the story and try to show how the love of Christ in the heart can make life happy even under sore bereavement? The apostle says, "I am filled with comfort, I am exceeding joyful in all our tribulation;" and since trouble, trial and affliction are the lot of all in this world of sin and sorrow, what greater kindness could I do you, dear reader, than to show you where to go for relief and consolation? That this little book may teach the sweet lesson to many a tried and burdened soul, is the earnest prayer of your friend,

      CHAPTER I

      "All love is sweet,

      Given or returned. Common as light is love,

      And its familiar voice wearies not ever."

      "Come in, Vi, darling," said Mrs. Travilla's sweet voice, "we will be glad to have you with us."

      Violet, finding the door of her mother's dressing-room ajar, had stepped in, then drawn hastily back, fearing to intrude upon what seemed a private interview between her and her namesake daughter; Elsie being seated on a cushion at her mamma's feet, her face half hidden on her lap, while mamma's soft white hand gently caressed her hair and cheek.

      "I feared my presence might not be quite desirable just now, mamma," Violet said gayly, coming forward as she spoke. "But what is the matter?" she asked in alarm, perceiving that tears were trembling in the soft brown eyes that were lifted to hers. "Dear mamma, are you ill? or is Elsie? is anything wrong with her?"

      "She shall answer for herself," the mother said with a sort of tremulous gayety of tone and manner. "Come, bonny lassie, lift your head and tell your sister of the calamity that has befallen you."

      There was a whispered word or two of reply, and Elsie rose hastily and glided from the room.

      "Mamma, is she sick?" asked Violet, surprised and troubled.

      "No, dear child. It is – the old story: " and the mother sighed involuntarily. "We cannot keep her always; some one wants to take her from us."

      "Some one! oh who, mamma? who would dare? But you and papa will never allow it?"

      "Ah, my child, we cannot refuse; and I understand now, as I never did before, why my father looked so sad when yours asked him for his daughter."

      Light flashed upon Violet. "Ah mamma, is that it? and who – but I think I know. It is Lester Leland, is it not?"

      Her mother's smile told her that her conjecture was correct.

      Violet sighed as she took the seat just vacated by her sister, folded her arms on her mother's lap, and looked up with loving eyes into her face.

      "Dear mamma, I am so sorry for you! for papa too, and for myself. What shall I do without my sister? How can you and papa do without her? How can she? I'm sure no one in the world can ever be so dear to me as my own precious father and mother. And I wish – I wish Lester Leland had never seen her."

      "No, darling, we should not wish that. These things must be; God in his infinite wisdom and goodness has so ordered it. I am sad at the thought of parting with my dear child, yet how could I be so selfish as to wish her to miss the great happiness that I have found in the love of husband and children?"

      Violet answered with a doubtful "Yes, mamma, but – "

      "Well, dear?" her mother asked with a smile, after waiting in vain for the conclusion of the sentence.

      "I am sure there is not another man in all the world like papa; not one half so dear and good and kind and lovable."

      "Ah, you may change your mind about that some day. It is precisely what I used to think and say of my dear father, before I quite learned the worth of yours."

      "Ah, yes, I forgot grandpa! he is – almost as nice and dear as papa. But there can't be another one, I'm very, very sure of that. Lester Leland is not half so nice. Oh I don't see how Elsie can!"

      "How Elsie can what?" asked her father, coming in at that moment, and regarding her with a half quizzical look and smile.

      "Leave you and mamma for somebody else, you dear, dear, dearest father!" returned Vi, springing up and running to him to put her arms about his neck and half smother him with kisses.

      "Then we may hope to keep you for a good while yet?" he said interrogatively, holding her close and returning her caresses in most tender fatherly fashion, the mother watching them with beaming eyes.

      "Yes, indeed; till you grow quite, quite tired of me, papa."

      "And that will never be, my pet. Ah, little wife, how rich we are in our children! Yet not rich enough to part with one without a pang of regret. But we will not trouble about that yet, since the evil day is not very near."

      "Oh isn't it?" cried Violet joyously.

      "No; Lester goes to Italy in a few weeks, and it will be one, two, or maybe three years before he returns to claim his bride."

      "Ah, then it is not time to begin to fret about it yet!" cried Vi, gleefully, smiles chasing away the clouds from her brow.

      At her age a year seems a long while in anticipation.

      "No, daughter, nor ever will be," her father responded with gentle gravity. "I hope my little girl will never allow herself to indulge in so useless and sinful a thing as fretting over either what can or what cannot be helped."

      "Ah, you don't mean to let me fret at all, I see, you dear, wise old papa," she returned with a merry laugh. "Now I must find Elsie and pass the lesson over to her. For I shrewdly suspect she's fretting over Lester's expected departure."

      "Away with you then!" was the laughing rejoinder, and she went dancing and singing from the room.

      "The dear, merry, light-hearted child," her father said, looking after her. "Would that I could keep her always thus."

      "Would you if you could, my husband?" Mrs. Travilla asked with a tender smile, a look of loving reverence, as he sat down by her side.

      "No, sweet wife, I would not," he answered emphatically; "for, as Rutherford says, 'grace groweth best in winter;' and the Master says, 'As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten.'"

      "Yes; and 'we must through much tribulation enter into the kingdom of God.' Ah, we could never choose for our precious children exemption from such trials and afflictions as He may see necessary to fit them for an eternity of joy and bliss at His right hand!"

      "No; nor for ourselves, nor for each other, my darling. But how well it is that the choice is not for us! How could I ever choose a single pang for you, beloved? vein of my heart, my life, my light, my joy!"

      "Or I for you, my dear, dear husband!" she whispered, as he drew СКАЧАТЬ