MARTHA FINLEY Ultimate Collection – 35+ Novels in One Volume (Including The Complete Elsie Dinsmore Series & Mildred Keith Collection). Finley Martha

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      "What shall the book be?" he asked; "one of the new ones I bought you the other day?"

      "Not that, to-night; if you please, papa; I would rather hear a little from an old book," she answered, with a sweet smile lighting tip her little pale face; "won't you please read me the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah?"

      "If you wish it, dearest; but I think something lively would be much better; more likely to cheer you up."

      "No, dear papa; there is nothing cheers me up like the Bible, it is so sweet and comforting. I do so love to hear of Jesus, how he bore our griefs and carried our sorrows."

      "You are a strange child," he said, "but you shall have whatever you want to-night. Hand me that Bible, Aunt Chloe, and set the light a little nearer."

      Mr. Dinsmore was an uncommonly fine reader, and Elsie lay listening to that beautiful passage of Holy Writ, as one might listen to strains of the softest, sweetest music.

      "Now, dear papa, the twenty-third of Luke, if you please," she said, when he had finished.

      He turned to it, and read it without any remark.

      As he closed the book and laid it aside, he saw that tears were trembling on the long, silken lashes that rested on the fair young cheek; for her eyes were closed, and but for those tell-tale drops he would have thought her sleeping.

      "I feared it would make you sad, darling," he said, brushing them away, and kissing her fondly.

      "No, dear papa, oh, no!" she answered, earnestly; "thank you very much for reading it; it has made me feel a great deal better."

      "Why did you select those particular passages?" he asked, with some curiosity.

      "Because, papa, they are all about Jesus, and tell how meekly and patiently he bore sorrow and suffering. Oh, papa, if I could only be like him! I am not much like him, but it makes it easier to forgive and to be patient, and kind, and gentle, when we read about him, how good he was, and how he forgave his murderers."

      "You are thinking of Arthur," he said. "I shall find it very hard to forgive him; can you do so?"

      "Yes, papa, I think I can. I have been praying for him, and have asked God to help me to forgive and love him."

      "He has treated you very badly; I know all about it now."

      And then, in answer to her surprised, inquiring look, he proceeded to give her an account of all that had taken place that evening in the library and drawing-room.

      "And he hates me, papa," she said, mournfully, the tears filling her eyes; "why should he feel so? I have always tried to be kind to him."

      "Yes, I know it," he replied, "you have often done him kindnesses, and I know of no other cause for his enmity, unless it is that you have sometimes been obliged to bear witness against him."

      "Yes, papa, on several occasions when he was putting all the blame of his naughty deeds on little Walter, or poor Jim."

      "You were perfectly right," he said, caressing her; "and he will not have another opportunity to vent his spite upon you, as he is to be sent away to boarding-school immediately."

      "Oh, papa!" she exclaimed, "I am so sorry for him, poor fellow! It must be so dismal to go off alone among strangers. Dear papa, do ask grandpa to forgive him, just this once; and I don't believe he will ever behave so again."

      "No, daughter, I shall not do anything of the kind," he answered, decidedly. "I think it will be for Arthur's own good to be sent away, where he will not have his mother to spoil him by indulgence; and besides, I cannot feel that you are safe while he is about the house, and I consider it my first duty to take care of you; therefore, I have insisted upon its that either he must be sent away, or you and I must go and make a home for ourselves somewhere else."

      "Oh, papa, how delightful that would be, to have a home of our own!" she exclaimed eagerly; "will you do it some day?"

      "Should you like it so much?" he asked.

      "Oh, yes, papa, so very, very much! When will you do it, papa?"

      "I don't know, darling; some day, if we both live; perhaps when you are old enough to be my housekeeper."

      "But that will be such a long, long time to wait, papa," she said—the eager, joyous expression fading away from her face, and the pale, wearied look coming back again.

      "Perhaps we will not wait for that, darling; I did not say that we would," he replied, in a soothing tone, as he passed his hand caressingly over her hair and cheek.

      Then he added, a little mischievously, "I think, possibly, I might induce Miss Stevens to keep house for us. Shall I ask her?"

      "Oh, papa, no; that would spoil it all," she said, with a blush and a look of surprise; "and besides, I'm sure Miss Stevens would feel insulted if anybody should ask her to go out as housekeeper."

      "No, I think not, if I asked her," laughed Mr. Dinsmore; "but you need not be alarmed; I have no notion of doing it.

      "Now, daughter, I shall bathe your ankle with that liniment again, and put you in bed, and you must try to go to sleep."

      "My prayers first, papa, you know," she replied, making an effort to get down upon the floor.

      But he held her fast.

      "No, daughter, you are not able to kneel to-night," he said, "and therefore it is not required; the posture makes but little difference, since God looks not at it, but at your heart."

      "I know that, papa, but I ought to kneel if I can; and if I may, I would much rather try."

      "No, I shall not allow you to do so; it would not be right," he replied decidedly; "you may say them here, while I have you in my arms, or after I have put you in bed."

      "Then I will say them in my bed, papa," she answered submissively.

      She was very patient and quiet while her father and nurse dressed her ankle, and prepared her for bed, and when he had laid her in and covered her up, he sat down beside her and listened to the low, murmured words of her prayer.

      "I think you prayed for me as well as for Arthur," he remarked when she had done; "what did you request for me?"

      "I asked, as I always do, that you might love Jesus, papa, and be very happy, indeed, both in this world and the next."

      "Thank you," he said, "but why are you so anxious that I should love him? It would not trouble me if you did not, so long as you loved and obeyed me."

      A tear trickled down her cheek and fell upon the pillow as she answered, in a half tremulous tone: "Because I know, papa, that no one can go to heaven who does not love Jesus, nor ever be really happy anywhere, for the Bible says so. Papa, you always punish me when I am disobedient to you, and the Bible says God is our Father and will punish us if we do not obey him; and one of his commands is: Thou shalt love the Lord thy God; and in another place it says: Every one that loveth him that begat loveth him also that is begotten of him."

      He did not reply, and his countenance was almost stern СКАЧАТЬ