ELSIE DINSMORE Complete Series: 28 Books in One Edition. Martha Finley

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Table of Contents

      "So fair that had you beauty's picture took,

       It must like her, or not like beauty look."

       —ALLEYN'S HENRY VII.

      Elsie paused at the half-open door of her father's private room.

      Mr. Dinsmore, like most men, was fond of light and air; through the wide open windows the morning breeze stole softly in, laden with sweets from garden and lawn, and the rich carpet of oak and green was flecked with gold where the sunbeams came shimmering down between the fluttering leaves of a beautiful vine that had festooned itself about the one looking to the east.

      Mr. Dinsmore was seated at his desk with a pile of papers before him—legal documents in appearance; he would open one, glance over its contents, lay it aside, and take up another only to treat it in like manner.

      Elsie stood but a moment watching him with loving, admiring eyes, then gliding noiselessly across the floor, dropped gracefully at his feet and laying her folded hands upon his knee looked up into his face with an arch, sweet smile.

      "Mon père, I have come for my lecture, or whatever you have laid up in store for me," she announced with mock gravity and a slight tremble of pretended fear in her voice.

      Dropping the paper he held, and passing one hand caressingly over her shining hair, "My darling, how very, very lovely you are!" he said, the words bursting spontaneously from his lips; "there is no flaw in your beauty, and your face beams with happiness."

      "Papa turned flatterer!" she cried, springing up and allowing him to draw her to his knee.

      "I'm waiting for the lecture," she said presently, "you know I always like to have disagreeable things over as soon as possible."

      "Who told you there was to be a lecture?"

      "Nobody, sir."

      "What have you been doing that you feel entitles you to one?"

      "I don't remember."

      "Nor I either. So let us to business. Here, take this chair beside me. Do you know how much you are worth?"

      "Not precisely, sir," she answered demurely, taking the chair and folding her hands pensively in her lap; "but very little, I presume, since you have given me away for nothing."

      "By no means," he said, with a slight smile of amusement at her unwonted mood. "It was for your own happiness, which is no trifle in my esteem. But you belong to me still."

      She looked at him with glistening eyes. "Thank you, dearest papa; yes, I do belong to you and always shall. Please excuse my wilful misunderstanding of your query. I do not know how much money and other property I own, but have an idea it is a million more or less."

      "My dear child!—it is fully three times that."

      "Papa! is it indeed?"

      "Yes, it was about a million at the time of your Grandfather Grayson's death, and has increased very much during your mamma's minority and yours; which you know has been a very long one. You own several stores and a dwelling house in New Orleans, a fine plantation with between two and three hundred negroes, and I have invested largely for you in stocks of various kinds both in your own country and in England. I wish you to examine all the papers, certificates of stock, bonds, deeds, mortgages, and so forth."

      "Oh, papa!" she cried, lifting her hands in dismay, "what a task. Please excuse me. You know all about it, and is not that sufficient?"

      "No, the property is yours; I have been only your steward, and must now render up an account to you for the way in which I have handled your property."

      "You render an account to me, my own dear father," she said low and tremulously, while her face flushed crimson; "I cannot bear to hear you speak so. I am fully satisfied, and very, very thankful for all your kind care of it and of me."

      He regarded her with a smile of mingled tenderness and amusement, while softly patting and stroking the small white hand laid lovingly upon his.

      "Could I—could any father—do less for his own beloved child?" he asked.

      "Not you, I know, papa. But may I ask you a question?"

      "As many as you like."

      "How much are you worth? Ah! you needn't look so quizzical. I mean how much do you own in money, land, etc.?"

      "Something less than a million; I cannot tell you the exact number of dollars and cents."

      "Hardly a third as much as I! It doesn't seem right. Papa, take half of mine."

      "That wouldn't balance the scales either," he said laughingly; "and besides, Mr. Travilla has now some right to be consulted."

      "Papa, I could never love him again, if he should object to my giving you all but a few hundred thousands."

      "He would not. He says he will never touch a cent of your property; it must be settled entirely upon yourself, and subject to your control. And that is quite right; for he, too, is wealthy."

      "Papa, I don't think I deserve so much; I don't want the care of so much. I do wish you would be so good as to take half for your own, and continue to manage the other half for me as you think best."

      "What you deserve is not the question just now. This is one of the talents which God has given you, and I think you ought, at least for the present, to keep the principal and decide for yourself what shall be done with the interest. You are old enough now to do so, and I hope do not wish to shirk the responsibility, since God, in His good providence, has laid it upon you."

      He spoke very gravely and Elsie's face reflected the expression of his.

      "No, I do not wish it now, papa," she said, in a low, sweet voice. "I will undertake it, asking Him for wisdom and grace to do it aright."

      They were busy for the next hour or two over the papers.

      "There!" cried Elsie, at length, "we have examined the last one, and I think I understand it all pretty thoroughly."

      "I think you do. And now another thing; ought you not to go and see for yourself your property in Louisiana?"

      Elsie assented, on condition that he would take her.

      "Certainly, my dear child, can you suppose I would ever think of permitting you to go alone?"

      "Thank you, papa. And if poor mammy objects this time, she may take her choice of going or staying; but go I must, and see how my poor people are faring at Viamede. I have dim, dreamy recollections of it as a kind of earthly paradise. Papa, do you know why mammy has always been so distressed whenever I talked of going there?"

      "Painful associations, no doubt. Poor creature! it was there her husband—an unruly negro belonging to a neighboring planter—was sold away from her, and there she lost her children, one by accidental drowning, the others by some epidemic disease. Your own mother, too, died there, and Chloe I think never loved one of her own children better."

      "No, СКАЧАТЬ