The Novels of Faith – Premium 7 Book Collection. Finley Martha

      "Bring me that book that lies yonder on the settee," he commanded.

      She brought it.

      "Now," said he, "bring that stool and set yourself down here close at my knee, and let me see if I can keep you out of mischief for an hour or two."

      "May I get a book to read, papa?" she asked timidly.

      "No," said he shortly. "You may just do what I bid you, and nothing more nor less."

      She sat down as he directed, with her face turned toward him, and tried to amuse herself with her own thoughts, and watching the expression of his countenance as he read on and on, turning leaf after leaf, too much interested in his book to take any further notice of her.

      "How handsome my papa is!" thought the little girl, gazing with affectionate admiration into his face. And then she sighed, and tears trembled in her eyes again. She admired her father, and loved him, "oh! so dearly," as she often whispered to herself; but would she ever meet with anything like a return of her fond affection? There was an aching void in her heart which nothing else could fill; must it always be thus? was her craving for affection never to be satisfied? "O, papa! my own papa, will you never love me?" mourned the sad little heart. "Ah! if I could only be good always, perhaps he would; but I am so often naughty;—whenever he begins to be kind I am sure to do something to vex him, and then it is all over. Oh! I wish I could be good! I will try very, very hard. Ah! if I might climb on his knee now, and lay my head on his breast, and put my arms round his neck, and tell him how sorry I am that I have been naughty, and made him lose his bird; and how much—oh! how much I love him! But I know I never could tell him that—I don't know how to express it; no words could, I am sure. And if he would forgive me, and kiss me, and call me his dear little daughter. Oh! will he ever call me that? Or if I, might only stand beside him and lay my head on his shoulder, and he would put his arm around me, it would make me so happy."

      An exclamation from Enna caused Elsie to turn her head, and suddenly springing to her feet, she exclaimed in an eager, excited way, "Papa, there is a carriage coming up the avenue—it must be visitors; please, please, papa, let me go to my room."

      "Why?" he asked coolly, looking up from his book, "why do you wish to go?"

      "Because I don't want to see them, papa," she said, hanging her head and blushing deeply; "I don't want them to see me."

      "You are not usually afraid of visitors," he replied in the same cool tone.

      "But they will see that my hand is tied up, and they will ask what is the matter. O papa! do, please do let me go quickly, before they get here," she pleaded in an agony of shame and haste.

      "No," said he, "I shall not let you go, if it were only to punish you for getting off the seat where I bade you stay, without permission. You will have to learn that I am to be obeyed at all times, and under all circumstances. Sit down, and don't dare to move again until I give you leave."

      Elsie sat down without another word, but two bitter, scalding tears rolled quickly down her burning cheeks.

      "You needn't cry, Elsie," said her father; "it is only an old gentleman who comes to see your grandfather on business, and who, as he never notices children, will not be at all likely to ask any questions. I hope you will learn some day, Elsie, to save your tears until there is really some occasion for them."

      The old gentleman had alighted while Mr. Dinsmore was speaking; Elsie saw that he was alone, and the relief was so great that for once she scarcely heeded her father's rebuke.

      Another half-hour passed, and Mr. Dinsmore still sat reading, taking no notice of Elsie, who, afraid to speak or move, was growing very weary and sleepy. She longed to lay her head on her father's knee, but dared not venture to take such a liberty; but at length she was so completely overpowered by sleep as to do so unconsciously.

      The sound of his voice pronouncing her name aroused her.

      "You are tired and sleepy," said he; "if you would like to go to bed you may do so."

      "Thank you, papa," she replied, rising to her feet.

      "Well," he said, seeing her hesitate, "speak, if you have anything to say."

      "I am very sorry I was naughty, papa. Will you please forgive me?" The words were spoken very low, and almost with a sob.

      "Will you try not to meddle in future, and not to cry at the table, or pout and sulk when you are punished?" he asked in a cold, grave tone.

      "Yes, sir, I will try to be a good girl always," said the humble little voice.

      "Then I will forgive you," he replied, taking the handkerchief off her hand.

      Still Elsie lingered. She felt as if she could not go without some little token of forgiveness and love, some slight caress.

      He looked at her with an impatient "Well?" Then, in answer to her mute request, "No," he said, "I will not kiss you to-night; you have been entirely too naughty. Go to your room at once."

      Aunt Chloe was absolutely frightened by the violence of her child's grief, as she rushed into the room and flung herself into her arms weeping and sobbing most vehemently.

      "What's de matter, darlin'?" she asked in great alarm.

      "O mammy, mammy!" sobbed the child, "papa wouldn't kiss me! he said I was too naughty. O mammy! will he ever love me now?"

      Chapter Seventh

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      "The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on."

       —SHAKESPEARE, Richard III.

      "A blossom full of promise is life's joy,

       That never comes to fruit. Hope, for a time,

       Suns the young flow'ret in its gladsome light,

       And it looks flourishing—a little while—

       'Tis pass'd, we know not whither, but 'tis gone."

       —MISS LANDON.

      It was Miss Day's custom to present to the parents of her pupils a monthly report of their conduct and recitations. The regular time for this had occurred once since Mr. Horace Dinsmore's return, when she, of course, handed Elsie's to him.

      It was very satisfactory, for Elsie was a most diligent scholar, carrying her religious principles into that as well as everything else; and disposed as Miss Day was to find fault with her, she could seldom see any excuse for so doing, in either her conduct or recitations.

      Mr. Dinsmore glanced over the report and handed it back, saying, "It is all very good; very satisfactory indeed. I am glad to see that she is industrious and well behaved, for I wish her to grow up an intelligent and amiable woman."

      Elsie, who was standing near, heard the words, and they sent a glow of pleasure to her cheeks. She looked up eagerly; but her father turned and walked away without taking any notice of her, and the glow of happiness faded, and the soft eyes filled with tears of wounded feeling.

      It was now time for a second report; but alas! the past month had been a most unfortunate one for the little girl; the weather was very warm, and she had felt languid and weak, and so much were her thoughts occupied with the longing desire to gain her father's love, so depressed were her spirits by her constant failure to do so, that she often found it impossible to give her mind to her lessons.

      Arthur, too, during much of the time before and since the week of his imprisonment, had been more than usually annoying, shaking her chair and jogging her elbow so frequently when she was writing, that her copy-book presented by no means so good an appearance as usual; and never had Miss Day made out so poor a report for her. She carried it with much secret satisfaction to the little girl's father, and entered a long complaint of the child's idleness and inattention.

      "Send