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

      With a silent prayer for help to control her emotion, Elsie cleared her voice, and began in low, sweet tones the old, old story of Jesus and His love, His birth, His life, His death.

      "Mamma, Elsie do love Jesus!" were the earnest words that followed the close of the narrative. "Say prayer now, and go bed. Elsie feel sick. Mamma, stay wis Elsie?"

      "Yes, my precious one, mamma will stay close beside her darling as long as she wants her. You may say your little prayer kneeling in mamma's lap; and then she will sing you to sleep."

      "Jesus like Elsie do dat way?"

      "Yes, darling, when she's sick."

      Mamma's arms encircled and upheld the little form, the chubby hands were meekly folded, and the soft cheek rested against hers, while the few words of prayer faltered on the baby tongue.

      Then, the posture changed to a more restful one, the sweet voice still full of tears, and often trembling with emotion, sang the little one to sleep.

      Laying her gently in her crib, Elsie knelt beside it, sending up a petition with strong crying and tears; not that the young life might be spared, unless the will of God were so, but that she might be enabled to say, with all her heart, "Thy will be done."

      Ere she had finished, her husband knelt beside her asking the same for her and himself.

      They rose up together, and folded to his heart, she wept out her sorrow upon his breast.

      "You are very weary, little wife," he said tenderly, passing his hand caressingly over her hair and pressing his lips again and again to the heated brow.

      "It is rest to lay my head here," she whispered.

      "But you must not stand;" and sitting down he drew her to the sofa, still keeping his arm about her waist. "Bear up, dear wife," he said, "we will hope our precious darling is not very ill."

      She told him of the child's words, and the sad foreboding that had entered her own heart.

      "While there is life there is hope, dearest," he said, with assumed cheerfulness. "Let us not borrow trouble. Does He not say to us, as to the disciples of old, 'It is I, be not afraid'?"

      "Yes; and she is His; only lent to us for a season; and we dare not rebel should He see fit to recall His own," she answered, amid her tears. "Oh, Edward, I am so glad we indulged her this morning in her wish to play with my jewels!"

      "Yes; she is the most precious of them all," he said with emotion.

      Aunt Chloe, drawing near, respectfully suggested that it might be well to separate the children, in case the little girl's illness should prove to be contagious.

      "That is a wise thought, mammy," said Elsie. "Is it not, Edward?"

      "Yes, wife; shall we take our little daughter to our own bedroom, and leave Eddie in possession of the nursery?"

      "Yes, I will never leave her while she is ill."

      Weeks of anxious solicitude, of tenderest, most careful nursing, followed; for the little one was very ill, and for some time grew worse hour by hour. For days there was little hope that her life would be spared, and a solemn silence reigned through the house; even the romping, fun-loving Horace and Rosie, awe-struck into stillness, and often shedding tears—Horace in private, fearing to be considered unmanly, but Rosie openly and without any desire of concealment—at the thought that the darling of the house was about to pass away from earth.

      Rose was filled with grief, the father, and grandfather were almost heart-broken. But the mother! That first night she had scarcely closed an eye, but continually her heart was going up in earnest supplications for grace and strength to meet this sore trial with patience, calmness, and submission.

      And surely the prayer was heard and answered; day and night she was with her suffering little one, watching beside its crib, or holding it in her arms, soothing it with tender words of mother love, or singing, in low sweet tones, of Jesus and the happy land.

      Plenty of excellent nurses were at hand, more than willing to relieve her of her charge; but she would relinquish it to no one; except when compelled to take a little rest that her strength might not utterly fail her. Even then she refused to leave the room, but lay where the first plaintive cry, "Mamma," would rouse her and bring her instantly to her darling's side.

      At times the big tears might be seen coursing down her cheek, as she gazed mournfully upon the baby face so changed from what it was; but voice and manner were quiet and composed.

      Her husband was almost constantly at her side, sharing the care, the grief and anxiety, and the nursing, so far as she would let him. Rose, too, and Mr. Dinsmore, were there every hour of the day, and often in the night, scarcely less anxious and grief-stricken than the parents, and Mr. Dinsmore especially, trembling for the life and health of the mother as well as the child.

      At length came a day when all knew and felt that wee Elsie was at the very brink of the grave, and the little thread of life might snap asunder at any moment.

      She lay on her pillow on her mother's lap, the limbs shrunken to half their former size, the face, but lately so beautiful with the bloom of health, grown wan and thin, with parched lips and half-closed, dreamy eyes.

      Mr. Travilla sat close beside them, with cup and spoon in hand, now and then moistening the dry lips. Chloe, who had stationed herself a little behind her mistress to be within call, was dropping great tears on the soldier's stocking in her hand.

      Mr. Dinsmore came softly in and stood by the little group, his features working with emotion. "My darling," he murmured, "my precious daughter, may God comfort and sustain you."

      "He does, papa," she answered in low, calm tones, as she raised her head and lifted her mournful eyes to his face; "His consolations are not small in the trying hour."

      "You can give her up?" he asked, in a choking voice, looking with anguish upon the wasted features of his almost idolized grandchild.

      "Yes, papa—if He sees fit to take her; 'twere but selfishness to want to keep her here. So safe, so happy will she be in Jesus' arms."

      Mr. Travilla's frame shook with emotion, and Mr. Dinsmore was not less agitated; but the mother was still calm and resigned.

      No sound had come from those little lips for hours; but now there was a faintly murmured "Mamma!"

      "Yes, darling, mamma is here," Elsie answered, softly pressing a kiss on the white brow; "what shall mamma do for her baby?"

      "Jesus loves wee Elsie?" and the dreamy eyes unclosed and looked up into the sweet pale face bent so lovingly over her. "Elsie so glad. Mamma sing 'Happy land.'"

      The young mother's heart was like to burst, but with a silent prayer for strength, she controlled herself and sang low and sweetly, and even as she sang a change came over the child, and it fell into a deep, calm, natural sleep that lasted for hours. All the time on the mother's lap, her eyes scarce moving from the dear little face; her breath almost suspended, lest that life-giving slumber should be broken.

      In vain husband and father in turn entreated to be allowed to relieve her.

      "No, oh no!" she whispered. "I cannot have her disturbed; it might cost her life."

      This was the turning point in the disease, and from that time the little one began to amend. But very weak and frail, she was still in need of weeks of continued tender, careful nursing.

      "Mamma's lap" was the place preferred above all others; but patient and unselfish, she yielded without a murmur when invited to the arms of papa, grandpa, Rose, or nurse, and told that "dear mamma was tired and needed rest."

      Elsie was indeed much reduced in health and strength; but love, joy, and thankfulness helped her to recuperate rapidly.

      Chapter Twenty-Third

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