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- Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
- Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
- Sprache: Englisch
In "Elsie and the Raymonds," Martha Finley delivers a captivating narrative that explores themes of family, virtue, and social responsibility, all wrapped in a richly descriptive literary style characteristic of the 19th-century American moral tale. Set within a context of genteel society, the book follows the lives of Elsie Dinsmore and her interactions with the Raymond family, illustrating the importance of moral integrity and personal character. Finley weaves together anecdotal vignettes that reflect the era's values while simultaneously addressing societal expectations through the lens of youthful innocence and wisdom. Martha Finley, an influential figure in children's literature, possessed a profound understanding of the educational needs of her time, a background that informed her writing. Growing up in a religious household, Finley's experiences undoubtedly inspired her to write "Elsie and the Raymonds" as a didactic tool, encouraging young readers to embrace moral fortitude and compassion in their lives. Her creation of the Elsie Dinsmore character has made a lasting impact, cementing her place in the pantheon of American authors who sought to instill moral values through literature. I highly recommend "Elsie and the Raymonds" to readers seeking a blend of entertainment and moral reflection. Finley's engaging storytelling and vivid characters not only provide an enchanting reading experience but also invite readers to contemplate the significance of virtues in their own lives. It remains a classic work that resonates with both its historical context and its timeless messages. In this enriched edition, we have carefully created added value for your reading experience: - A succinct Introduction situates the work's timeless appeal and themes. - The Synopsis outlines the central plot, highlighting key developments without spoiling critical twists. - A detailed Historical Context immerses you in the era's events and influences that shaped the writing. - A thorough Analysis dissects symbols, motifs, and character arcs to unearth underlying meanings. - Reflection questions prompt you to engage personally with the work's messages, connecting them to modern life. - Hand‐picked Memorable Quotes shine a spotlight on moments of literary brilliance. - Interactive footnotes clarify unusual references, historical allusions, and archaic phrases for an effortless, more informed read.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
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Elsie and the Raymonds
Table of Contents
Introduction
In Elsie and the Raymonds, character is refined in the quiet crucible of home, where affection, duty, and faith continually test one another and reveal the choices that shape a family’s life.
Elsie and the Raymonds, by Martha Finley, belongs to the tradition of nineteenth-century American domestic fiction and children’s literature shaped by evangelical Christian ideals. Issued as a later installment in Finley’s long-running Elsie Dinsmore series, it situates readers within interrelated households whose rhythms of schoolroom, parlor, and prayer anchor the narrative. The setting is primarily the everyday world of family life in the United States, with occasional social visits and seasonal changes structuring the action. First appearing in the late nineteenth or early twentieth century, the book extends the series’ ongoing chronicle of kinship and moral formation for an audience of young readers and family read-alouds.
The premise is simple and inviting: the narrative shifts its focus toward the Raymond household, closely connected to Elsie, and follows their shared days of instruction, recreation, and responsibility. Rather than relying on sensational events, the book builds interest from domestic incidents that raise ethical questions and require gentle guidance. Readers can expect conversations that turn small missteps into opportunities for growth, scenes of hospitality and caretaking, and the steady presence of elders who model patience and principle. It offers a calm, orderly world in which ordinary choices matter, and where the bonds of kinship set the stage for the story’s modest conflicts and consolations.
Finley’s voice is earnest, transparent in its intentions, and unmistakably didactic, favoring clarity over ambiguity. The style blends third-person narration with dialogue-rich scenes in which counsel and reflection unfold at an unhurried pace. Scriptural allusions and devotional habits inform the characters’ outlook without straying from the everyday concerns of house, schoolroom, and garden. The mood is warm, orderly, and morally serious, designed to soothe rather than startle, and to affirm the value of constancy. As with other volumes in the series, the structure is episodic, gathering vignettes into a cumulative portrait of home life where instruction and affection are carefully interwoven.
Themes familiar to the Elsie cycle are central here: the formation of conscience, respect for parental guidance, humility in the face of error, and forgiveness grounded in Christian faith. Work, study, and recreation are presented as venues for stewardship, where diligence and kindness reveal character. The book also explores the responsibilities that come with authority, emphasizing gentleness, fairness, and self-command among caregivers as much as obedience among the young. Friendship, hospitality, and the use of time receive consistent attention, encouraging readers to consider how daily habits shape moral horizons. Throughout, spiritual aspiration is joined to practical duty, binding belief to behavior in concrete ways.
For contemporary readers, the novel functions both as uplifting devotional fiction and as a cultural artifact of its era’s ideals. It invites reflection on how families teach virtues, how communities transmit values across generations, and what steadiness looks like in a world of small, recurrent trials. The work’s confidence in moral clarity may comfort some and challenge others to weigh past certainties against present complexities. Its period assumptions about family roles and social life are best approached with historical awareness, yet they also prompt fruitful questions about authority, care, and accountability. The result is a text that rewards both sympathetic reading and thoughtful critique.
Approached on its own terms, Elsie and the Raymonds offers a gentle, contemplative experience shaped by the rhythms of conversation, correction, and reconciliation. Readers who appreciate serial storytelling will find continuity with earlier volumes, while newcomers can enter through the everyday premise and discover the series’ guiding concerns. The stakes are intimate rather than sensational, the pace deliberate, and the resolutions anchored in patient habit rather than sudden revelation. It is suited to reflective reading, to discussion about ethics in daily life, and to those drawn to historical domestic fiction. Above all, it promises companionship with characters striving—quietly, persistently—to do right.
Synopsis
Elsie and the Raymonds continues Martha Finley’s long-running family saga by centering the narrative on the Raymond household within the wider Dinsmore–Travilla circle. The story opens in a season of domestic calm at the family homes, where routines of study, hospitality, and worship shape each day. Finley presents an intergenerational home in which elders teach by example and conversation, and children grow under patient supervision. The tone is gently instructional, with scenes of reading aloud, music, and outdoor exercise framing the action. Without rushing into dramatic conflict, the book establishes its characters, their relationships, and the steady moral atmosphere that guides everything to come.
At the center is Captain Raymond, a firm yet affectionate father whose naval discipline translates into clear household order, and his wife Violet, whose tact and warmth make instruction feel like support. The children—Max, eager and spirited; Lulu, strong-willed yet earnest; and delicate Gracie—are portrayed with distinct temperaments that prompt different kinds of guidance. Grandmother Elsie and Mr. Dinsmore, respected elders, contribute counsel that blends Scripture, history, and common sense. Early chapters foreground lessons, family worship, and polite recreation, sketching a home where affection and obedience coexist. Small frictions arise naturally from youthful impulse, inviting calm correction rather than severe punishment.
As plans form for the season, the elders propose turning leisure into learning through a carefully arranged series of excursions. The family will travel together to visit notable places, balancing healthful change of air with exposure to history, civics, and nature. Itineraries are shaped to keep Sabbath observance intact and to interleave sightseeing with reading and conversation. The goal is not adventure for its own sake but deliberate cultivation of mind and character. Packing, scheduling, and gentle anticipations occupy the household, while the younger ones receive reminders about safety, punctuality, and respect for local regulations in unfamiliar settings.
Initial outings introduce the book’s recurring pattern: cheerful movement, new scenes, and parent-led talks that make geography and biography vivid. Along the way, everyday decisions—when to linger, how to ask permission, what to purchase—become occasions for practicing trust and self-control. A misstep or two, born of enthusiasm rather than malice, leads to timely counsel from Captain Raymond and Violet. Consequences are measured and restorative, underscoring that discipline aims at growth. The siblings’ differing traits complement and challenge one another, creating small tensions that are resolved within the family’s consistent framework of respect, truth-telling, and prompt obedience.
The middle chapters broaden the journey. Historic homes, battlefields, museums, and scenic vistas furnish a backdrop for conversations that connect personal duty with national memory. Elders recount episodes from American history, answer questions, and assign light tasks such as note-keeping or recitation to reinforce learning. The narrative intersperses these instructive moments with simple pleasures—lounging on verandas, drives through the countryside, calls on acquaintances, and moments of hymn-singing. Health remains a gentle concern, with plans adjusted for rest when needed, and the family maintains regular devotions regardless of location, affirming continuity of purpose even as the scenery changes.
A more pointed test of character arrives when impatience and independent action place one of the younger members in a worrisome situation. The episode, though contained, highlights the book’s central themes: the necessity of heeding wise authority, the safeguards of truthful confession, and the family’s steady, practical charity in times of strain. Without resorting to sensational detail, the narrative narrows its focus to the household’s coordinated response—watchfulness, prayer, and sensible remedies—before widening again to show renewed harmony. The experience becomes a reference point for later instruction, deepening mutual trust without dampening youthful energy or affection.
Encounters with friends, neighbors, and chance acquaintances furnish additional facets to the story. Polite visits include exchanges about books, schools, and church life, while brief meetings on the road introduce contrasting habits and opinions. The Raymonds’ manner remains courteous and unprovocative, letting conduct illustrate convictions more than argument. Instances of quiet benevolence—sharing resources, offering companionship, or assisting the ill—reinforce the practical side of their beliefs. Meanwhile, Captain Raymond mentors Max in responsibility and judgment, and Violet guides the girls in gracious self-command, creating parallel tracks of training suited to each child’s needs and interests.
As the travels wind down, the family returns to its homes with a store of impressions and a clearer sense of aims. Studies are resumed with renewed diligence; amusements are chosen more thoughtfully; household rules, tested in varied settings, feel less restrictive and more protective. Prospects for the future begin to take shape in conversation—possibilities of further schooling, professional preparation, or continued service—without fixing any single path. Bonds across generations remain central, and the elders’ health and comfort receive tender attention. The closing scenes emphasize orderly contentment and readiness, drawing the seasonal arc to a calm, promising close.
Overall, Elsie and the Raymonds presents a domestic ideal grounded in Christian faith, mutual respect, and steady, age-appropriate discipline. Its episodes model how travel, reading, and conversation can weave education into daily life, and how affection and rules can coexist without rancor. While the plot avoids sensational adventure, it sustains interest through character development, moral reflection, and varied settings. The book’s message is clear: a loving family, guided by wise principles and attentive elders, equips children for useful, happy lives. It stands as a transitional entry in the series, consolidating past growth and quietly preparing for future chapters.
Historical Context
Set primarily in the late nineteenth-century United States, Elsie and the Raymonds unfolds across a geography that mirrors the series’ established locales: Southern plantations recovering from war, coastal resorts, and growing Northern cities linked by rail. The Raymond household often moves between family seats reminiscent of Ion in the Carolinas and Viamede near New Orleans, reflecting postbellum patterns of seasonal travel and kin-based estates. Timekeeping details—references to modern railroads, domestic tourism, and national commemorations—situate the narrative after the Civil War and into the Gilded Age. The domestic sphere, Sabbath-ordered routines, and evangelical instruction structure daily life, while excursions to historic sites embed the plot in a didactic, national-historical landscape.
The lingering legacy of the antebellum plantation economy frames the social backdrop. Slavery, entrenched from the colonial era and federally constrained only by the 1808 ban on the transatlantic trade, ended legally with the Emancipation Proclamation (1863) and the Thirteenth Amendment (1865). Estates like those evoked by Ion and Viamede had to adapt to free labor, sharecropping, and fluctuating cotton prices during the 1870s–1890s. In the book’s world, a paternal household head, ordered children, and benevolent management of dependents project an idealized postbellum continuity. The narrative’s emphasis on stewardship, obedience, and Christian duty mirrors elite Southern efforts to stabilize family authority amid economic and social upheaval.
The American Civil War (1861–1865) and Reconstruction (1865–1877) most profoundly shape the work’s moral and social horizons. The wartime destruction of Southern infrastructure, emancipation of roughly four million enslaved people, and the political redefinition of citizenship through the Thirteenth (1865), Fourteenth (1868), and Fifteenth Amendments (1870) transformed everyday life. The Freedmen’s Bureau (established March 1865) sought to facilitate contracts, education, and relief, while violent resistance—exemplified by the Ku Klux Klan’s emergence in 1865–1866—contested these changes. The Compromise of 1877 ended federal occupation, inaugurating “home rule” and the rapid rise of disfranchisement and segregation. By the 1890s, Jim Crow statutes took statutory form across the former Confederacy; in Louisiana, Plessy v. Ferguson (1896), arising from Homer Plessy’s arrest in New Orleans, constitutionally sanctioned “separate but equal.” Economic realignment followed: sharecropping contracts, crop liens, and railroad freight rates tied cotton regions to national markets, while memorial culture reframed the conflict through reconciliationist and Lost Cause narratives. Within this altered landscape, the book’s family visits to battlefields, cemeteries, and founders’ homes align with a broader public ritual of remembrance that sought national healing. Elder characters deliver catechetical histories of campaigns at places like Gettysburg (1863) or Chickamauga (1863), a pedagogy echoed by the federal designation of battlefield parks beginning in 1890. Domestic order in the Raymond household, with its stress on hierarchy, thrift, and piety, reads as a micro-model of postwar social stabilization. While largely silent on Black political claims, the story reflects Reconstruction’s reordering by recasting authority in private, religious terms, dramatizing how households, rather than legislatures, are portrayed as the engines of moral reconstruction.
The Gilded Age’s infrastructure boom fostered national tourism and patriotic education. The completion of the first transcontinental railroad in 1869, urban rail terminals, and steamship routes knitted together cities and resorts. World’s fairs codified civic pride and technological modernity: the Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia (1876) and the World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago (1893) displayed industrial might, historical exhibits, and civic architecture. Elsie novels of this era often include pedagogical excursions to Independence Hall, Mount Vernon, or exposition grounds, where elders recount dates, treaties, and inventions. In Elsie and the Raymonds, such outings contextualize family morals within a narrative of national progress and providential history.
Evangelical moral reform movements—especially temperance—pervade the book’s ethical atmosphere. The Woman’s Christian Temperance Union (WCTU), founded in 1874 under leaders such as Frances Willard (president from 1879), and the Anti-Saloon League (1893) advanced prohibition, Sabbath observance, and domestic purity. Sunday-school networks, the American Sunday School Union (1824), and interdenominational Bible societies normalized daily family devotions and catechesis. In the Raymond household, structured prayers, Scripture recitation, and strict parental discipline translate these movements into plot-level conflicts about self-control, amusements, and obedience. Characters’ warnings against alcohol, gambling, and theatre-going reflect nationwide campaigns to legislate morality and preserve a Christian social order.
Naval modernization and American expansion after 1890 supply a patriotic frame to Captain Raymond’s profession. Influenced by Alfred Thayer Mahan’s The Influence of Sea Power upon History (1890), Congress funded a “New Navy” of steel cruisers and battleships in the 1880s–1890s. The Spanish–American War (1898) spotlighted sea power: the USS Maine exploded in Havana harbor on February 15, 1898; Commodore George Dewey won at Manila Bay on May 1; Admiral William T. Sampson’s fleet prevailed off Santiago de Cuba on July 3. The Treaty of Paris (December 10, 1898) brought Puerto Rico, Guam, and the Philippines. The book channels this milieu by celebrating discipline, duty, and flag-centered loyalty through the naval patriarch.
Commemorative culture after the war shaped the series’ historical pedagogy. The Grand Army of the Republic (founded 1866) and Southern Ladies’ Memorial Associations organized Decoration Day, nationally promoted by General John A. Logan’s May 30, 1868 order. Battlefield parks were established—Chickamauga and Chattanooga (1890), Antietam (1890), Gettysburg (1895)—and civic groups such as the United Daughters of the Confederacy (1894) and the Mount Vernon Ladies’ Association (1853) curated shrines to national founders. In the book’s excursions, reverence for Washington at Mount Vernon and constitutional sites in Philadelphia teaches loyalty and sacrifice, harmonizing familial obedience with a reconciliationist narrative that venerates shared heroism over lingering sectional grievance.
As a social critique, the book indicts the perceived moral laxity of urban modernity—intemperance, frivolous amusements, and weak parental authority—while affirming disciplined households as bulwarks against social decay. It exposes class anxieties through scenes of benevolent paternalism: wealth obliges stewardship, charity, and the moral uplift of dependents. Politically, it endorses civic order, law, and patriotic memory, critiquing corruption and sensationalism of the Gilded Age. Yet its silences reveal limitations typical of its era: it naturalizes hierarchical gender roles and largely sidelines Black civic claims under Jim Crow. The narrative’s reformist impulse thus both reflects and gently challenges its period’s inequities, chiefly through moral suasion rather than structural remedy.
Elsie and the Raymonds
CHAPTER I.
“Excuse me, Miss, but do you know of any lady who wants a seamstress[1]?” asked a timid, hesitating voice.
Lulu Raymond was the person addressed. She and Max had just alighted from the Woodburn family carriage—having been given permission to do a little shopping together—and she had paused upon the pavement for a moment to look after it as it rolled away down the street with her father, who had some business matters to attend to in the city that afternoon, and had appointed a time and place for picking the children up again to carry them home.
Tastefully attired, rosy, and bright with health and happiness, Lulu’s appearance was in strange contrast to that of the shabbily dressed girl, with pale, pinched features that wore an expression of patient suffering, who stood by her side.
“Were you speaking to me?” Lulu asked, turning quickly at the sound of the voice, and regarding the shrinking figure with pitying eyes.
“Yes, Miss, if you’ll excuse the liberty. I thought you looked kind, and that maybe your mother might want some one to do plain sewing.”
“I hardly think she does, but I’ll ask her when I go home,” replied Lulu. “Are you the person who wants the work?”
“Yes, Miss; and I’d try to give satisfaction. I’ve been brought up to the use of my needle, and the sewing machine too. And—and”—in a choking voice—“I need work badly; mother’s sick, and we’ve only what I can earn to depend on for food and clothes, and doctor, and medicine, and to pay the rent.”
“Oh, how dreadful!” cried Lulu, hastily taking out her purse.
“You are very kind, Miss; but I’m not asking charity,” the girl said, shrinking back, blushing and shamefaced.
“Of course not, you don’t look like a beggar,” returned Lulu with warmth. “But I’d be glad to help you in some suitable way[1q]. Where do you live?”
At this instant Max, whose attention had been drawn for a moment to some article in the show-window of a store near at hand, joined his sister, and with her listened to the girl’s reply.
“Just down that alley yonder, Number five,” she said. “It’s but a poor place we have; a little bare attic room, but—but we try to be content with it, because it’s the best we can do.”
“What is it she wants?” Max asked, in a low aside to Lulu.
“Sewing. I’m going to ask Mamma Vi and Grandma Elsie if they can find some for her. But we’ll have to know where she can be found. Shall we go with her to her home?”
“No; papa would not approve, I think. But I’ll write down the address, and I’m sure papa will see that they’re relieved, if they need help.”
Turning to the girl again, as he took notebook and pencil from his pocket, “What is the name of the alley?” he asked.
“Rose,” she answered, adding, with a melancholy smile, “though there’s nothing rosy about it except the name; it’s narrow and dirty, and the people are poor, many of them beggars, drunken, and quarrelsome.”
“How dreadful to have to live in such a place!” exclaimed Lulu, looking compassionately at the speaker.
“Rose Alley[2],” murmured Max, jotting it down in his book, “just out of State Street. What number?”
“Number five, sir; and it’s between Fourth and Fifth.”
“Oh, yes; I’ll put that down, too, and I’m sure the place can be found without any difficulty. But what is your name? We will need to know whom to inquire for.”
“Susan Allen, sir.”
The girl was turning away, but Lulu stopped her.
“Wait a moment. You said your mother was sick, and I’d like to send her something good to eat. I dare say she needs delicacies to tempt her appetite. Come with me to that fruit-stand on the corner,” hurrying toward it as she spoke, the girl following at a respectful distance.
“That was a good and kind thought, Lu,” Max remarked, stepping close to his sister’s side as she paused before the fruit-stand, eagerly scanning its tempting display of fruits and confections.
“You don’t doubt papa’s approval of this?” she returned interrogatively, giving him an arch look and smile.
“No; not a bit of it; he always likes to see us generous and ready to relieve distress. I must have a share in the good work.”
“Then they’ll have all the more, for I shan’t give any less because you’re going to give, too. Oh, what delicious looking strawberries!”
“And every bit as good as they look, Miss,” said the keeper of the stand.
“What’s the price?”
“Dollar a box, Miss. They always come high the first o’ the season, you know; they were a dollar-ten only yesterday.”
“Do you think your sick mother would enjoy them?” Lulu asked, turning to Susan, who was looking aghast at the price named.
“Oh, yes, indeed, Miss; but—but it’s too much for you to give; we have hardly so much as that to spend on a week’s victuals.”
“Then I’m sure you ought to have a few luxuries for once,” said Lulu. “I’ll take a box for her,” addressing the man, and taking out her purse as she spoke.
“A dozen of those oranges, too, a pound of your nicest crackers, and one of sugar to eat with the berries,” said Max, producing his porte-monnaie.
They saw the articles put up, paid for them, put them into Susan’s hands, and hurried on their way, followed by her grateful looks.
In trembling, tearful tones she had tried to thank them, but they would not stay to listen.
“How glad she was,” said Lulu. “And no wonder, for she looks half starved. And, O Max, just think, if we hadn’t a father to take care of and provide for us we might be as poor and distressed as she is!”
“That’s so,” returned Max; “we’ve hardly a thing worth having that hasn’t come to us through my father.”
“My father, sir,” asserted Lulu, giving him a laughing glance.
“Yes, our father; but he was mine before he was yours,” laughed her brother. “Well, here we are at Blake’s, where you have an errand; at least, so you said, I think.”
They passed into the store, finding so many customers there that all the clerks were engaged; and while waiting till some one could attend to their wants, they amused themselves in scrutinizing the contents of shelves, counters, and show-cases. Some picture-frames, brackets, and other articles of carved wood attracted their attention.
“Some of those are quite pretty, Max,” Lulu remarked in an undertone; “but I think you have made prettier ones.”
“So have you; and see,” pointing to the prices attached, “they pay quite well for them. No, I’m not so sure of that, but they ask good prices from their customers. Perhaps we could make a tolerable support at the business, if we had to take care of ourselves,” he added in a half-jesting tone.
“Earn enough to buy bread and butter maybe, but not half the good things papa buys for us,” said Lulu.
“Is no one waiting upon you?” asked the proprietor of the store, drawing near.
“No, sir; they all seem to be busy,” answered Lulu.
“Yes. What can I show you? Some of this carved work? We have sold a good deal of it, and I’m sorry to say that the young lady who supplied it has decided to give up the business—and go into matrimony,” he added, with a laugh.
A thought seemed to strike Lulu, and she asked, coloring slightly as she spoke, “Does it pay well?”
The merchant named the prices he had given for several of the articles, and asked in his turn if she knew of any one who would like to earn money in that way.
“I—I’m not quite sure,” she answered. “I know a boy, and a girl too, who are fond of doing such work, and I think can do a little better than this, but—”
“You doubt if they would care to make a business of it, eh?” he said inquiringly, as she paused, leaving her sentence unfinished.
“Yes, sir; I’m not sure they would want to, or that their parents would be willing to have them do so. If you please, I should like to look at materials for fancy work.”
“Yes, Miss. This way, if you please. We have them in great variety, and of the best quality.”
Captain Raymond expected a friend on an incoming train, and had directed the children to be at the depot a few minutes before it was due. Punctuality was one of the minor virtues he insisted upon, and while interested in their shopping, they were not forgetful of the necessity for keeping their appointment with him. Their watches were consulted frequently, and ample time allowed for their walk from the last store visited to the depot.
“We are here first; our carriage isn’t in sight yet,” remarked Lulu with satisfaction, as they reached the outer door of the building.
“Yes,” said Max, “but papa will be along presently, for it wants but ten minutes of the time when the train is due.”
“And he’s never a minute late,” added Lulu.
Max led the way to the ladies’ room, seated his sister comfortably in an arm-chair, and asked if there was anything he could get, or do for her; treating her with as much gallantry as if she had been the sister of somebody else.
“Thank you, Maxie, I’m really comfortable, and in want of nothing,” she replied. “I’ll be glad if that gentleman doesn’t come,” she went on, “for it’s so much nicer to have papa all to ourselves driving home.”
“Yes; and afterward too. But we mustn’t be selfish, and perhaps he would be disappointed if his friend shouldn’t come.”
“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that! And if papa would rather have him come, I hope he will.”
“Of course you do. Ah, here comes papa now,” as a tall, remarkably fine-looking man, of decidedly military bearing, entered the room and came smilingly toward them.
“Good, punctual children,” he said. “I hope you have been enjoying yourselves since we parted?”
“Oh, yes, papa,” they answered, speaking both at once; “we did all our errands, and are ready to go home.”
“The train is just due,” he said, consulting his watch. “Ah, here it comes,” as its rush and roar smote upon their ears.
Lulu sprang up hastily.
“Wait a little, daughter,” the captain said, laying a gently detaining hand on her shoulder; “we need not be in haste, as we are not going on the train.”
“Everybody else seems to be hurrying out, papa,” she said.
“Yes; they are probably passengers. Ah, the train has arrived and come to a standstill, so we will go now. Max, you may help your sister into the carriage, while I look about for our expected guest.”
The captain scanned narrowly the living stream pouring from the cars, but without finding him of whom he was in quest. He turned away in some disappointment, and was about to step into his carriage, when a not unfamiliar voice hailed him.
“Good-evening, Captain Raymond. Will you aid a fellow-creature in distress? It seems that by some mistake my carriage has failed to meet me, though I thought they understood that I would return home by this train. If you will give me a lift as far as your own gate I can easily walk the rest of the way to Briarwood.”
“It will afford me pleasure to do so, Mr. Clark, or to take you quite to Briarwood,” responded the captain heartily. “We have abundance of room. Step in, and I will follow.”
This unexpected addition to their party gave Lulu some slight feeling of vexation and disappointment, but her father’s proud look and smile, as he said, “My son Max and daughter Lulu, Mr. Clark,” and the affectionate manner in which, on taking his seat at her side, he put his arm about her waist and drew her close to him, went far to restore her to her wonted good-humor.
Mr. Clark said, “How do you do, my dears?” then engaged the captain in conversation, taking no further notice of the children.
But they were intelligent, well-instructed children, and when the talk presently turned upon one of the political questions of the day they were interested; for their father had taken pains to give them no little information on that and kindred topics. He did not encourage their reading of the daily secular papers—indeed forbade it, because he would not have their pure minds sullied by the sickening details of crime, or love of the horrible cultivated by minute descriptions of its punishment in the execution of murderers; but he examined the papers himself and culled from them such articles, to be read aloud in the family, as he deemed suitable and instructive or entertaining; or he would relate incidents and give instruction and explanations in his own words, which the children generally preferred to the reading.
The gentlemen were in the midst of their conversation, and the great gates leading into the avenue at Woodburn almost reached, when Mr. Clark caught sight of his own carriage approaching from the opposite direction.
He called and beckoned to his coachman, and with a hasty good-by and hearty thanks to Captain Raymond, transferred himself to his own conveyance, which at once faced about and whirled away toward Briarwood, while the Woodburn family carriage turned into the avenue and drove up to the house.
Violet and the three younger children were on the veranda, waiting for its coming, and ready with a joyful welcome to its occupants.
“Papa, papa!” shouted little Elsie, as they alighted, “Max and Lu, too! Oh, I’se so glad you all tum back adain!”
“Are you, papa’s sweet pet?” returned the captain, bending down to take her in his arms with a tender caress.
Then he kissed his wife and the lovely babe crowing in her arms and reaching out his chubby ones to be taken by his father, evidently as much rejoiced as Elsie at his return.
“In a moment, Ned,” laughed the captain, stooping to give a hug and kiss to Gracie waiting at his side; then taking possession of an easy-chair, with a pleasant “Thank you, my dears,” to Max and Lulu, who had hastened to draw it forward for him, he took a baby on each knee, while the three older children clustered about him, and Violet, sitting near, watched with laughing eyes the merry scene that followed.
“Gracie and Elsie may search papa’s pockets now and see what they can find,” said the captain.
Promptly and with eager delight they availed themselves of the permission.
Grace drew forth a small, gilt-edged, handsomely bound volume.
“That is for your mamma,” her father said; “you may hand it to her; and perhaps, if you look farther, you may find something for yourself.”
Violet received the gift with a pleased smile and a hearty “Thank you, Gracie. Thank you, my dear. I shall be sure to prize it for the sake of the giver, whatever the contents may be.”
But the words were half drowned in Elsie’s shouts of delight over a pretty toy and a box of bon-bons.
“Hand the candy round, pet; to mamma first,” her father said.
“May Elsie eat some too, papa?” she asked coaxingly, as she got down from his knee to obey his order.
“Yes; a little to-night, and some more to-morrow.”
Grace had dived into another pocket. “Oh! is this for me, papa?” she asked, drawing out a small paper parcel.
“Open it and see,” was his smiling rejoinder.
With eager fingers she untied the string and opened the paper.
“Three lovely silver fruit-knives!” she exclaimed. “Names on ’em, too. Lu, this is yours, for it has your name on it; and this is mine, and the other Maxie’s,” handing them to the owners as she spoke. “Thank you, papa, oh, thank you very much, for mine!” holding up her face for a kiss.
Bestowing it very heartily, “You are all very welcome, my darlings,” he said, for Max and Lulu were saying thank you too.
And now they hastened to display their purchases of the afternoon and present some little gifts to Grace and Elsie.
These were received with thanks and many expressions of pleasure, and Lulu was in the midst of an animated account of her shopping experiences when her father, glancing at his watch, reminded her that she would have barely time to make herself neat for the tea-table if she repaired to her room at once.
“Max and I, too, must pay some attention to our toilets,” he added, giving the babe to its nurse, who had just appeared upon the scene.
“Now, papa, let’s run a race, and see who’ll be down first,”—proposed Lulu laughingly, as she went skipping and dancing along the hall just ahead of him.
“Very well, and I’ll give you a dollar if you are first,—and there are no signs of haste or negligence in your appearance.”
“And is the offer open to me too, papa?” asked Max, coming up behind.
“Yes; I shall not be partial,” answered the captain, suddenly lifting Lulu off her feet and starting up the stairs with her in his arms.
“O papa, you’ll tire yourself all out!” she exclaimed with a merry laugh; “I’m so big and heavy.”
“Not a bit,” he said. “I’m so big and strong. There, now for our race,” as he set her down in the upper hall.
“It’s nice, nice, to have such a big, strong papa!” she said, lifting a flushed, happy face to his and reaching up to give him a hug and kiss.
“I’m glad my little daughter thinks so,” he returned, smiling down on her and laying his hand tenderly on her head for an instant.
The captain and Lulu met in the upper hall just as the tea-bell rang, and at the same instant Max came down the stairs from the third story almost at a bound.
A merry peal of laughter from all three, and the captain said, “So nobody is first; we shall all reach the tea-room together.”
“And you won’t have any dollar to pay, papa,” said Lulu, her face very bright and no disappointment in her tone. She was clinging to her father’s hand as they went down the stairs, Max close behind them.
“But I don’t care to save it,” was the reply, “so what shall be done with it? Suppose I divide it between you and Max.”
“And yourself, papa,” added Max laughingly.
His father smiled. “Perhaps a better plan would be to put it into our missionary box,” he said.
“Oh, yes, sir!” exclaimed both the children, “that would be the best thing that could be done with it.”
They had taken their seats at the table, and all were quiet while the captain asked a blessing on their food.
