Christian life -- Juvenile fiction; Dinsmore, Elsie (Fictitious character) -- Juvenile fiction; Domestic fiction; Religious fiction
The weather was very fine, the sun shone, the birds filled the air with
melody, and a delicious breeze danced in the tree-tops, rippled the
water, and played with the brown and golden ringlets of little Elsie and
Vi, and the flaxen curls of Daisy Carrington.
The combined influences of the clear, pure air, the pleasant motion, as
the rowers bent to their oars, and the lovely scenery meeting the eye at
every turn, were not to be resisted; and all, old and young, were soon
in gayest spirits. They sang songs, cracked jokes, told anecdotes, and
were altogether a very merry company.
After a delightful row of two hours or more the rounding of a point
brought suddenly into view the place of their destination.
The boats were made fast and the party stepped ashore, followed by the
men servants bearing rugs and wraps and several large well-filled
hampers of provisions.
With joyous shouts the children ran hither and thither; the boys tumbled
on the grass, the girls gathered great bouquets of the beautiful
flowers, twisted them in their curls, and wore garlands for their hats.
"Walk up to de house, ladies an' gentlemen; Massa an' Missus not at home
now, but be berry glad to see you when dey gets back," said a pleasant
voice close at hand.
All but Mr. Lilburn looked about for the speaker, wondered at seeing no
one, then laughed at themselves for being so often and so easily
deceived.
"Suppose we accept the invitation," said Mr. Travilla, leading the way.
The two old ladies preferred a seat under a wide-spreading tree on the
lawn; but the others accompanied him in a tour of the deserted mansion
already falling rapidly to decay.
They climbed the creaking stairs, passed along the silent corridors,
looked into the empty rooms, and out of the broken windows upon the
flower gardens, once trim and gay, now choked with rubbish, and
overgrown with weeds, and sighed over the desolations of war.
Some of the lower rooms were still in a pretty good state of
preservation, and in one of these the servants were directed to build
a fire and prepare tea and coffee.
Plenty of dry branches strewed the ground in a bit of woods but a few
rods distant. Some of these were quickly gathered and a brightly blazing
fire presently crackled upon the hearth and roared up the wide chimney.
Leaving the house, which in its loneliness and dilapidation inspired
only feelings of sadness and gloom, our party wandered over the
grounds, still beautiful even in their forlornly neglected state.
The domain was extensive, and the older boys having taken an opposite
direction from their parents, were presently out of their sight and
hearing, the house being directly between. Uncle Joe, however, was with
the lads, so no anxiety was felt for their safety.
Wandering on, they came to a stream of limpid water flowing between high
grassy banks, and spanned by a little rustic bridge.
"Let's cross over," said Herbert, "that's such a pretty bridge, and it
looks lovely on the other side."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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