"Elsie! how dare you!" Mr. Dinsmore exclaimed, in astonishment and wrath, putting her forcibly aside as he spoke. "Leave the room instantly," he added, in his sternest tones and with a stamp of his foot.
She let go her hold of the child, but, lingering, began again her entreaty, "Oh, papa, please—"
"Will you compel me to punish you in the same way?" he said, again stamping his foot and pointing significantly to the door.
At that she hastened from the room and sought her own, crying as if her heart would break.
Horace yielded at last, when nearly exhausted with the conflict, received a kiss of reconciliation from his father, was then carried to his mother, and wept himself to sleep in her arms, her tears falling almost as fast as his.
She had laid him in his crib and was bending over him, tenderly smoothing back the damp curls from his heated brow, when her husband came softly to her side, and, putting his arm about her waist, asked in low, moved tones, "Do you blame me, my Rose? Do you think me a cruel father?"
She did not answer for a moment, but seemed struggling with emotion.
He sighed deeply.
"I—I think you were conscientious in it all," she said at length, her voice tremulous with feeling, "and that after beginning the conflict it was necessary for you to conquer; but I think the beginning it was a sad mistake."
"How do you mean? What would you have had me do when my child refused to obey a command so simple and easy to understand and do?"