The book in hand was generally laid aside when the little girls joined them, but occasionally Mr. Dinsmore read on when he thought the passage unobjectionable even for minds so immature as theirs. Sometimes, too, the books were discussed in their hearing, arousing their interest and curiosity more than their elders realized.
Mr. Dinsmore had always strictly forbidden novels to Elsie, telling her she should read Scott’s, Dickens’ and others of the better class when he considered her old enough, but not till then.
One evening as they were all gathered in the parlor, Dr. Landreth and Mr. Travilla being of the party also, the talk ran for some time upon the characters and incidents of “Kenilworth” and “Ivanhoe,” then of “Barnaby Rudge,” “Oliver Twist” and “David Copperfield.”
Elsie, seated upon her father’s knee, listened with growing interest. “Papa,” she whispered, with her arm about his neck, her eyes gazing pleadingly into his, as a pause in the conversation gave her an opportunity, “mayn’t I read those books?”
“Some day; several years hence,” he said, softly stroking her hair and smiling into the beseeching eyes.
“Oh, but I mean now, papa! I—”
“No, my child,” he said, with grave decision, “they are not suited to your tender years. And as you have no lack of reading matter that is, and which interests as well as instructs you, I think my prohibition ought not to be felt as a very severe trial.”
Christmas fell on Tuesday that year. Elsie’s guests were invited to come to the Oaks on Monday, the twenty-fourth, to dinner, and to remain until the following Saturday night. It was her own choice not to have them there on Sunday.
“Because, papa,” she said, “you know I should find it very difficult to keep the Sabbath day holy with a company of gay young friends to entertain; indeed I’m afraid I could not do it.”
“Yes, I fear so too,” he returned, “and besides you will be, by that time, in need of rest from the care and trouble of entertaining.”