them up almost entirely--until one day, her father's attention being
called to it, by a remark of Mrs. Dinsmore's, "that it was no wonder the
child was growing thin and pale, for she did not take exercise enough to
keep her in health," he called her to him, reprimanded her severely, and
laid his commands upon her "to take a walk and ride every day, when the
weather would at all permit, but never dare to go alone farther than into
the garden."

Elsie answered with meek submission, promising obedience; and then turned
quickly away to hide the emotion that was swelling in her breast.

The change in her father was the bitterest part of her trial; she had so
revelled in his affection, and now it seemed to be all withdrawn from
her; and from the fond, indulgent parent, Mr. Dinsmore seemed suddenly to
have changed to the cold, pitiless tyrant. He now seldom took any notice
of his little daughter, and never addressed her unless it were to utter
a rebuke, a threat, a prohibition, or command, in tones of harshness and
severity.

Elsie bore it with all the meekness and patience of a martyr, but ere
long her health began to suffer; she grew weak and nervous, and would
start and tremble, and change color at the very sound of her father's
step or voice--those sounds which she had once so loved to hear--and the
little face became thin and pale, and an expression of deep and touching
sadness settled down upon it.

Love was as necessary to Elsie's health and happiness as sunshine to the
flowers, and even as the keen winds and biting frosts of winter wilt and
wither the tender blossoms, so did all this coldness and severity, the
gentle, sensitive spirit of the little child.